An Assassin’s Mind An assassin shall always complete their task. I slipped through the windows effortlessly. The sky was an unattractive black, and I could feel the stinging stare of the stars boring into the back of my head as I pointedly turned my back on the light and slowly, softly, closed the latch. I chuckled humorously. They had every single thing imaginable, yet not one of them had thought to get better security. It was pitch black and the huge room was hollow and empty. The odourless stench of a room unused filled my nose immediately. The ballroom was grand and adorned with pink and gold - the grotesque decoration stung my eyes. I snarled, the defences on my mind that I had trained so tirelessly to enforce coming down momentarily. Of course she had chosen pink. I regained control over my mind and curled my fingers reflexively around my beautiful dagger. But I realised it wasn't working; the mind barriers were slipping, falling, plummeting. I shook the dangerous thoughts out of my head. It had to be done now, or I would remember and therefore falter. An assassin shall never feel. An assassin shall never feel. An assassin shall nevAnd there she was. Her fairy-like fingers flicked the lights on, and the chandeliers suddenly exploded into a spectacle of glistening diamond. Gracefully and perfectly she waltzed into the room, her billowy rose-pink silk taffeta trailing behind her. I picked up on her intoxicating scent immediately. Rosewood. My mind began to respond, but I shut it down with a hard slam. And yet An assassin shall notice the unnoticeable. It was a rule to notice, so surely questioning the suspicion and formulating an unbiased (always) decision was just obeying the rule. I let out of breath I wasn't aware I was holding, and as my lungs desperately clawed for air I tentatively unlocked the mind barriers. 1986. Summer. Laughing, the sun smiling down on us. Me, my gorgeous mother, and Rose. Perfect, Princess Rose. I blinked back forbidden tears. “It’s perfect,” I had said blissfully, twirling the perfume in my hands. “Rosewood, for Rose!” Mother had smiled and ruffled our hair, looked away, and life went on as it must. But not for me. I remained stuck in that moment, a lost figure frozen in time. Paralyzed in the ease of the past that had been ripped from me because of who they thought I was.
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