Night

Veronica

A gust of wind breezes past my face. I take it in, closing my eyes, the wind crisp and sharp as my daggers. The night is fresh and blood has yet to be shed.

I tighten my grip on the leather handle of the silver dagger, hiding behind a stone wall. My target is at least three meters away, far enough for me to lunge, wrap an arm over his struggling body and slit his bare throat. The thought excites me, as I sneak a glance at him.

He is unmoving, a sitting duck for an assassin, with a gold engraved telescope raised up to the stars. A rich velvet robe hangs from his shoulders and his jewel rings catch the glow of the crescent moon. He's like a walking, shiny advertisement for thieves.

The adrenaline is in my blood, and I choose the perfect moment to strike.

I tread in careful cat like steps, before I am close enough pin the dagger to the back of his soft neck. "Turn around." I see him tremble in the slightest as he lowers the telescope and does as told. The dagger has not left its place, or how else will my victim obey?

"What is it? What do you want? Money? Fame?" His voice is low, below tenor, but it is not of one that commands authority. It is more suited to an opera singer. I let a grin crawl to my thin lips, and relish in his utterly pitiful expression. His face is very tan, darker than mine and he has squinty, pale blue eyes and a wide mouth.

"Ha! What a joke." I step forward, the dagger pressing against the soft flesh of his neck.

"Ah, ah..." He clearly struggles to find words, any magical, million dollar words, that can save his life or simply stall the inevitable. Prey never fails to look so cute when they panic.

"Nevermind. You look nicer dead," I announce, as if it's a grand game, and thrust the dagger in his throat. His crystal eyes widen for a split second, before I pull back. The knife drips from the red liquid and I slide my tongue across its smooth, wet surface.

His glassy eyes stare at my wide, maniacal smile as he tilts back, and collides against the tiled pavement. The telescope drops from his hand, goes 'clink' then rolls away. As an astronomer, he will forever stare at the stars with those lifeless eyes. Isn't it beautiful?

After effectively cleaning my dagger from his blood, I sheath it once again and stride over to his side. An assassination always occur for a very good reason.
As I take his cold left hand and flip it over to see his palm, the 'reason' glimmers back. It is an elegantly tattooed seal, that looks beautiful and new as if time as not worn its splendour away.

Instead of my trusty dagger, I take out a smaller but sharper knife from my belt. To test its sharpness, I make a tiny cut on his wrist. Satisfied, I raise the knife and it falls down to slice the hand off his arm. I beam proudly, as the hand cleanly separates from its owner.

As blood oozes from the decapitated hand, I clean the knife swiftly. I return the knife with a brown pouch from my belt. Once its strings are loosened, I slide the hand inside.
I get to my feet-more alert now-and I secure the pouch, concealing it with my maroon cloak.

With short chant, a swirling portal opens up before me. The cool wind sweeps past, as if bidding me farewell. How poetic, I think to myself and leap into the mouth of the portal. It swallows me up, as usual, and disappears back into the pavement.

The night is still once again, and only the moon has overseen the assissination.