Prelude
Clever Arnes had always thought herself as something more.
From how she laughed, to how she hid, from the games she played, to the tales she’s told. From her devious grin to her sly glance, from her witty mouth to her nimble fingers. Clever had always felt as though she never quite belonged in a world so absent of chaos. So absent of thrill and strangeness.
Clever had always craved terror in its raw state. She had always loved the singing in her blood, the prickling in her nerves, all so terrible and gratifying at once. She had always resisted the thought of being simply a minor character, one unbeknownst to the kinds of mischief she starved for.
She could say she was a dangerous type of curious.
She supposed she was a terrible kind of trouble.
But Clever never once thought herself as a villain.
Not until she found one.
A villain, dressed in black and masked in red. And very much so dead.
If she had been any other type of ordinary, Clever would have found herself walking away.
But Clever knew she had always been unordinary in the worst of ways. So instead, she swept the crimson mask to her face and grinned like a fox.
No, like a villain.
A red villain.
