GOLDEN AGE | ON HIATUS

I | NARCISSA

huge thank you to rubyruins for these gorgeous banners!
[ 01 ]

A LONG TIME AGO, she had discovered the line between hero and villain was a thin one, indeed.

A long time ago, she had walked it freely, an acrobat clinging on by the mere curl of her toes.

A long time ago, she had fancied herself some sort of vigilante, a masked saviour operating under the cover of darkness.

Tonight, Narcissa knew that she would never be able to walk that line again, not after what she was about to do. Feeling for the pistol in her pocket, she chewed on the inside of her cheek. Her feet were silent on the worn asphalt of the road, completely empty save for the occasional car every few minutes.

With a resounding screech, a huge animal that resembled a tiger more than a cat came to a halt, glassy orb-like green eyes narrowed into slits.

"What is it?" she murmured, rubbing her fingertips beneath the feline's ruff, hiding her tiny smile as it purred richly. Cocking its head, it stared at a spot in the distance, and Narcissa instinctively cocked her gun.

Tonight, they were not alone.

Usually, she would've gotten Ayana to chase down their rogue buyer, but her accomplice had insisted she do it. Even she seemed scared by the mystery shrouded around the man that bled gold. It wasn't like her to avoid such a high-pressure chase. Usually, Ayana seemed to thrive in it, soaking up the nerves and creating something, perhaps, even worse. Narcissa preferred tactics, strategizing master plans and sticking to them - if anything went wrong, and it rarely ever did - she had six more escape routes or defences up her sleeve.

Swallowing, she stepped forward, the cat curving sleekly around her feet. Her hair swung with the movement, the night air cool on her skin. Beads of moisture from the mist slid down her face, droplets on her thick black lashes. Even her gloved hands were wet, cold and clammy beneath the black material. The necklace around her neck, a smiling silver chain tapering into a fat pointed diamond, stuck to her damp skin, the neckline of her plain black top not high enough to cover it.

It was meant to be seen - and people would know that she was either rich enough to afford it or a good enough thief to acquire it and keep her sticky fingers firmly clasped around it. It dared them to reach out and try to grab it before they were flung to the other end of the street, coughing up their own blood, hot and sticky as it trickled out of their sorry mouth. As far as records went, no one had managed to steal it successfully apart from Narcissa herself. Most ended up dead, comatose, or both in a varying order.

Her leather jacket hugged the curves of her body, packed with lean muscle that looked as if it had swallowed a skinny frame whole. As a child, she'd been a tiny little thing, but her teenage years had added a few inches to her height that she'd been impatiently waiting for all her life. With heavy eyebrows and red lips, the deep colour of dried blood in the dim light coming from the headlights of the car in front of her, Narcissa almost resembled one of the demons of Semper City.