A/N: I'm coming off a bad case of writer's block so sorry if this isn't up to par with my other works, and sorry if Dwight sounds OOC because I've only seen the movie and read bits of the comic. Inspiration for this little one-shot came after I saw the film. I had all these poetic phrases describing Miho that I couldn't get out of my head. Moreover, I needed to work out her relationship with Dwight (I've got a rather odd theory that I'd be happy to share).
I'd like to dedicate this work to all the anti-heroes, renegades, forgotten warriors, and silent defenders of the world. Sometimes you gotta play by your own rules to set things right. --Hana Li

Disclaimer: Sin City belongs to Frank Miller.

Angel of Death

With silent wings, she descends from the rooftops to let men know that their time is up. They don't even see or hear her coming until it's too late for them. A whisper of steel, a gleam of silver, and it's over. For the unlucky bastards though, it's only just the beginning of their journey into Hell. That's my Angel of Death for you. Deadly little Miho.

When her job is done, she slips back into the darkness and waits. She waits like a tigress stalking her prey, ready to strike at the blink of an eye. You only see her when she lets herself be seen, and in most cases, you'll never be able to describe the magnificent sight to another.

Lucky me, I get to witness it over and over again. As if I'm some wealthy opera patron who goes so often that they save his seat. Miho is the prima donna, and she never disappoints.

She dances with her twin katanas, flitting between blows and bullets like a fairy working her spell. Her kimono flutters, though the night is windless. The moonlight on her pale skin makes her even more ethereal, more supernatural. Her black hair whips around her face as she carves up grotesque statues made of human flesh. Drops of blood fall like sakura petals– a poetic finale. The gruesome scene is inexplicably beautiful. She is beautiful.

And untouchable. I am not drawn to her like a moth to flame, as I am with Gail. I don't go stupid around her either. Instead my mind is clear, and I don't feel the urge to rush headfirst into my own destruction. I just stay fixed in one spot, focused on her. She, who is neither damsel-in-distress nor warrior woman, more apparition than human.

It's hard to believe she's the same girl I saved three years ago. Maybe that girl did die at the hands of the Tong. She died and became an angel– one who would deliver justice to those deemed unworthy of salvation. The lost souls who don't need God because they can look out for themselves. The guardian angel of Old Town is the Angel of Death. Ironic, considering that we'll all die in the end– probably sooner than the more privileged individuals, living comfortable and safe lives somewhere far away from these slums.

For now, she is more angel than Death to me. I continue fighting alongside this angel. Until the day Death comes for me, the day she points the blade at me. I'll be ready, and maybe then, I'll finally get a taste of heaven, of redemption, of deadly little Miho.