She appears as an ethereal flowing shroud with the suggestion of a shapely female body underneath.  It is said that the Pale Night's true form is so hideous and terrifying that reality itself rejects it.  The shroud she "wears" hides it.  To glimpse Pale Night's true form is risking madness and death.

Yet never rises high enough to reveal the details that writhe beyond.

Preventing onlookers from glimpsing the true, maddening wrongness of her existence.

An unknowable enigma, shrouded in mystery, a horror so great rejected by reality itself.

Touch shatters minds and warps self-image.

Succumbing to it, finds their exterior forms reflect their innermost fears and desires.

Becoming literal images of themselves.

Not content with that, nevermore, with her powers.  The bewitching sight of her.  Her gaze, that can madden or slay, now can bewitch and beguile.  The very closeness of her, even in her flesh.  Through her flesh!

"Mama Blake!  Can we go out for ice cream?!"

"Auntie Blake!  I wanna go to the park!"

Oh, cuties, not right now, it's girls night out now.  Hearing from her Bestie, I don't feel like going out.  Oh, my Princess from Camelot, there's a club we need to go to.  Look at the picture I drew, Auntie Blake.  Blake smiles at the pretty little girl that reminds her of a Camelot child she met.

The phone rings.  It's from her personal lawyer.  There's a knock on the door that she hears.  Mumbling sounds draw her attention back to the task at hand while she finishes dressing up.  Fingering her red heel of fashion on, Blake sets her feet in place and turns, letting the mumbling gagged person tied up in a chair see her.  Can't really scream that loud, this one's eyes so wide, can't really move because of the bindings, he's about to die.

Her phone keeps on ringing.

Her BFF's wondering what's keeping her.

They kinda know what's up with her.

Yet, mostly they don't.

Bewitched them all!

Someone's still knocking on her door.

Serial killer, cannibal, necromancer, murderess, it's great in this modern world, this present age!

Not like back in the old days of Earth and other worlds that's backwards.  Never needing any proof.  Just burn at the stake.

The hunger.  It shows in her face, her eyes that roam on down to her victim, who just happens to be a cop.  The knocking's annoying, but something's itching the back of the witch's mind, and her serrated knife stops.  Probably for the best.  Get blood on all this white.  She's really set on going out with her BFF's.

That gaze of hers rises, extends out to the door of her bedroom and beyond, to the door of her apartment.

"Ah, so there's a friend looking for you."

A Manhattan police detective is at her door.  Not only that, he's of the religious persuasion.  A priest?!

Something's not right.  She's being investigated?

Oh, Reality and the Universe, are you shitting me???!!!

"Don't go anywhere."

Knife put away, sleep spell cast, Blake Knight goes to her door, her bedroom door locked away from her guests, the phone from her lawyer stopped ringing, Blake opens the door.

"Hi!"

Nice.  This handsome fucker is Irish.