Oh it was the happiest moment of her life when her father, the esteemed Kevin Quincy Jacob, surprised her with her own cotton candy machine. Oliver Jacob, at age seven, had squealed in the most childish way as she wrapped her arms around her father's muscled legs. She was short, about 3”8' with her curled dark crimson hair, shining dark blue-grey eyes, and round face, still containing the baby fat.
But in the midst of her lively banter, her father's next words crushed her enthusiasm and spirit. She had been assigned with her first mission. To put an end to her tutor who taught her in the subjects of languages and history every day since she was five. Inside, her heart was constricted in pain and dread but she didn't dare show any weakness to the man who taught her all there was to know about killing someone in the most quickest or torturous ways.
So the day the inauspicious tutor arrived at the front of the mansion once again to teach her as any day he did, Oliver held in her tears and forgot about the thought of turning back. Her little heart grew cold and built up defenses as she poured down the tasteless, dissolving, powder into the cup of tea.
Oliver knocked a few times with her little fist. “Come in” the man had said. She entered with a neutral countenance, careful not to expose the act she was about to preform. She placed the gleaming tray onto the table and offered the cup of Black tea, the tutor's favorite.
He gladly took hold of the cup, muttering thanks as he took a short sip. Oliver watched blankly when the cup dipped the the fluid entered his mouth. In the next second, the porcelain cup fell crashing down onto the marble floor. The delicate pieces scattered all over and the liquid formed a brown puddle on the floor.
His eyes went rigid and rolled back; his body limped and fell off the chair in a sprawled form. The soft thud of contact announced the death bells ringing erratically. The grim reaper was soon to come and take his soul.
She stood over the man and stared at the lifeless body in front of her and felt no remorse. To double check, she kicked the figure with her black lace up boots. She had done it. It was the first victim she ever laid hands on. The day had forever lived in infamy as the beginning of her life as an assassin.
