I crept into her room, kneeling on the ground near the door. I had oiled the hinges earlier that day, leaving no room for the chance she was a light sleeper.
Even if I knew she wasn’t.
With regret in my heart and steeled determination in my head I rose slowly, a black shadow crouching near the dresser. The four poster bed loomed ahead in the gloom, the lace running along from post to post. I stalked to the right side of the bed, drawing a dagger slowly from my sleeve. A quick slash across her neck and I’m gone. No memories and no grins. Nothing personal, just business. I leaned over the bed, reaching for the blanket hiding her. Fingering the sheet, the smooth texture recalled to a time when I had laid my head on the pillow. 851Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtIBhReYWeD
Just business. 851Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqR1VOL1Kvu
Betrayal built up behind my eyes, filling me with a rage I hadn’t felt before. And yet I still leaned over her, gently running my fingers over the sheet as though it were her arm, her shoulder, her cheek. I deftly flicked the sheet and quilt over, revealing pillows shaped to her body size. She had even drawn her face in detail on the pillow. Below her inquisitive nose her eyes closed peacefully, lips partially open as though taking her last breath. I looked down, almost fearfully to where she had let the ink run jagged across the neck of the pillow, underneath words almost sliding into each other, ‘I’m sorry too.’
The moment her words struck my mind I leaped back, her smell of jasmine reaching me as she flipped from the shadow above the dresser. I had been caught up in her memory, in her room, in everything but my job. It was personal. Until my blade ran across her neck, until my fingers brushed across her shoulder blades I could not do what needed to be done.
‘You knew who I am, and yet you stayed – you strayed moments from death and yet you smiled.’ I growled, pulling another dagger from the sheath in my boot. We circled, her black hood drawn so I couldn’t see her face. I found myself grateful, if I were to see her alive with adrenaline and excitement as she lived for the moment – this moment… how could I kill such life? How does a spider live with itself when a butterfly lands in its web? Can he compare it with a fly?
‘Why didn’t you kill me when I lay lying there days before? You knew who I was, you knew and yet you kissed me and loved me.’ She asked me, her voice smooth, unemotional.
‘I never said I loved you.' I spat, 'You are a child to think so. The world is falling around us, you are the centre to trouble. With you gone, they lose the foothold the have within my country. With you gone, we will win the war.’
‘You demand peace at a price.’
‘You are the price. One I will pay!’ I struggled to keep my voice even, hushed.
She padded closer to me, throwing back her hood and taking my arm. She pressed the dagger to her chest, her hand curled around my own on the dagger's hilt. Her eyes were wild in the dark, the specs of gold within them glinting passionately.
‘For your country then, take my heart.’ The butterfly said to the spider. 851Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNJw6Sn8kvV
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