Shadowfire & The Nymph

Chapter One

The Ghost flexed her long, thin fingers before grasping the smooth windowsill, prying the wood from the base and soundlessly lifting the glass pane. She slid her eyes to the street. No witnesses. Only the moon stared at her as she slipped into the house silently as a wraith.

This was the fourth house she had entered tonight. As much as the wealthy valued their money, which was a lot, they were careless. The Ghost was thankful to the Gods for their arrogance; their belief that they were untouchable.

Of course, she had saved this house for last. It was her golden ticket. She had been eyeing it all summer, and with the Winter Solstice celebration being held this evening, she knew the family would be elsewhere.

Nevertheless, she was cautious. She ran her eyes over the expensive decorations and needless frivolity of the kitchen and padded her way along the quiet, moonlit hallways, always keeping close to the wall.

Her long braid inched along her cloaked shoulder as she peered through the crack of an ajar door and felt her eyes brighten. There, on the table, strewn haphazardly as though worthless, were gemstone earrings, a diamond necklace and a gleaming dagger with a glistening black hilt, and four crystal eggs - which she knew even one to be worth more than her entire family's food ration for a year. 

Oh, she was happy this family's fool of a daughter had spat at her feet now. 

Wretched bitch she thought.

Having learned from her mistakes, one resulting in an ugly pink scar marring the skin of her left cheekbone to her upper lip, The Ghost fingered for the jar of black oil in her leather bag and twisted it open with a soft pop, wrinkling her nose at the sour smell. That mistake nearly got her caught; killed, even. Thankfully, he didn't see her face, only his scythe had that pleasure. Thank Gods she had worn her thickest gloves that evening, or her pursuer would have recognised the scars along her fingers, the freckles on her bony hands.

She coated the door hinges generously and held her breath as she toed the door open slightly, ready to throw herself back down the shadowed hall if it so much as whispered too loudly against the plush carpet. 

The door edged open without squeak nor groan, and The Ghost smiled to herself wickedly, mentally preparing for the smug smile she would receive when she told Reynar that the oil he conjured up had worked.

Carefully placing the sealed jar back into her bag, she stepped into the grand room, which she assumed was a living space - the deep cushioned couch and the wall lined with oak-wood bookshelves confirmed her assumption. 

She eyed the worn books for a moment before reminding herself to keep focused; how privileged these people were to own such things. She crouched before a low, dark, wooden table and eyed the palm sized eggs on their silver stands. She nearly snorted considering how the wealthy presented their riches so blatantly and carelessly, as though that was all they had to offer – as though compensating for the bland, empty void they filled with glittering jewels and pretty dresses. 

She grabbed the ink-stained cloth from her cloak pocket and wrapped each egg and stand separately, depositing them in her bag as quickly and gently as she could, being careful not to damage her other goods. The gemstone earrings went next, followed by the sparkling diamond necklace. She felt the cool metal hilt of the dagger bite into her palm as she twisted it, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into forging something so elegant yet deadly. Feeling slightly irked that she would have to part with the dagger, she took one last look at it and stuffed it in the bag. She didn't particularly need it anyway - she was armed to the teeth beneath her clothes. 

Satisfied, The Ghost stood, allowing herself to longingly run her eyes over those books once more, before leaving the room. She moved back through the house quickly, making sure to pull the door back to what it had been like before she was there. The oil would dry, leaving only a bleak stain. With any luck, the arrogant residents of the house would think they had misplaced their ridiculous eggs and lost their jewellery, though she didn't think that would be the case with the dagger. It was a beauty, to be sure. Oh well, they wouldn't find her anyway.