Monster Stories (Melancholic Euphoria's Tumblr Stories)

Drider Assassin

This is set in the same universe as the Ruby City, set in the same world as Aureus the Rakshasa. The drider doesn't have a name.

A/N: I haven't had the chance to write in so long: my laptop has decided to stop working, so I have been using my partner's laptop to write this. I apologise for the lacklustre this is!

Summary: An assassin who has come to claim his prize, though it is not what you expect.

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Dusk settles over a bleak sea of endless sand, dunes roll with the cooling air as the weather shifts, the temperature drops and night begins.

The night is when the silk flows more, the wine flows heavier and pleasure is endless. It is when most diplomats scheme, that sex is both a desire and strategy and death is necessary. That was what came from the lands of the Amethyst City: that love can be bartered the same way money is.

As a diplomat's daughter, you came to the city with your father, a spice trader from the east, looking to exchange with the many lords who too, came for the nights that awaited in the city of lust.

'It was the best way for you to learn', your father told you, the wine had been flowing heavy from his cup all night long, and the more you stood in his presence alongside the other men of the room, the sicker you felt to your stomach.

Plenty of times you asked to leave early your guest room, and every single time was denied. You couldn't stand to be looked upon by the men and women like a fresh platter to share, all with wanton gazes and needs to eat you whole.

It was because you were fresh meat, young and easy and pliable, all the words that they shared laughs on, but made you feel even further similar to a lamb to be slaughtered.

It came as no surprise that some of the men of the court had been so brazen in approaching you, their breaths stinking high with alcohol, promising endless hours of pleasure that made you wish to leap off the balcony and into the rocky cliffs below.

Of course, your father had been blind to their stares, the ways they whispered in your ear, until it became too much for you to even stand, storming out the room before your father could even register your departure.

It was only when the next morning came that your father had berated you at breakfast. It had been your fault one of the lords had asked for you to share his bed: that his wife – a very prominent figure in the city – had watched the entirety, vowing to deal with you.

You didn't care much about her threats: it hurt more that you were blamed for being there when she should've been at her husband's throat, but you carried on with your time within the city walls, keeping to smaller rooms with fewer people or keeping your nose in a book in the library.

It had only been the fourth night of your visit that when the rumours had died down you began to feel a little more sane. It had all been a rouse, you thought, dragging your body inside your room, the book you were nearly done with was neatly put on your dresser.

You began your nightly ritual of getting ready for bed, replacing the days of silks and perfumed hair with a needed bath and dressing for bed, before brushing your long curls, excitedly preparing for the night to be shared with your much-enjoyed book.

You had only finished braiding your hair, your back towards the door when you heard something thud to the floor, startling you from your thoughts. Your head whipped back, expecting a maid or guard to have burst through, but to your surprise, your door remained shut.

You glanced back and forth to the open balcony, watching the way the curtains drifted with the air. It was still humid, but you still felt a shiver trace down your spine as you spotted what had fallen to the floor.