Writing Sample:

It got away. Whatever that thing was, man or beast, it managed to slip through her fingers once more, a mere glimpse of a shadow that vanished on the rooftop of one of the older buildings before she could do so much as blink.

"Cliff.” One bat-like ear turned at the sound of her voice while beady eyes remained concentrated on that one single spot on the decrepit building. That was enough, she supposed; it was odd, though not all that of an unwelcome change if she had to be honest, to see her familiar so focused. “Would you be a dear and go on without me, please? See if you can catch its sent.”

At her request, Cliff turned to face not her but something hidden in the fog settled over the bay. “What about the boy?” a voice not unlike a man’s came from the doberman, though it never once opened its mouth, wet nose twitching in the humid air.

“Leave that to me, old friend,” Ophelia instructed with a smile and a dismissive wave of her arm. Complying, the familiar’s canine form shifted into that of a big black bird that flew off into the murky sky, leaving her with no other choice but to uphold her end of the bargain and step deeper into the fog. Blind to her surroundings but trusting Cliff’s sense of smell, she kept on walking until she stepped on something softer and more yielding than pavement.

A sound somewhere in between a yelp and a grunt left her throat as she flinched back. With one swoop of her arm, the fog cleared just enough for her to make out the figure laying on the ground. Violet eyes widened at the sight of a human body slashed beyond recognition, a mess of red stained skin and fabric, lying face down (or at least it looked that way) on a pool of drying blood. Not the most pleasant sight.

Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, Ophelia held it to her mouth and let her eyes roam over the body, unable to hide the heavy frown that marred her features. “How disgusting,” she whispered under the piece of cloth, yet unwilling to take her eyes off the horrible sight as she searched for something.

After a while she found it, a wallet half buried under the human’s twisted arm and, fortunately, not as damaged as its owner. A flick of her wrist was enough to make the object float to her, documents and cards coming out one by one and arranging themselves in front of her so she could read them.

Cliff was right. This one was not a man, but a boy, a student. What was a young adult doing in such a place at this late of an hour she could hardly guess, but also could not care less about. Let the other humans worry about that.

With the wallet put in its former place, she finally let herself back away from the victim and regain her composure, handkerchief safely tucked back into the pocket of her vest.

“‘Every stroke of a Scriber’s pen is a wish’, isn’t that what you told me?…” Though fondness touched both her words and the half smile that tugged at her lips, sorrow stained her gaze. “I wonder what sort of wish created you, my murderous friend.”