That Villain of Hers

//CHAPTER ONE//

Annalise is so stranger to sick people. Some (most) might say she's one herself. Oh yes, the twisted girl. The brutal one. The one you should stay away from.

And maybe she is sick and broken and vile and everything everyone says about her. But the path she has taken fits on her lithe muscled frame like a glove. Annalise did not have to adjust to her evil. It adjusted for her.

She stalks through the shadows, cloak pulled over her eyes. She grips tightly on the ornate knife strapped to her thigh - her deadly companion is about as long as her forearm, with faces carved into the hilt - minimal in their design, so you would have to look closely to know they were faces - and a lethally sharp blade. She turns down the street. Tonight, revenge will be served.

Annalise enters the tavern. While most would be rowdy at this hour of the night, this particular tavern is for those who deal in tricks and evil. It's not quiet, necessarily, but reeks of eerie calm. A blanket of whispers covers the place, of secrets traded and promises quietly made and broken. These are the places where people like Annalise haunt. 

The girl is sitting at a table in the back, with tarot cards spread out in front of her. Even though her face is mostly covered with a black translucent veil (all part of the act),  Annalise can tell it's her. Her client sits across from her, frowning down at the table in front of him. He picks a card. The psychic smiles, not un-venomously. She says something to him, presumably in that whispy drawl of hers, and he suddenly looks angry. Her expression doesn't waver. He says something again, louder. He slams his fist on the table. Annalise figures he must be drunk. The girl stands up and responds. She looks confident from here, the all-knowing, dark, graceful, unbothered fortune teller. The man stalks off. He doesn't pay.

Annalise walks over to the psychic girl's table, without ordering a drink. She sits down across from her and smiles.

"I would like a reading. If you are willing, of course."

The girl smiles lightly, without her eyes. Up close, Annalise can tell she's younger than she originally thought. Annalise's age, probably. Of course, Annalise had only seen her from afar. Underneath her sheer veil, the other girl has skin a few shades darker than Annalise's, long thick hair, and soft brown eyes. She has freckles all over her face and the part of her arms that are exposed. She's pretty. Annalise won't let herself get distracted by pretty girls. Especially not this one.

The girl spreads the cards out on the rickety table, face down. Annalise makes a shooing motion.

"No."

"No?" The girl looks like she's trying very hard to conceal her emotions. Her doe eyes don't look quite as innocent. In fact, they look nearly dangerous. Annalise knows how to deal with danger.

"No. I want a real reading. No gimmicks. I know what you are."

I know what you are. Even if she didn't know the mysteries behind the veiled girl, which she does, these five little words have proven to be a valuable weapon. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has something that can be used against them. And just like that, her facade finally breaks. Fear flickers across the psychic's face. 

"Fine." Her voice is lightly accented, though she much have been laying it on thick earlier. Annalise can't pinpoint where the accent might be from. She glances around "But...not in here. And don't kid yourself, I know what you're doing. I won't fall for all your tricks." We'll see about that.

The girl gathers up her things into a large leather bag. She starts towards the doors, weaving through the tables. Annalise follows close behind her. They pass many people with their faces covered - veils like the psychic's, masks, hoods like Annalise's, hats pulled low over eyes. It's an ominous choice, perhaps, but a common one in places like these. An identity is a tool like any other, a weakness. It should be hidden and revealed at the owners' leisure. And it can always be used as a weapon.

They exit the old bar, onto the street. The psychic girl leads Annalise to an alleyway a little down the street. They stand across from each other, and Annalise can barely make out the other girl's shadowy features in the darkness. 

"I have to be touching you." The psychic girl speaks first. Annalise nods and lets the girl place a hand on her shoulder. She expects her to close her eyes for the reading, but they stay open. she waits for a different moment of weakness. There it is. She can see her getting lost in the reading. She pulls her knife out of the strap beneath her cloak and pins the girl up against the dirty alleyway wall, knife a millimeter away from her throat.

"Tell me what you know about the murder of Davy Colin Elowen."

AN: look at me actually writing AND posting something (very short, surprise surprise)...must be a holiday or smth smh