Chapter Text
Eryja never knew much about light and goodness. The ways she were taught had more to do with the darkness. Evil. Death.
The woman who gave birth to her didn't have much of a face to be remembered by. She willingly gave her child up when she was old enough to walk.
Eryja remembers when she first had to kill someone. She was ten. She wanted to prove herself after being told she was nothing. That she was weak.
She didn't remember the victim's face. Only the smell of their blood.
Eryja soon learned killing was a sure way to get what she wanted. To get people to do as she said. To earn respect.
To be feared.