Scarlett stood in the dim chamber, the red hood drawn about her head like a shroud of blood. The light of the candles struck her face, pale and smooth, the shadows deepening the curve of her lips and the sharp clarity of her eyes. Those eyes were cold blue, watchful, and unwavering intensely watching your gaze. Not a scrap of love or kindness to be found therein.

Her cloak fell open to reveal the white of her blouse, bound tightly across her chest, the fabric straining against the weight it contained. The leather corset cinched her waist, its straps and buckles dark with use, each sound of its movement a faint creak that disturbed the silence. At her side, her gloved hand curled against the wood of the table, the faint scrape of leather against grain sharp in the stillness.

Her presence pressed upon the senses: the sight of red against the gloom, the faint creak of tight leather. There was beauty in her, yet it was a beauty edged with unease, as though she were, but a phantom. Appropriate as she never tarried long especially on the night of a full moon.

The air about her smelled of tallow and burnt wick, mingled with the faint musk of leather and iron. Her cloak carried the memory of the wilds -- the scent of the damp chill of night air, the faint trace of earth, and above all else, Blood.

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Her gender's female and her sex is too. Orientation is Heterosexual. Or so she assumes.

Hunting. Stalking. Transformation. Dark Themes. A theme in general. +6 lines of descriptive passages. Try me.