We've all heard the stories of her, but her name must forever remain unspoken. There she stood, the High Priestess of Hell. They tell that to know her is to suffer the full tortures of Hell for eternity. She spoke to me, whispered, to look into her eyes. And as I did so, I saw the underworld ocean, black, under a sunless sky, with fumes rising from the surface were no water vapour; instead they curled and eddied with a silvery-white luminescence. Whisps danced closer. In her eyes, a fire that didn't consume, it just kept on licking coldly.

A chill bore through Dolash's risque tunic as he pulled the thin, translucent cloth tighter across his chest. He squinted his eyes against the dark upon the pale visage perched upon the low branch of his tree within the courtyard. The woman turned towards him, making eye contact. There was no chill that tickled his spine, but instead he was frozen by fear as he recognized that aura: unadulterated bloodlust. The spell was snapped as she began to giggle like a little girl and dropped from the branch to the ground. Dolash went to defend himself, but she was gone.

The witch priestess is a glimpse of death.
Her body pierced my eyes with sorrow. Her sexy curvaceous figure brought pain to it's knees. Her eyes resembled winter at it's coldest moments. She stood in a puddle of blood, the blood dripped down her fingers and rolled off her cheeks down her chin, onto the floor. Her blades were sharper than razors. She was barely clothed, when I looked into her eyes, I saw my life flash before me. She could kill you with her words. She was a creature of lust, denizen of men. Her touch made me shiver.