1. She couldn't feel her nose.
Though she had no mirror, she knew her pale nose was red. Her lips were chapped, and all she desired in the world now was some chap stick. Maybe a pair of mittens. Though her bare feet screamed at her in protest, the cells divulged into an air so crisp and frosty it would numb them forever, she kept walking. Her black leather clothes kept her torso and legs warm, but her face and feet were freezing. She felt the slightest wisp of a touch at her neck, and whirled around, to see nothing there. She reached a hand up to feel it, and it was just a strand of her raven black hair, falling from the ponytail she clumsily pulled it into.
The mysterious woman walked along the night, somehow not being seen by the passing mortals. She stepped into a puddle, her bare feet recoiling instinctively. She cursed herself silently for not grabbing her boots, but she was much more comfortable barefoot. She leaped up, defying the laws of gravity, onto the side of the concrete wall and pushed off of it. Flipping and turning into the next wall. She gave one final push, and rolled onto the roof top of a bricked up restaurant. This restaurant used to be the crown jewel of this area, with people from all over the world flying in to eat here. The woman herself had came once.
But then one of the chefs got into a drunken stupor, fighting with the rest of the chefs, yelling and throwing things. He staggered onto the table and grabbed a waitress, a young girl with pretty blonde hair. He yanked her around, her arms flailing and her legs twisting. The other chef he had been fighting jumped onto the table with them, trying and failing to save the poor girl. But the psychotic chef twirled the knife in his hand, and with a wicked gleam, it landed into the girls ribs. Her unseeing eyes frozen wide in fear, her body curved unnaturally.
They closed down the restaurant, for no one wanted to eat at the haunted place. This made it a favorable place for the woman to meet up with her client. She waited, and at the slightest curl in the air, she turned. There was a man. He was dressed richly, his suit a deep, luxurious red. The knife in his hand was as black as sin, and he waved it and the shadows all around him disappeared. He had always done himself well, this man. He grinned at the woman, his straight white teeth sparkling. He spoke, his voice one of darkness and shards of evil.
She didn't answer.
"Oh, come on now!", he exclaimed,"You can't still be so wary around me."
She met his eyes, her black ones meeting the crimson. "Everyone is wary of you, Nikkor."
His smile widened, and it was not a pleasant one. "I blush. So what is the reason i'm here, love?"
She stepped closer, "I must admit, i'm surprised you showed up," she murmured,"You've been avoiding me."
The mans smile dropped, and his eyes glinted at her. Vivianna paid no heed,"Tell me where the girl is." He grin reappeared,"Shan't." She twirled, her nails slashing against his suit as fast as wind. But he darted back and laughed,"Not good enough." A snarl erupted deep in her throat, and her eyes flashed pure white. His smile dropped, and he turned and ran. Her nails grew into long, steel razors, and her hair lit up in flames. She leaped into the night sky and the mans running shadow was her target. Nikkor rolled just as she landed where he was seconds ago. He turned to run again, but she whipped forward and was in front of him. Her hair died down, and her nails shrank. She smiled,"Did you really think you could win?" He smile vanished, and she growled,"Now tell me, or I hurt you." His eyes flashed, and he twirled the knife in his pocket. He disintegrated into the shadows of the night, and Vivianna shrieked in anger and tried to grab him, but he was gone.