Violet Eyes

Chapter 1

He went to her while she was sleeping. The night’s air clung to him like a plush cloak as he stood in the luminous beam of soft moonlight. Tempting fate, he lingered before her meticulously hand carved canopy bed and simply watched. The cadence of her slightly raspy breath brought to him an overwhelming sense of calm; he dared to step closer.

A howling wind rustled the leafless oak branches outside of the recently opened bedroom window. A momentary reminder of how he had made his entry.

Briefly mesmerized by the billowing, feather light drapes that caressed the freshly painted window frame, he took a moment to remind himself of why he was there.

He had come for the girl.

Hovering above her serene body, he desperately fought against the wave of emotions that gripped his heart. 

“She is the one,” he finally whispered softly, his voice translucent and strangely vulnerable. 

A sudden gasp escaped his lips as the intruder that had taken residence within the walls of his consciousness chimed in. “Are you sure, Mylixia?” it asked, referring to him as a name that was not his own. For the first time in what felt like ages, the man ignored it. Instead, he placed the palm of a gently calloused hand upon the girl’s forehead, and closed his eyes.

The time had come.

“She is the one. She will help us,” he said a little louder. He had hoped that the intruder would hear him. “She’s my only hope; our only hope.”

The girl, previously enthralled by the tranquility of the dream that visited her that eve, suddenly opened her deep mahogany eyes to the world that surrounded her.  Darkness and stale air propelled her to swing her legs over the side of the bed and cross to the window.  Once there she tenderly parted the sheer lilac drapes that hung still, and released the window latch. With a soft smile on her face, and the breeze trickling through her hair, she gazed up at the moon and thought that she had never seen it so brilliantly iridescent.


Clothora’s Journal
Darkness swallows me as I stick closely to the walls of an abandoned rundown shanty. I remain there, encase in the shadows of the night; my eyes fixed on a dimly lit tavern across the path. I had spent the last several eves in this very position. I watched and waited… Each night observing everything that took place at Lynit’s Tavern. 
Sounds of the drunk and stupid fills the air around me, I know that the crudely built structure would reach capacity soon. I take a moment to relax and enjoy the feel of the cool night’s air against the pale of my skin. My hair dances in the wind and I dare to close my eyes. It is a brief meditation before it is time.  Blood would spill soon enough.
My task is a simple one, but I do not like to be taken by surprise. I learned long ago that there is a lot of honor in patience. It is not a trait that many possess, which only makes my desire to conquer it that much more insatiable.
Unfortunately, one can spend weeks, months; perhaps even years devising the perfect plan, but sometimes even that isn't enough. This is made apparent by the sudden appearance of an urchin before me.
Rounding the corner at full speed, the small boy blasts into the alley, my alley, and haphazardly skids to a stop.  Of course I startle him. His small dark eyes registers fear as they gaze into the depths of my empty and soulless ones. A scream began to form at the back of his throat; however, it never makes it pass his pale, chapped lips.

I wait an extra beat, ensuring that he had shaken his unknown assailant. Satisfied, I wrap a slender gloved hand around a tiny wrist and hear a sharp, involuntary gasp release from my lips. Licking them they feel grainy and hard, but I am distracted by something else. A pang that I have not felt in a very long time, it had materialized out of nowhere. 
Shaking myself, I set my lips into an even harder line and drag the small form deeper into the shadows of the avenue. I stand watch as a pool of blood forms beneath his lifeless body.

Brushing a stray lock of auburn hair behind my ears, I take a deeper, steadier breath. I feel composed now as I return to my post and wait for time to continue on.  It feels as if it is moving at a much slower pace than before. Patience…

A pallid moon is sitting high in the sky when the last farmhand finally makes his exit for the evening.  Instantly, whatever I had felt only a short while ago is replaced with an feeling that I am much more familiar with. An emotion marred by a delectable desire that has become all too natural to me; a lust for death.

I feel excitement trickling through my veins now, and I take a firm grip of my now bloodstained cutlass. Cautiously, yet swiftly, I make my way across the well worn pathway.

I gaze through a window and watch as Lynit follows his nightly routine.  He moves about the one room alehouse, sweeping dusty floors, checking stocks of ale and homemade wine. He wipes down the bar, which is stationed straight back from the entrance. The few, poorly built tables that litter the floor are next on his list. He swipes the cloth halfheartedly across each table and heads for his cloak. He is ready to head home to his small farmhouse, not far north of the village.
Finally, he makes one last round, blowing out candles and dousing the flames of sconces that line the walls.

It is time to go home.

A drunken warlord once told me that the downfall of men would ultimately be our fondness for routine. Personally I feel that greed will be our ultimate undoing, but that warlord’s assessment will ring true for one man this night.
Accepting my cue, I slip through the front door, which stands slightly ajar. My eyes remain fixed on Lynit as he secures a heavy, yet worn, leather cloak around his shoulders.
Remaining feather light on my feet, I close the distance between myself and my target in a matter of seconds. That part was easy enough. I, however, did not expect to catch a glint of a blade hanging from his right hand. Temporarily taken aback, I harden my gaze and strike.
Sidestepping the blow, he whirls around to face me, blade first. A grin flashes across my face as I evade it effortlessly. Putting some distance between us I hop upon a nearby table. Wobbling, I gain a bit of leverage over his massive frame.
"Blyton warned me that he had put a bounty on my head, but I must admit that I am quite amused that he would send a mere girl." Lynit’s voice is but a gravelly whisper in the quiet den of the tavern. I smirk. Despite his claims of amusement, he does not wear it on his face. His look is one of confidence instead. Which, I do not like.

Gritting my teeth, I dodge his next blow and jump off of the table, placing it between us as a barrier on uneven legs.

"Would that not put the formidable Lynit to shame; to die at the hand of a mere… woman?" My eyes are twinkling now, my skin slightly flushed.

Lynit winks at me before spinning quickly around the table, coming face to face with me almost instantly.  He smells of man musk and I feel a surge of heat crawl through me.

My demeanor gradually softens, and the smile that I wear on my lips is now also etched into my eyes. Beautiful elation rings in my ears and my heart races so quickly that I just know that it is going to beat itself right out of my chest.  The smirk has fallen from Lynit’s mouth, now. And, while my own eye’s harbors fantastical glee, his eyes had already started to glaze over. I let out a deep sigh in synchronized concert with his soul vacating his body.

"Blyton sends his regards," I whisper allowing him to fall away from me. I gave my blade one final twist and a solitary thud briefly sounds throughout the small room.

I plop down into the chair behind me and inhale quickly, deeply. My senses instantly fill with the coppery scent of blood.  It is a stench that will surely cling to my nostril hairs for days to come.
I gaze around the room, the moonlight my only source of illumination.  My eyes land on the door behind the bar, my ultimate destination. The rush of the kill was already subsiding, and as I stand and walk across the room, my knees feel slightly weak.

Lynit's office is as simple as the rest of his establishment. A single wooden desk sits in the corner, facing the door. The desk was not of my concern however.
Dropping to my knees, I pull up the ends of an old dusty rug. Lifting it revealed a small trapdoor with a brand new padlock. I have not seen one like this before. I frown as I started to jimmy the lock.  It takes a bit longer than I want, and as soon as trepidation begins to sink it, the lock springs open.
Removing and tossing the lock aside, I open the door and reveal a hole in the earth. It was just big enough to fit a large man, namely Lynit.
Lowering myself, I run my fingers along the dirt walls. I aggressively plunge them into the cool, moist soil and after several moments, I feel my hand scrape against something hard, it feels like smooth, finished wood.  I reach for my boot dagger and use it to work the soil loose enough for me to pull the box free.
I hoist the box onto the floor above me and start to pull myself out. It is then that I feel it; a sharp pain slicing through my torso. Taken aback, I fall against the wall and swiftly swipe my hand across my stomach. A familiar, lukewarm wetness instantly drenches my fingertips. Angrily, I groan.

Setting my jaw, I gather my strength and slowly pull myself out of my earthen confinement. Sprawling out across the wooden floor I take a moment to access my injury. It will need stitches.

Sighing, I grab the box and crawl to my feet. Going to the bar, I sit the box down and look for something to dress the wound.  Removing my cloak, I use the dirty rag that Lynit had left on the bar earlier that night. Pressing it against the wound, I examine Lynit’s corpse, looking for something to hold the bandage in place. His sash will do.
I return to the bar, to the box. Another lock stands in my way, but it is not anything that my blade cannot pop within a second. Lifting the lid of the intricately engraved oaken box, I peer inside with curiosity.
The glance reveals a smooth, onyx hand adorned with three chunky rings, all bejeweled with three different gems; one emerald, another sapphire, the last ruby. They had been forged from the finest gold that I had ever seen. The moonlight plays against the gems and I am momentarily hypnotized by its spectacular beauty. 

I remove a black silk sack from the satchel that I wore across my body. I had brought it specifically for transporting The Hand. Shoving it into the bag, I slip the sack back into the satchel and adorn my cloak. It is time for me to go.
Before I leave, I take the time to swipe a couple of flasks of wine, a soft leather water skin and what little food I can find. Finally, I slip out into the cool night’s air, slightly more battered and bruised than I expected to be.

Feeling the blood seep heavily into my bandages, I realize that the urchin would not be the only change in plans this night. Instead of heading out of town, and disappearing into the security of the dense forest, I head deeper into town; and straight for Shanty Row.