People often cringe at the mention of death. I did too, in the beginning. But after awhile you get used to the killing. To the blood that pools on the floor. My first kill was the hardest. I didn't know any fighting skills, how to use a knife. Of course, the employer had to supply the weapon. He probably half expected me to die. Why else hire a young girl?
It was a warm summer night, and I was sent to one of the bigger towns. I remember it was an old Night who I was instructed to kill. The knife felt heavy and unbalanced in my hand, and I had somehow got the bright idea to go in through the front door. The old Night had laughed at me. He said a little peasant girl would never be able to take him down. Obviously he was wrong.
I don't know how many people I've killed. How many I've stabbed in the back, slit their neck. I've learned to live and forget. When your an assassin, its the smart thing to do. At first I was just killing in revenge for my family. Then I met a boy. Only a year and a half ago. He was every good thing. Kind and sweet, funny, but he stuck up for himself too. We hung out a lot. We were happy.
But his father committed a crime against the King. He said the monarchy was broken and ravaged. He told everyone this. I'd imagine that the last ones he told this were the soldiers who killed him. Then they killed his wife. Then his two sons. And I was left with an even bigger hatred for the King and his men. I took more jobs, the ones that were in the deepest corners of the kingdom. I lived and forgot. Or tried to at least, some things scar you forever.
I became distant. I didn't realize how many enemies I was making. How careless I had become. I spilled blood, I got another job. It was an ongoing process. A cycle.
Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night after a dream that things were different, that I was safe. But in real life I wasn't.
Of course I noticed the shadows. I wasn't that distant. I noticed that there was always something in the corner of my eye. And when I turned, it would disappear. I didn't do anything about it. Didn't think about it much. There were lots of things creeping along the stony buildings and tall tree-filled woodlands. Frankly I didn't care. I didn't have anything to care about anymore.
My last kill was Frank Deshod. A rich, rich Noble. He lived just outside of town. In a place surrounded by trees. He was tall and muscular, and put up a good fight. I was tired by the time I got the blade in his chest.
That's probably how he planned it.
I quickly walked back to town. It was dark out. I couldn't see all that much. Even with the moon out. Even an extra shadow went by unnoticed. I didn't realize someone was following me until I was in the darkest part of town. And a twig snapped. I instinctively turned around, to see none other than a cloaked figure.
With a dagger.
He launched at me and we grappled for a moment, I used my fingernails to tear, and waited for the chance to grab my dagger. But I was tired. And beyond caring. But it still took him half an hour to take me down.
Broken and bloodied I lye on the ground. His dagger pointed at my heat. And I just laughed. I laughed at how ironic it was to have died by the hand of an assassin. The assassin who killed an assassin. Did I deserve to die? Maybe. It depends on how you think about it. I killed lots of people. I had the title of most wanted assassin. But not for much longer.
There were some things I regretted. I regretted not protecting my family. For not protecting anyone I cared about. I regretted not seeing the beautiful side of this land, the side with no ruler, no unfair rules, no killing. But I couldn't change that.
I realized that my time was up. So I took a last deep breath and sighed. Life was too short. But that's probably what the people I killed thought too.
The dagger entered my chest and everything slowly faded away.