The Lady In Black

Chapter 1 (The Lady In Black)

The blood pooled onto the floor as Mr. Watson's mangled body lay on the bed. The weeping Mrs. Watson was kneeling in the pool of her husband's blood as it soaked into her nightgown. Mrs. Watson in her state of grieve crawled to my feet and pleaded her voice cracking and raw, "Please, please. I beg you, Lady In Black, find the tyrant who did this." I gently hoisted the woman off the ground and led her out of the room to begin my so-called investigation.

Hours went by like minutes as I examined the room, the body. Nothing so much as pointed toward who the killer may be, the doors and windows had stayed locked the entire night. Yet, the killer had somehow slipped in, in the dead of night, and left nothing but a body. There was only one person capable of such a murder.

An assassin, the best of her kind, never heard or seen by a single soul. Yet, everybody knew her name Wanheda, the commander of death, the whispers rippled down the streets when once again her wrath was unleashed upon the poor citizens of London.

After a long day of investigation, I sat down for tea with Mrs. Watson. Her eyes red from the tears, still wearing the gown with her husband's blood. "The investigation has been inconclusive and I shall return sometime this week to continue my search."

"But, Madam, you promised you would find..." A sob escaped Mrs. Watson's throat before she could continue.

"Mrs. Watson, you must understand a detective's work isn't easy, but I am doing everything in my power to avenge your husband's death."

The widow was passed words, so she silently in a trembling hand slid the money across the table. On that note, I gripped Mrs. Watson's hand, took the money, and headed out the door.

A black carriage adorned in gold awaited my departure. I silently slid in the back and knocked three times on the roof signaling to the coachman, and the carriage off

I released a sigh of relief as I loosened my corset and unpinned my bun, and let my fiery red curls rest on my shoulders. The light breeze blowing the delicate flames out of my face. The world at peace around me yet I burned within. That was when the memories of the past came rushing in. The laughs and the giggles, the chocolates at tea, and the final sunset before the war. He was so young, so, so young. When the news had come he had fallen, my world had shattered. He was all I had, all I had left.

The day he died on that battlefield, I died right alongside him. I have not been the same since, all the skills I had, I had turned to bring people harm. I wanted the world to suffer the way I had. I wanted the world to scream the way I screamed. I wanted the world to die the way I died.

The rest of the carriage ride home passed in a blur. Slowly we pulled up to my towering manor surrounded by beautiful flower beds, pathways, and statues. I slid out of the carriage on silent feet and made my way inside to the beauty that lay within. This beautiful manor, and for what? I share it with no one but my servants and butlers. My home may seem light and beautiful but only for my maids. Yet for me, it was full of darkness and depression, not a shred of the happiness that used to thrive here when we had bought and made it our own. I made my way to my room, yet again the servants had cleaned it, and yet again I was going to mess it up. I sat on my dark sheets, lay down, and tumbled into a dark and dreamless sleep, full of misery and pain.