Mad As A Hatter

Ryker Pov:

I remember the nights my grandfather would sit me down by the fire, his eyes glinting with a mixture of fascination and fear. He'd tell me stories of the old country, of legends and myths that had been passed down through generations.

But one story in particular would send shivers down my spine. A story about a killer, one who was said to be driven by a darkness so profound, it defied human understanding.

"They called her the Shadow Weaver," my grandfather would whisper, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames. "A woman with eyes as black as coal, and a heart full of malevolence. She'd stalk her victims under the light of the full moon, her presence marked by an unearthly chill."

My grandfather's eyes would gleam with a knowing light, as if he'd seen the Shadow Weaver himself.

"Some said she was possessed by a demon, one that fed on her darkness and grew stronger with each kill. Others claimed she was a witch, cursed by the gods for her wicked ways."

I'd listen, entranced, as my grandfather spun his tale. And when he finished, I'd lie awake, my mind racing with images of the Shadow Weaver, her black eyes watching me from the shadows.

Years later, I'd become a detective, tasked with solving the unsolvable. And I'd never forget the legend of the Shadow Weaver, the killer who'd haunted my childhood dreams.

Little did I know, our paths would soon cross, and the darkness that had driven her for centuries would become my own.