Moonlight strikes a young, bitter face. Her mouth is pulled in a tight frown, and her dark red hair has fallen into her face, where it lies dangerously close to her pouting lips. Two small hands are placed behind her body on the shingles of a great tower's roof. As she gazes up at the sky, a low, distant chime is heard. She turns her head, all of her brooding hate gone in a moment of fear. She, just like every other child in every other world, knows what the great clock is saying. The witching hour has just begun.