This city is a dame with a broken heart and a loaded gun. I used to sing her lullabies; now I just clean up the blood. Name’s Widow.

My silk ain’t for sewing; it cuts cleaner than a razor and hits harder than a cheap whiskey hangover. I modified this Typewriter to spit webs, ‘cause in this town, you gotta catch the flies before you squash ‘em.

Don’t let the dress fool you, sugar. I don’t dance anymore. I hunt. Watch your step—the shadows bite back.