The Assassin's Secret


Such a wonderful thing isn't it?

You know, we do possess a right to live, a right to freewill .

Some choose to use that right for the greater good and choose to abuse it.

We created this world by our actions, we were supposed to be the ones to make a difference ; Our society ended up being worse than the society that began this mess in the first place.
I wanted change, no desired it. Our society was built on desire and secrets , deceit and greed .

I wanted the game to stop.

But it had already begun.


1. House of Ricci


We were the definition of power. Our whole existence lived on calculated gameplay in order to remain in our fictional thrones. You see, reader, I came from what you could describe as a perfect home. Our family portraits would present 4 glowing, smiling faces. Our main photograph rested above the main marble fire place in the dining hall, a way to represent our presence to our guests and visitors. Mother's auburn hair would be flawlessly straight, with no split-ends, her defining emerald eyes stare creepily. Father in his favourite tailored tweed suit with our grandfather's vintage pocket watch resting in his breast pocket, groomed with perfection, his devious charisma was supposed to be noted even in a picture. Celesté ( my younger sister) I remember was 4 when this photo was created so controlling her was troublesome , however in the finished product , she seemed angelic , with her gold curls extending to her shoulders her blue eyes seemed to have spoken something other than distaste of being 'glammed up'


I on the other hand had the most trouble to hide my distaste. Our home was nothing like what was tried to be achieved in this photograph. My father even at that point wasn’t committed to my mother, his little antics of sneaking out of the house and spending nights with his assistants was nothing new. Some nights as a little girl, when I wished to seek comfort from my mother when I had a nightmare, I would slowly travel across the empty corridors, passing the portraits featuring generations of the Ricci household (most of them were power hungry leaders, others were Socialites but yet the eldest known Ricci member was a humble baker). When I'd arrive in my mother's quarters, I often found her staring at the HoloScreen, lost in her own little lonely world, clasping tightly onto her half empty wine bottle before screaming shrill fully and launching the bottle at the screen at the sight of my father's face. She'd collapse onto the floor and weep. There had been times where I'd ask her if she's ok but often it would result in her having a full on speech about lying and controlling your imagination.

That photo was a calculated move because it was a mask. A mask that the people of Requa needed to see. They couldn’t come to our dollhouse, ever. It would mean the destruction of everything my father had tried to achieve. We needed perfection, precision, power. Our very coat of arms was Cupiditas et imperii (meaning Desire of Power), ironic isn't it? The problem with secrets (and we had lots of them) is they come out.

And so sparks will blaze, in this new found game.



I took my seat on the burgundy leather chair, my eyes scoured the room - as to avoid eye contact with the doctor .The room had a grandeur feel to it , with its rich carpet and gallery of certificates I tried my hardest to forget (or at least ignore the real reason I was there)

"Brianna look you know I'm trying to help you here ..."

"What? By telling me it’s going to be OK, that I can easily move on like my father did,” I shot back

I was inside my therapist Dr. Esther Days' room, trying to survive my 3rd session.

"Well I'm sure he can, he must be distracted with starving the other Sectors and keeping secrets." I snapped and then took a sip of the crisp water at my disposal.

We regarded each other, me and Days, only momentarily though.

Dr Days at this point (who held a composed demeanour) was attempting to hold her distaste of me within but failed and that gave me some joy.

"Your father is a very busy man and I am certain that he is just as upset as you are now, but believe me people grieve in different ways."

I was so irritated Dr. Days, her fake show of sympathy ( a blind man could see her pure disapproval of the Ricci family) that I got up and left. I ran, past Central Gardens, towards the outskirts of Tania (the capital). A forest cultivated around the time of the end of the Eclipse Wars (The informal term of the World War 3 as it finished on the day of the Eclipse) but it had since been abandoned. A willow was planted in the middle of the abandoned memorial. We'd go and have secret picnics there, watch nature, ignore our troubles. When we were little she'd tell us how the Willow Tree was a magical place where wishes could be made true; at age 18 the fable of fairies seemed childish. I just stroked the coarse bark and broke down.

The last time I spoke to my mother I told her I hated her.

And now she was dead.


Later that day I sat beside the window, quietly singing lyrical poems that she made. She used to tell me I had a voice that would make even the birds silent it was so influential.

I heard a knock at the door, causing me to lose track of my thoughts. It was my frail little sister Celeste. Her short, straightened blonde hair contrasted with her pained blue eyes. At first glance she seemed fine, if you met her, but if you striped off the surface you'd find a distraught 13 year old girl, innocent and naive to real horror horrors of the world. She wore the last dress (made up of pink cotton that reached her knees) that mother bought her as a gift before her departure from life.

"Bree? You've got mail. And Educator Adams said you should get ready for your Latin lesson in 10 minutes." Celeste explained before placing the small brown package onto my desk, and left.

I got up from my seat towards the desk; the package only had my name on it. I ripped open the package and began to examine it. It only had a chucky doll (that looked a lot like me creepily) and my father's pocket watch. Weird.


Don't you think reader?

What would a replica of my father's pocket watch be doing there?


I gave a tug of the piece of string on the back, only to get a sinister voice respond

They came in the night. Tick tock.

The pocket watch had a symbol of a ring of fire with a phoenix on it at the back.


As I opened the watch a little note fell out.


Sparks will blaze, don't get caught.


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