And in a Long Time, She Smiled

She took her aim. That aim she knows all too well. That deadly aim that never misses. She was Death. And Death never missed. She has to be careful, so as not to target the wrong man, because that would mean the end of him. It was a cold chilly night. She exhaled and chilly vapours rose out into the midnight. She adjusted her hood, not only to make sure that her face was hidden, but so the cold wouldn’t get to her. But maybe the cold already got to her… a long time ago, because she never smiled. She went back to adjusting her posture. “I need to be perfectly calm, if I am to do this right” she thought. Although, she was the best, she never enjoyed what she did. But she made sure no one knew that. In her line of work, every detail counts. Even the smallest detail or misstep could tip the scales and that would be the end of her.

Perched up high on the tree, the assassin waited patiently. She liked the heights. The only few moments that she felt free and in control of her own life. She didn’t know who the target was. She wanted it that way. She liked it that way. The lesser you know about the person you want to kill, the lesser you feel the guilt. “But maybe I am just fooling myself”, she thought, because the guilt never went away. She was only given the directions. He would appear in the regal quarters, of the Eastern tower of the Castle Drogon, at half-past midnight. It was apparently his habitual time to sleep. That’s all she needed to know. “Yes, it was better this way”, she thought reassuringly. She took her aim again. One shot… that was all it took. Her arrows were deadly. She never left survivors, because she knew exactly what she was doing…. Because she was taught by the best.

The whip cracked. “Your posture needs to be perfect Katrina” her master roared. “He took out the whip”, I thought, “That was bad”. I tried to remain straight, arching my back to what perfection it could try to achieve, with no avail. I just collapsed to the ground. My juvenile battered body could not process his commands.  My body was still tired and hurt from the last strenuous session of ‘physical training’. “That’s what he called making a 12 year old fight a bunch of seasoned older assassins, till you blacked out” I thought, mustering some energy for a sad smile.  “Again” he roared, cracking the whip. He was mad now and I had no choice. I tried again, but my body betrayed me. I heard the hard footsteps, thundering towards me. I closed my eyes, readying myself for the next blow. He pulled me up by my hair, making me face him… to look into those piercingly blue eyes. It wasn’t the beautiful blue of the ocean, calming the observer. No… it was a blue that chills you and impales you with the slow horrifying knowledge of inevitable death.  And then the whip cracked, and I screamed.

My mind was back in the present, back on the tree. I was Death again. I adjusted my posture one more time and knew I was ready. I took my aim and waited. And then he came. His back was turned so I couldn’t see his face, “All the better” I thought. One less face to haunt me. And with my heart hammering, I readied myself to release the deathly arrows, when he suddenly turned. His face... the piercing blue eyes of slow death, met with mine. And in a long time, I smiled.

So I was experimenting with some medieval assassin/ femme-fatale genres. This is my first attempt at fiction :)

It's basically a simple portrait of a few moments of what goes on in the mind of the assassin before her kill. 

Drop a comment and let me know what you think :)