Blackbird

Chapter 2

As we wondered through various alleyways, pubs and various fighting halls that I tried hard to avoid, I began to feel homesick. I was very much expected to leave with Ilva and never return, but did I really want to? The answer was obvious. No.

At last, Ilva told me we were going home. She led me through some stone cold iron gates, and and started up a long path, the view shrouded by trees and shrubs. As I followed her, I vaguely wondered what her house would look like. I had imagined Ilva's house to be a dump, the closest thing to living on the streets as you could get. I was very wrong.

Ilva may have been a wanted culprit, thief and well known killer, but at least she had taste.

A swish carpet of crimson led me up to the main house. Pale colours of cream and white contrasted beautifully with the carpet, and the baby blue windows. As she led me through the grand oak doors, I got a full glimpse of the interior of the house.

In the center of the hallway, a winding staircase threaded upwards, drawing attention to the complicated paintings on the walls, all drawn and painted by hand. Vibrant flowers produced a delicate but almost overwhelming fragrance to the house, and lamps added a touch of middle-age decoration.

I didn't want to admit it in front of Ilva, but it was very nice. I turned to her.

"How are you not found in a big house like this?" I asked, trying not to sound too over-awed.

She sounded almost smug as she replied, "You know that long path I led you on? It was swarming full of cameras, automatically triggered weapons and watchmen. A good thing you only walked where I walked, or you would have been blown to bits by now."

"Oh", I said, all visions of the stunning house suddenly forgotten, "Isn't it hard getting in and out of the house then?"

She smiled a white toothed grin, "I tend to go through the side door."

I don't know why, but I shuddered. How many people had been silenced whilst possessed by the beauty of the big house, just as I had been?

As it was late (3 in the morning in fact), Ilva just showed me the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, her room and the weapons room.
"Just in case", she said, whilst locking the door, "Wouldn't want you sleep walking in, would we?"

I didn't ask how she knew.

As I lay in my patchwork quilt covered bed, and stared up at the patterned ceiling, I made a decision.
I wasn't going to play her game.
But if I was forced to, I was going to play by my rules instead.

I was leaving.