Forbidden

Chapter Eight

Thanks so much everyone! (: I can't express that enough. I've been looking for some good music to listen to while I write. Normally, I listen to the Skyrim soundtrack (yes I play it) but I'm looking for something more medieval. I had a suggestion for Merlin on BBC, as it turns out my parents and sister love that show so yes, I've been listening to that. (; But if you have any suggestions, let me know. (:

Oh yeah... this is the chapter that's gonna revolutionize the story. No big deal. (;

Chapter 8:

Garen had never felt more insecure… or self-confident. As he stood in front of the mirror in Katarina's room, he couldn't help but strangely admire himself. Never before had a Demacian worn such a garment, but never before had a Demacian infiltrated their enemy city-state. As he straightened his tie, a thought panged in the back of his mind: was this really what this was all about? Democracy? Peace? Those were the things he had been told as he grew up, but at Katarina's revelation, he couldn't help but wonder if his childhood learnings had been lies as well.

Tonight would be the night he would find out. He didn't think that it would be the most exciting thing he would ever do in his career, but it would definitely unlock some answers that everyone was waiting to find out. Vaguely, he wondered what Noxian parties were like; were they anything like Demacian balls? From the outfit he was wearing, he didn't believe they were.

They were always told that Noxus was everything opposite from Demacia. With that in mind, Garen thought of the most vulgar, explicit, horrible gathering ever, and cringed at the thought. As he sunk to her bed, he looked behind him: they had laid in between those sheets all day, not daring to move. Never once had either of them spoken of what they were about to do now; there was a chance neither of them would return, and they didn't need to acknowledge that.

"Are you ready?" Katarina asked from the doorway.

Garen looked up to see her, and his heart couldn't help but skip a beat. Her red hair was pulled down over her shoulders in loose waves. She wore a tight black dress with a sweetheart neckline, and it raised to just below her thighs. Her heels were lacey and black, about four inches tall. In justification for this vulgar thoughts, he stood and searched for a weapon on her person, reminding himself that they were here to get this done.

"Yes," he replied.

Katarina smiled at him and walked over to where he was standing. She smoothed her hands over the shoulders of his tuxedo and ran them down his arms. With a nod of approval, she led him downstairs to where Talon was waiting, dressed in the mirrored image of Garen, wearing a suit and tie. They nodded to eachother: it was time to execute phase one.

The music blasted through Garen's veins as the three walked down the black carpeted stairs into the major area where the party was being held. He had never heard such a sound in his life: as he was used to harps and strums. This beat had a much larger bass and the people danced in jumping motions, as if it was some kind-of a game. Katarina pushed her hair over her shoulders, the red representing a striking image. At first, Garen was afraid someone would have spotted them, but no one was paying them any ounce of their attention.

The party was everything Garen had imagined: everyone was dressed in black and white with lights flashing and the music blaring. There was no simplicity to this what-so-ever; it was such a change that he took a moment to pause and take it all in. The attendees were almost on top of one another, grinding, shaking, with their hands in the air. Was this custom?

Without a word, Katarina squeezed Garen's hand. He laced his fingers through hers and she led him in the opposite direction of where Talon was headed. Garen's mind was momentarily blurred as he allowed her to lead him in a more secure location where he could actually hear her.