I wrenched the arrow out of the concrete and hid it behind the stack of books, careful not to be seen.
Back in the safety of my room I let the books tumble to the foot of my bed and carefully carried the arrow to my desk. I untied the intricate familiar knot that Sofia taught me so many times. My heart swelled with happiness and hope at being able to contact her.
I meticulously unfolded the carmine fabric and peered at the inky loops. I quickly scanned the writing and my delight drifted to dread. Panic pooled in my chest as I connected the dots about what the message was leading up to.
My eyesight began to blur. Fat tears began to pool at my waterline. My stomach twisted and recoiled. I kept reading and the tears leaked like a current escaping a cracked dam, falling faster and faster as the concrete eroded. I didn't notice I was crying. I don't think I noticed anything else at that moment.
Even though my eyes spilled, my expression stayed dead. I let the fabric fall meaninglessly to the ground and did the same thing I did when Father beat me and when Mom died alongside so many others. I receded into myself, the gleam in my eyes being killed.
Just as Sofia was killed.
YOU ARE READING
An Assassins Escape
Historical FictionIm pretty much fucked. I'm a lot of things, but now I can confidently say that I'm stupid as well. But would I do it again? Yes, yes I would. If it got me off these horrible Isles, I would do pretty much anything. ________________________________...
