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Singing Butterfly
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Once again, the mists of the most hallowed eve descend, this time upon... 'Ohio'.
There's a chill as a distant figure wanders closer to the fires.
Legends speak of a snowy maiden - a defiled priestess of the Rhappor, who had perished in anguish after being outcast from her chapel. Burdened by her sins, she froze to death in the wastes, never to be seen again. But soon after, stories arose of townspeople found slaughtered in the wilderness, their deaths completely unlike that of an animal mauling.
Each and every one of their bodies were exsanguinated, as if they were simply leather dolls made as caricatures of the people they once were.
The stories didn't stop. Young Rhappor children were taught to never open their windows if they ever heard a knock... knock... knocking on their glass. If they did - they would come face to face with a beautiful maiden, whose fur was white as snow - but covered in bloody robes. Buried halfway in the snow, her crimson slippers caught the moonlight and those who gazed upon her would realize that it was made from the frozen blood of her victims.
Soon, the villagers would find nothing but an empty cabin, come morning.
Of course, all of this is simply posturing and costuming. There was no snow maiden in this reality.
For a certain soldier with a cold stare, it was only an appropriate thematic choice to complement her natural abilities.
"I'm very glad we were able to participate in the celebrations this year, Ozone. I've been... dying to show off my talents in costume-craft for some time."
Considering that last year ended up with an all-out brawl, a certain rebel was forced to stay home this year.
Perhaps it was an odd choice to choose her and Ozone, but when Astrolysis and Nickel were the other main options, things didn't look especially promising.
She looked over briefly at her companion, trying to stifle the look of concern that was threatening to crack her icy veneer.
"Ah..."
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