"We weren't meant to be good. We were meant to survive."
Zerlinda has had a sword hanging over her head ever since her father's disappearance.
With her cowardly mother good as dead, Zerlinda is forced to accept a bargain with Hades, the God of Deat...
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Long before...
Zerlinda was seventeen when she was first tempted to kill without Hades's blessing.
She verified the time on the pocket watch she had stolen from her last victim. Ten past midnight. Thirty minutes she had been waiting now, surrounded by all too many people in one of Eldoris's most packed pubs. With her patience slipping, so did her control over the heightened senses brought on by Hades's brand on her neck. She heard every pulse ringing in her ears as much as her very own, heard the voices of every person sitting at the bar nearby twice fold. The incoming headache she felt arrive was promise all on its own that she would never again agree to meet in such a disgusting place.
The bartender glared at her from across the room. Zerlinda figured his anger was directed towards the fact that, though she had been sitting at her table for a while, she had yet to order anything. That bartender could go to hell, for all she cared. She had little money on her as it was, and she would rather have been caught dead than have to spend it on his cheap excuse of alcohol. Manners be damned. It was business she sought, after all.
Zerlinda felt her guest enter the pub before she saw him. Looking up from her watch, she met eyes with him. From the ragged black cloak barely covering his shoulders to his poor posture and frayed clothing, Zerlinda could almost never have guessed that the man she had agreed to do business with was apart of the king's royal guard.
All the better for both her and him.
The man made his way to her from across the room. As he came closer, Zerlinda became able to discern his pounding heart from the rest of the crowd. Where the average drinker's heart beat with alcohol heightened excitement, William Blacke's heart pulsed with anxiety and fear. He looked over his shoulder once, then twice before even addressing her.
"Is it done?" He asked, his voice thick with emotions that conflicted one another too much for Zerlinda to fully comprehend them.
Zerlinda took out the watch she had taken from the dead body and tossed it at him. Blacke turned it over, as if uncertain of its authenticity. Dareios Joran, it read. All the confirmation the guard needed.
"He put up a bit of a fight, but it was no hassle." Lie. The nobleman hadn't so much as tried to stop her, almost as if he knew his fall would be inevitable. What he had done to deserve it, she did not know, and quite frankly, didn't care to know. All she knew was that she likely would not be there had he been prepared.
She could only hope it would be enough for Blacke.
She extended her hand out. Blacke quickly patted his clothing. After a few moments, he handed her a small pouch. She emptied it on the wooden table and counted her coins.
The realization only truly hit her once all ten silver coins were laid out on the table, but when it did, she saw red.
"This," she hissed out, "is hardly half of the sum you promised me." She heard Blacke's heart beat faster, and now fully understood why so much fear had been traceable in his pulse when he had first come in.
