Crimson Night

                She stood at the corner of the street, her hair red, dark, but unmistakably red.  Her face was a pale slate framed by her dark hair, rounded chin, dark eyes that could bore a hole through a wall if they were to stare just a little too long.  She wore a short leather jacket with sleeves that extended the length of her arms, just beyond the tips of her thin fingers.  It was zipped up to just under her chin where it hugged her neck, a clasp pulled across the front and belting holding it tightly closed.  Her boots were black, thick and capable.  The rest of her was covered in black as well, including a skirt, but not for style, for ability.  The two swords she had belted across her jutted hips said as much.  The gun belted to her other hip said more.

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