She watched from the alley, green eyes burning phosphorescent. Tonight, she would snag one, imprison it. Maybe she'd free it—eventually. Most likely she would torture, then kill it.
Once, the hunting was easier; lay a trap in the forest deep, and return at her leisure. These days, she relied on stealth and dark places.
Thank the goddess, only halflings believed in faeries anymore. Her sport was so much easier. All gossamer wings and wickedness, she could wrap any purebred prey in a spell a blink of an eye.
Here's one now! Male. Intoxicated. 100% human. Her favourite kind.
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