Slowly she she lifts the hood of her dark embroidered cloak, placing it on her head, shrouding her face, enclosing it in darkness. Bunching her skirts, carefully she lifts them, stepping over the now dismembered corpse of her latest suitor. His once handsome face tinged blue, streaked with the shocking scarlet of his own blood which pools around his body. The once crisp white snow sticky with the stuff, tainted the deep lush colour if cruor.
Quietly she walks toward the frozen lake, blooded dagger in hand. She kneels down by the edge finding the part where the ice is thinnest and smashes it, revealing the freezing waters beneath. Knife in hand she plunges her arms into the murky depths and begins to clean away the congealed blood from the weapon. Once it's clean she pulls out her sodden hands, frozen from the water, and attempts to warm the up before sliding the clean dagger into the sheath in her boot and places her hands into her fur lined gloves. She exhales sharply in relief, her breath crystallising in the cool air, glad she has one again completed another daring assassination unscathed.
She knows that the time must be getting late as dusk had already settled in and night was beginning to fall. Hastily she begins to retreat from the woods, heading back along the narrow path back toward the neatly kept gardens of the manor. Hurriedly she reaches the small servants door and after scanning around silently opens the door and slips into the shadows.
