Woman of Sorrows-The Black-Veiled Woman

The World of Men

Two Years Prior

Days and nights became longer the lonelier she was. Alone. She had never been truly alone since her days as a slave. Thane had always been there for her, but no longer. She did not even know if he was waiting for her. Why should he? She was dead. Deep inside, she allowed herself to hope he would wait, even believe that he was. But outwardly, she denied it. She did not hope he married another, but if it would make him happy, he deserved it, far more than he deserved the fallen creature she had become.

As the days in her new life dragged on, she began to become a little more social. She began to eat out, at inns so to be around other people. Some days, it depressed her. She would see couples, married and courting, and wish she was with Thane again. However, it gave her the advantage of being able to see what society was like. The more she saw of it, the less she liked it. Drunkenness was common, even in the middle of the day. People laughed loudly and were disrespectful to their superiors, servers, and elders.

That day, she sat by the window, staring out to the dirt streets. An occasional carriage clattered by, but otherwise there was very little happening. Instead, she simply wished to ponder the current world. Though she ordered food, she hardly touched it. Every once in a while, she forced down a bite. She had not desire to eat, nor drink, nor sleep. She knew, if Thane was there, he would fret over her lack of appetite, and for that reason she ate a little. Food was distasteful to her, even mere water repelled her. There was nothing for her. So lost and broken that she only longed to be held in his arms again. If she asked for only one thing in the world, it was for him to be returned to her. Had he been there, he would be sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders. He would be encouraging her to eat more, asking constantly why she was not hungry. Thane would even offer to make her a meal, at which point she would finish her meal. Kind and compassionate to her he had been. Though it had only been a few weeks since she had seen him, it felt as though it had been a distant memory of years past.

Outside, a horse and rider had approached, racing into town. He slid to a stop in front of the inn and jumped off his horse, kicking his feet out. From his back, he pulled a sword and looked about the square. Raising the sword hilt to be level with his eyes, he scoured the surroundings, searching for someone or something. Her new powers began to work; almost instantly, she felt as though something was awry. She knew something was wrong.

Not realizing what she was doing, her hand moved toward her left hip, where she kept one of her long fighting knives. Her fingers twitched, ready to grasp the handle of it and wield it with unmatchable strength. Her body trembled. Every nerve, every muscle, was ready to fight. At the same time, she knew the man was not seeking her, but someone else. For some reason, she felt obligated to help whoever he was looking for. Perhaps it was her command, to protect the innocent. Whatever it was, she was ready to save them.

Several minutes more the man looked through the town, unchecked, unquestioned, and unsuccessful. Civilians milled about as though it was nothing to be concerned about. A man walking around, looking for a kill was clearly not of their concern, nor did it frighten them as it should have. Finally, Chalandra rose from her seat. Slowly, she placed money on the table and slipped out the front door, failing to hear the woman behind her wishing her a good day. Her mind was focused on the man and the man alone. Nothing could stop her, nothing could distract her, for there was nothing to distract her from her mission.

The man continued to walk about the square. Chalandra, wanting to see what he was searching for, stepped into the sunlight, but made no effort to stop him. Her hand lay on her knife now, but she did not draw her weapon. Finally, a second man, unarmed, dashed across the square and towards the first man's horse. Instantly, the first man was upon him. In a well-calculated blow, he slashed him across the back. Immediately, his green shirt became murky with blood. The man cried out and crumpled to the ground, moaning in pain.