A sudden visitor 2

The East had grown quiet again.
But not for the same reasons.
Where once her beauty lulled travelers into death, now her presence alone was a warning.She didn’t sing anymore.She didn’t smile.She hunted without music.
They called her The White Widow, a name born from silence and sealed in white gloves.
One day, a warrior from a southern tribe stepped into her land.
He was strong—twice the size of a man, covered in beastbone armor and swinging an axe made of thunder. He had heard rumors of the ghostly maiden with split-colored eyes.And he had come to slay her.
“Come out, witch!” he shouted into the pale fog. “I’ve fought beasts deeper than your magic!”
No answer. Just mist.
Then came the scent—flowers. Lilacs, faint and unnatural.
A figure emerged, floating rather than walking. A woman in shadow, white gloves glinting. Her eyes: one sapphire blue, the other a bleeding red. No weapon. No armor.
Just elegance.
The warrior growled. “You think beauty scares me?”
She tilted her head.
Then… snapped her fingers.
The fog exploded with images—his past, his guilt, the screams of his kin, the broken bones of his father. Illusions crafted not from magic, but memory.
He staggered. “What is this!?”
She walked toward him without a sound.
He raised his axe. “STAY BACK!”
She smiled.
In a blink, she was behind him.
The axe hit the ground.His mouth opened. No words came.
Her white glove caressed his shoulder once…And his heart stopped.
No scars. No wound. Just death.
As the body fell to its knees, the fog rolled back, revealing her standing like a statue of sorrow and power.A new kind of monster.
A deadly kind of queen.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The slow, sarcastic applause echoed through the trees.
“Oh my stars,” came a familiar voice, “she got an upgrade.”
From a crooked path stepped the Jack of No Trade, twirling his scythe like a child’s toy. His grin, ever eternal, stretched wider as he saw her again.
“You even got a title now, huh? White Widow? Sounds dramatic. I love it!”
She said nothing, her eyes cold.
He skipped forward. “I was just scouting for real estate, but look at this! You took the East? My, my…”
He bent at the waist, exaggerated like a theater actor, his mask shining in the dusk.
“Milady, your performance was breathtaking. Very widow-y.”
She finally spoke. “This territory is taken.”
“Oh, I can see that,” he said, straightening up. “Wouldn’t dare ruin such lovely stage lighting.”
He walked past the corpse of the warrior, gave it a nudge with his foot, then looked back at her.
“You’ve changed,” he said softly. “Less lullaby… more funeral.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a problem?”
He chuckled. “No.It’s kinda sweet, actually. Tragic. A little heartbreaking. Like a love story that ends in fire.”
He twirled his scythe one last time, then bowed again.
“Carry on, your widowship. I’ll find another playground.”
As he disappeared into the fog again, his final words danced through the air like falling confetti.
“One day, darling…We’ll have a duet.”
And just like that—
He was gone.
But his visit left something behind. Not fear. Not war.Just… a lingering smirk in the shadows.