She has been waiting since the break of dawn.
Her eyes are turning to slits. Her mouth grim.
Her patience is being tried.
She really hates it when it comes to this.
Hours of waiting in the tavern for a client she has not seen before is already too much for her. She swirls her tankard of cider before draining the whole content down her throat. She savours the tangy aftertaste and feels that she needs a refill. She waves her hand to the barmaid and as if by magic, the young girl in apron and bonnet appears by her side.
"Cider," she remarks as she spills her gold coins on the wooden round table.
The girl immediately pours the required drink into the empty tankard and swipes away the gold coins on the table. That girl leaves, making a beeline to the counter. A bald man with huge belly, clad in ash-smudged shirt that used to be white, is cleaning the tankards that are used by the tavern frequents with a cloth which is in similar state as his shirt. The tavern keeper shoots a glance at her and their eyes meet. She swears that she can see the bald man smirk. There is a fleeting moment where she feels like she wants to punch out the smug look on his face. But the man has not done anything wrong to her, except for serving customers with dirty dishes. She shrugs and stares into her drink. To hell with cleanliness, sounds her thought as she gulps her drink. The cider tastes like heaven at the moment.
But her effort in savouring the drink is short-lived when a commotion suddenly breaks out at the dark, hidden corner of the tavern. All she hears is shouting and screaming yet the content seems vague. Curiosity piques. Her gut tells her that this is one business that she should not interfere. Her conscience says otherwise.
As she rises from the imbalanced stool, she automatically fingers the weapon strapped beneath her utility belt. A dagger will suffice as a defense tool, at least for now, she mutters to herself as she slips the jagged silver dagger between her fingers, hidden from prying eyes. Carrying a weapon without permit in Lea Athma is a violation on the common law of the continent. Yet she cannot help it ~ she is an assassin, a bounty hunter. And a weapon to her is survival. To get a permit is time-wasting since she has to deal with the lousy bureaucrats.
She quickens her pace. The black tights she wears provides agility to her movement. The wail she heard before is reduced to chokes and gurgles. But now all she hears is deafening silence. She feels uneasy when silence is the only answer she gets. She enters the dark territory and in front of her beholds a ghastly sight, so sickening that she prays to the heavens to forbid her from eating her own vomit.
A severed head of a rosy-cheeked girl is hanging from the ceiling by chains.Her eyes are puffy as an indication that she was crying before she met her fate. Her intestines and spines are still attached to the head. Blood is dripping from her mouth, from the edges where the cut is evident. A pulley is used to lower the decapitated head into what seems to be a cauldron. Hissing sounds come from the boiling pot. The audience, consist of humans like her and ones who resemble the alpha male on the throne, stand quietly in front of what she would like to call sacrificial rite. The dark lord sits still on his throne. His youthful appearance cannot hide the forlorn look in his old eyes.
She fails to see this in that dimly lit hall.
She switches into avenging mode and dashes to the dark lord with the dagger aiming at his heart.
She gasps, as the dagger sticks into nothing but shadows. The target evades her pre-emptive attack. Did he become invisible? she wonders.
Suddenly he reappears before her. Evil aura engulfs him on where he stands. "You are forbidden," the lad in the dark cloak snatches the glinting dagger from her grasp, "to interfere with our code of conducts."
Her eyes widen. To be prevented from acting on her instincts proves to be a challenge to this fire-spirited Amazon. "But you have no rights to prosecute her!"
He grabs her by her emerald tunic and forces her to face him. His eyes are the bluest she has ever seen. His pale complexion rivals the silvery moonlight that glides the night sky. His scent is of ancient desert rose that blooms once in a thousand years.
"She had offended our ancient treaty. It is normal for her to be executed that way," he tries to reason with her. His justification only makes her confused. Her green eyes give him the doubtful look.
"What ancient treaty? A killing is a killing, no matter how you look at it," she defies his reason. A gust of wind teases the tresses of her long, wavy flaming titian hair.
But she feels she is drawn to the intensity of his blue eyes.
His lips twitch. "She had breached the social contract imparted on us all in order for us to live in peace. Killing newborn vampires without justified reasons is a crime. Blood spilled must be paid in the same currency," he explains. His gaze does not waver from intently piercing her eyes. Now that she knows his true identity, she should fear him. All she feels is hatred.
"Do you not know," the eternal youth whispers in her ears, "that here we all coexist like night and day? We must abide the rules that have been implied upon us for millennia. She deserved the punishment after a fair trial on her misdeed. You, a mere mortal, will never understand that." There is sorrow lurking in his eyes, if only she can see.
"Off with you," he releases his grasp from her tunic which makes her fall back on the floor. He extends his hand to help her to her feet but she ignores the gesture. He just shakes his head and returns the dagger to its rightful owner. "I believe this... unlicensed antique is yours."
He knows, disgusted, she can feel her face burn. She feels humiliated, defeated. The audience just stand there to witness the drama between her and the ancient youth. Without saying a word, she scrambles to her feet, snatches her weapon and makes a beeline to her exit. Tears sting her eyes not because of sadness but more of anger. And she is through with meeting the one who wishes to contract her. She has no care for the moment. All she needs is to get the hell out of that tainted place.
"Huntress, I pray you please do not think ill of me, or the rest of my clan and Lea Athma society for that matter," she stops her pace when she hears those words. She does not turn around to face the voice but she swears that she can feel his gaze penetrate her back. He concludes the one-sided conversation with "We shall meet again, soon."
