Contrary to what Mirannda would have one believe, sometimes she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some deaths are not calculated, are not deliberate. In fact, some were completely out of the blue for her, situations in which she is completely innocent. Once upon a time, she was afraid to die. Now, she has faith in race, yet still fears the overall concept as part of her upbringing as an elf.

Tonight, there was no anticipation of anything disastrous. The phoenix had went to a pub, ordered herself a nice meal and a steaming cup of mulled wine. Every morsel was delicious, the stew filling, the wine warming her core. It seemed she would have an uneventful night. Three glasses of wine later, Mirannda stood. Normally, she would be more than a little tipsy, but could still hold her own. However, the phoenix swayed dangerously and felt quite woozy.

Someone came up behind her then, as she tried desperately to hold herself up by gripping the table. “They said you're no match for a lot of bounty hunters. Said you loved your wine. Sorry love, but I had to ensure my reward. No hard feelings. Shame though, you're such a beauty.” A blade slid ever so easily into her flesh, piercing her heart quick and calculated by an expert assassin.

~~

Mirannda groaned as she pushed herself up. Her head swam, her body immediately expelling the contents of her stomach violently. Spitting some of the vile, putrid remnants of bile, Mirannda inwardly complained about never getting this drunk. No, she hadn't gotten drunk, she was drugged. All for a stupid bounty! This much she recalled vividly.

Now standing, the phoenix took in her surroundings, quite confused as to where she was. There was a single lamp illuminating a small area. Encircling the bright orb was an oppressing darkness. At her feet was a glittering pathway that led into that pitch. Perhaps she felt brave, or maybe it was the disconcerting feeling of waking up in a completely new place that made her act illogically. Mirannda took a step outside of the protective lantern.

Dread filled her instantly. Unable to breathe, for a long while she was even unable to move, petrified as she was. She was not afraid of the dark. The one true thing she feared was not in this realm. Images of Sin and his cruel ability to have her endure self inflicted torture filled her. Each attempt to meld in shadows had a thousand scratches waiting to rip her soul from her flesh. Yet, somehow, even with Sin breathing down her neck, his lingering proverbial fingers trailing across her throat, there was something darker out there.

It threatened fates far worse than Sin ever guaranteed, actions far crueler than the vampire was able to comprehend. The Mother Flame was to be ripped out of her, she felt as if an eclipse was plummeting her into the darkest reaches far from the Flame while it simultaneously taking a barbed whip to her back, cleaving flesh with each stroke. All for the pleasure of pain with nothing to gain. Mirannda screamed as she backpedaled, managing to trip over her own feet. Sprawled as she was, the phoenix curled herself into a fetal position and started crying, mere inches from her stomach contents within the light once more.