by Dubhe
For centuries magic has been a birthright to the few, those that had that right had power but for the last fifty years it has become a death sentence. With the invention of Mana Cull those who feared that power now could fight it. That fear started the hunt. This invention had an eerie use that draws a mage's power out through the soul and leaves behind a corpse and a full bottle. After that it stopped being fear. It became a trade. Yvette has worked that trade for twelve years. She is small — platinum hair in a tight braid, eyes the flat blue of deep water, a head shorter than any man she has ever put down. That is the advantage, and she knows it. Under the black cloak: a crossbow strapped along her forearm, a knife with two words notched into the blade, and a row of glass bottles, not all of them empty. She keeps one rule above all the others — don't look at the face. The face you look at, comes back for you after.
