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What it means to be a Nightingale

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Goes the Nightingale's wings

In the dead of night, flying just out of sight

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The little bird sings

For in all its days, it never does sway

And when its end comes by, it does not cry

For when it dies, it truly flies

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It was cold outside. Not snowy, nor stormy just cold and damp.

The ticking from the grandfather clock halted as it finally chimed with the hour.

BONG.

          BONG.

                         BONG.

Samantha looked over the file she was handed, with the news of her favorite assassin's death. It was almost impossible to make her feel angrier than she felt at that moment of understanding that, yes, someone had the nerve to kill one of her people. Not only kill them but rob them off all they had on them. The body itself was beaten, bloody and broken. Were it not for the tattoo marking them as one of her own, she wouldn't have recognized them. 

She sighed, rubbing her temples in frustration, analyzing the nature of the death was something she couldn't do at that moment. *Knock, knock, knock* she heard the familiar rapping at the door of her office. "Come in." She spoke, bold and defined despite the storm of emotions tempting her voice to stutter. As the door opened, she needn't glance up towards the figure approaching her to know who it was. "What is it, Eric?" She asked, reaching for some wine and glasses from her desk. She heard the man shuffle and sit up on her desk before he spoke, "Can a husband not visit his dear wife? I'm merely doing my duty of checking in on you.~" She chuckled, practically hearing the smile in his voice. "It's late, darling. I'd expected you to be asleep or working late on your little 'Passion Project'. I'm not opposed to the company either way, you know." She poured a random wine- Aged since 1989? eh good enough- into the glasses, before handing a glass to her beloved. He accepted the offering, giggling as their hands briefly made contact. "You know me too well Sammy. But no, I was just a bit worried about you. You aren't one to let your emotions overtake you like this has." He motioned to the file still spread out on her desk.

Samantha finally looked up and made eye contact with her love. He held a look of concern behind that trained smile and thick pair of glasses. She sipped from her glass as she formulated a response. "... I won't deny my anger. But I can't help it. He was one of our best assassin's and he was just... Taken out! Like that! I barely recognized him in the state he showed up in, hell, I can barely recognize him now! I just-" she took a breath, "frustrating." She finished, as she placed her glass down and looked at her husband, who was currently examining the picture of the body attached to the file. "My dearest songbird, would you like me to search the body for and clues as to who the assailant may be?" He chuckled as he leaned over to Samantha's ear, a gesture he only ever seemed to use with her. "I could find a name. A face... Anything to help my one and only love. ~" God, she loved this man, he knew just what to do to lift her mood. "Why, that would be lovely, thank you my dear." She kissed his neck, feeling his breath hitch against her ear. "Of course. This is what is means to be a Nightingale, is it not?"