Lorraine McGee

Injustice Silenced

• Crouching just shy of the roof's edge a silhouette cast on the pavement below would inspire nightmares as if the shadow of a great horned predatory bird continued to stalk her prey. For days the hunt had been afoot, this man, his escapades, his vices. Losing himself in his sinful intoxication and taking women as he pleased, battering their faces until they hardly resembled anything other than butchered meat. Of course, none of this was the reason the shadow aimed her bolt at the door of a popular brothel. No, The Morrigan was the reason as the Goddess had demanded Lorraine for her talents. Weeks after the disappearance of the young woman named Mary, she had been thrown onto the steps of her mother's house as if to say she was little more than trash. This family had heard of the vengeance gifted to innocence stolen, the ritual was set, name called and the Goddess named: The Morrigan, Goddess of Death and Fertility. Through her, the Seven sent Lorraine and in the name of Mary, she would give peace to the girls he had tortured.
  
  A scream sounded in the uncaring night, Lore stood for a moment before stepping calmly off of the roof. Her skirt flared around her, mimicking the wings of a raven as she fell and rolled down, once onto the ground she crouched in the darkness. Her crossbow rose and rested against her right shoulder as she breathed in and out slowly to steady her dark intentions. She could play the waiting game, in fact, the woman found it relaxing as she waited for her prey to fall into her perfectly constructed trap. The plan was flawless. Execute the target, blend into the darkness and emerge on the other street where the speakeasies were. No one would question her presence there as she worked in the area.
  
  The man opened the door with women screaming at him in outrage and worry for their friend. Blood was all over the whore and upon the inside shirt, the target wore. Lorraine narrowed her eyes and once the door was slammed on him she placed her forefinger onto the trigger. The monster grinned and made his way down the stairs and practically skipped with his glee for the pain he had caused. For a moment she wondered how it would feel to take his life away while he was under her, writhing in pleasure and need. A small smile graced her lips as she pulled her trigger. A barely audible thunk could be heard as it hit the back of his head, he crumpled to the ground. The small woman had made sure the stayed shut upon him forever and as she clipped the crossbow up under her bustle she took out the calling card, a single raven feather dropped onto the corpse, letting the brothel know who had done this deed.