In the dimly lit alleyways of the abandoned carnival, a woman emerged from the shadows. Her face was a canvas of crimson, smeared with blood that dripped from her eyes, nose, and lips. A haunting smile curled at the corners of her mouth as she navigated the deserted grounds. Her attire, reminiscent of the Art of Gothic, was a flowing black gown that contrasted starkly with her grisly appearance.

The Moon, a waning crescent, peered down from the starless sky, casting an eerie glow on her. She approached a crumbling clock tower, her footsteps muffled by the dead leaves that littered the ground. Within its decrepit walls, she recited an incantation in a language long forgotten, causing the clock to chime, its ghastly sound echoing through the desolation.

As the clock struck midnight, the woman's visage emptied of crimson, her expression shifting to one of tranquility. The blood was but a disguise, a mask to hide her true form - an angel without wings. She was the ever-watchful protector of the forsaken, ensuring that the balance between life and death remained unperturbed within her domain.

The ghastly show had come to an end, and the woman, now serene, disappeared into the night, leaving behind a tale of the ethereal transition between life and death. The carnival, which bore witness to her nightly ritual, remained oblivious to the immense power it harbored.