The Night of Crimson Tears.

“They all think their safe. They all think that hiding in their little sanctuaries means that they cannot be harmed. Well... They’re wrong...”

Clouds part, giving way to moonlight that shines down upon Danari, her eyes closed as she basks in the full moons light, her thoughts a jumbled mess of her life, as twisted and mutilated as the horrors within Acheron, slowly she begins to pick the pieces of a memory, one she has since relished in.

Her eyes open in a flash, the green irises glimmer in the light as she slides from the roof of the building, onto a balcony that lies beneath, standing firm before her a door, seemingly locked tight, she wastes no time ‘improvising’ a key with her own dagger, launching it into the lock and then pulling free almost in the same fluid motion, she lowers herself and slips through the door, closing it behind her, little more than a pin drop of noise to be heard. Her green eyes pierce the darkness as she moves without sound through the house. Servant’s clutter about in near-by rooms, cleaning after their masters evening meal, their noise giving Danari leeway for the very rare mistake, footsteps approach her, with little other option, she makes a short dash for the staircase, hiding her small slender frame within the framework of the stairs, her breath and body steady, they where servant’s speaking to the master’s son, chatting for moments –precious, infinitely passing moments-.

The servant’s depart and the boy moves up the stairs, looking up Danari catches with her eyes more then she would wish in a life time, the young and ‘gallant’ master’s son in all his pride and all to bare glory, as he passes, she continued to move, weaving her body from the staircase frame, she continued up, rather than risking the creaking of the stairs, she climbs the wall, with little effort, she makes her way to the master’s bedroom, stopping before it to hear the stifled screams of this nights courtesan in his chamber, letting of the howls of a whorish bitch in heat, moving away, Danari calculates his all to routine life and moves to his counting room, wherein lies chest after chest of gold and parchment, all of which was enticing for a petty thief, not an assassin.
For hours she waited, until the screams of the courtesan had faded into the clear night. Silence befell the house, an eerie and over encumbering weight filled the air as footsteps approached the counting room, the time had come, her hands lowered and settled on the hilts of her freshly sharpened Dirks. Slowly the door opens, inch by inch, time begins to slow as the man’s shadow forms from the candle light of the hall, once the door is halted by a pile of parchment, the man moved forward, each step ringing in her ears like a barbarian’s battle cry, her hands grip the hilts and slowly draw the blades, their shine hidden by the rooms bleak appearance, only to be halted -As if ten thousand years of evolution had left the world to be destroyed,- the adrenalin halted its flow, life began to retake it’s vicious pace, as the son enters the room, closing the door behind him, leaving the room pitch black. She dared not move, at risk of been discovered, as the boy wanders about the room, like a lost child looking for his toy, his hands graze every box, every chest in the room.

Her heart skips a beat, then stops, as if the stone cold embrace of death took her, the boy’s hand found its way to her amongst the boxes, it grasps at her clothing pulling and tugging at her, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as he clears the boxes away, to reveal her, it was not the son from before, but the youngest of the two, a mere child of four years, his hands grope at her figure, touching her in many places that she dare not stand to be touched, as the child seemed to admire what he thought to be, a ‘life-like mommy.’

Footsteps appear before the door, and this time, in no way a slow motion, the door flies open, the man, bursting through with a furious look on his face. Danari begins to struggle, her breath will not hold out for much longer. The child turns to look at his father backing away from her, she takes a momentary glance at the man, as he storms over and picks up the child in one hand, his free hand, moving to strike across the child’s face. In this moment, meager seconds before the impact of flesh on flesh, Danari makes her move, daggers, slide free from their sheaths and find a new home in the flesh of the man’s torso, one into his stomach, and one upwardly lodged into his chest, into the heart. The child looks down in horror at the black figure with green eyes and begins to weep, Danari, giving no second thought, pulls both blades from the man’s torso and makes her escape through the window of the counting room, breaking through it to pass the over-cover and into an earlier places cart of hay, she leaps from the cart and makes her way free, leaving the blood covered child, screaming in sadness by his father’s corpse. Blood on the boy’s face mixes with tears, to leave streams of crimson tears past his cheeks.