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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Thriller/Suspense · #1317080
The first strike.
Moonlight shone through the open window, casting shadows across the room and silhouetting the the curtains as they danced in the wind. The candles, placed erratically around the room, flickered in the breeze, dieing for fractions of a second only to be re-lit by their own warmth. The shadows from the candles merged with those from the moonlight, creating a magical display of dancing shadows and monsters, engaged in battle.
The lock on the door clicked. Seconds went by, and the breeze from the window suddenly died, the shadows coming to a halt as if the room itself held its breath. Moments went by, as if whoever outside the door was waiting for some unfathomable reason, and then the door swept open and closed just as quickly. Inside the door now, a woman stood, her long crimson dress flowing over the floor. The candle-light created a shadow along the left side of her face, giving her flawless features a more monstrous look than could have been imagined by someone seeing her in natural light.
The woman scanned her eyes across the room, as if searching for something. She strode across the room, going from piece of furniture to piece of furniture, examining everything carefully. Finally, she stopped at a large chest of drawers that sat next to the large bed. She ran her hands along the top of the chest, then carefully opened the top drawer there. As she did this, there was a small flash, as something metallic in the drawer came into the line of moonlight and quickly left again. The woman smiled, and out of the drawer she pulled a large, curved dagger.
With the dagger in her hand, the woman turned, and sat on the bed. Gathering the train of her dress in her hands, she laid it along the bed and pulled her legs up with her. Laying her legs straight along the bed, she ran her free hand along her dress, making her dress as straight as her body. She placed one of her hands at her side, and the hand with the dagger she placed on the other, underneath the curve of her body so it was unnoticeable.
She waited.
There was a noise outside of the open window. A scrambling came from below, and a hand came over the threshold of the window. After several moments, the shadowed figure of a man hoisted himself through the open window. He stood at the window, his breathing heavy, surveying the room around him.
It took him several moments to notice the woman on the bed. He rocked back on his heels, clearly taken aback by her presence. He glanced around the room, as if checking for others who could be lurking in the shadows. When he saw none, he returned his gaze to the woman, and stood staring at her still form. For what seemed like an age the woman lay on the bed, her eyes closed, the pretense of sleeping, and the man continued to stare at her. After what must have been ten minutes, the man walked slowly and quietly over to the form of the woman. Standing over her, he leaned over her body, putting his head directly above her own. When he had convinced himself she was asleep, he allowed himself a little smirk, and laid his hand on her thigh, bringing his face closer to hers.
When his face was so close she could feel his breath, the woman brought the dagger out from below her body and thrust it into the mans heart. Reeling back from the shock and force of the blow, the man staggered, collapsing on the floor before the bed, his body convulsing. Gagging noises erupted from his mouth, and a trickle of dark red blood ran from his mouth onto the floor. It took several minutes for the mans body to stop twitching and convulsing, as if some unknown force was running a current through his being.
He cam to a complete still. After several more minutes of waiting, to make sure he was dead, the woman stood from the bed. Walking over to the corpse, she placed her high heeled foot on the mans chest, clasped the hilt of the dagger and yanked it out of the mans dead body. A spurt of blood exploded from the mans chest, covering her dress in dark red spots and peppering her face with the dark liquid. She smiled to herself, looking down at her dress as if someone had complimented it, a manic grin breaking out from her smile. She spun from the mans body, marched over to the door and left the room, locking it as she left.
There was a sudden gust of wind from the open window. The breeze began again, the shadows taking up there battle once more, dancing on the corpse of the dead man.
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