His fangs glistened as he laughed at my courage. Circling me for the third time, he paused to pluck an innocent rose from my floppy hair. Once so gorgeous, my outfit now barley condoned those of a peasant. Cursing under my breath from his touch, I glanced into his steel blue eyes. They had a vacant look about them. Forcing myself to look away, I unsheathed my sword.
This particular sword had been passed down through the Jones family for decades. From the eldest of them all, great grandmother Josie had been given this sword to protect all humans from the Pishacha race. Having succeeded until the thirtieth moon, she hid the metal reflection of her honor, until it was to be battled with once again by the seventh daughter of the Jones family...and that would be me.
