Emmeline

A young girl infatuated by assassin.

He said we were in this together. He spun a web of lies for me to get trapped within, and now that thread has slung a rope for my neck. A rope that swung daringly in front of my eyes, throwing twisted shadows over the gallows, creaking like an eerie cry. But I cannot play the victim, I am simply not allowed. Murder is a crime, if only heartbreak was too.

The ashy snow stuck in our hair like ivory crowns, and collected themselves on our shoulders. The smoke from Airre's cigarette danced elegantly in the air, and embers were tapped from it . I was placid, I always was, I was obedient and unsmiling and unfrowning and I honestly did not care. Bodies rose up all around us, forming walls that blocked out reality, and as long we were together, reality was not a necessity to me. I used knives, sometimes guns, but mostly knives. They cut deep, and were usually quiet. Airre provided them, and I cherished the things he gave me. The first one being gritted at the start and sterling silver that glinted heroically even though I never was. I desperately wanted to impress Airre, with every senseless murder that we participated in, I tried so very hard to win his affection. And although affection and praise were like visits from God, I never gave up trying, and trying and trying. Whenever we took a life, be it revenge, assassination,  or any other of his business he always had me cut a small arrow drawing on the body. Simplistic, the size of your thumb, usually on the arm or shoulders, a stamp.

Airre was an archer, a professionally trained, artfully skilled, and infamously deadly killer for hire, with a quite obedient little dog at his side. That dog was me.

There were so many things to say about Airre and the work we completed together, but now with moments ticking away for me, and the hands of death placed on my throat, there wasn't time to think them all. In fact, since I was thirteen every waking thought I had was of Airre, every action my shaking hands busied themselves doing was always for him. And I don't fancy the idea of Him being the last thing I think about as well. Why not think about something happy or warm to last in my mind. The sad thing is, Airre was the only thing in the whole world that brought a smile to my lips.

I was raised on a farm far away from anywhere anyone had ever wanted to go, we raised sheep in the fields and sold the wool in the nearest village that wasn't all that near. I don't know whatever became of my woeful parents, all that I was raised by my fathers sister, and she definitely did not believe in sparing the rod and spoiling the child. I was not hit growing up, I was not whipped or kicked or cut by her . But I was never told that I was loved, I believed I was not, what a fickle thing to let shape you. This woman, my aunt, was a jealous, rotten thing. I was often locked in room with my younger brother and older sister, and at instruction of our guardian, we used our bare hands to fight eachother. Why? I do not know. Our lovely aunt said we needed to, because we needed to decide who was the best. I never won, our older sister always did, until our brother grew taller and stronger and could beat us both. I never won, so I was never allowed outside. One night, Brother was out herding the sheep and had his stomach ripped out by a gray wolf. His body was buried by the barn, and not a funeral nor service was held for him, he was not even granted the dignity of a headstone. We did not openly love eachother, nor feel compassion or sympathy or care for one another, but an innate sense of ownership came with him being my brother, in a world where I was not allowed to own anything. My sister became ill soon after, too many years of just too much. Her heart may have not been kind, but it felt our loss, I know it did, and it just gave up. Giving up seemed so blissful, but I was always too cowardly. After she fell asleep for the last time and met the same fate as Brother, I was alone with our aunt. Alone in a big farmhouse far away, with a woman who planted seeds of hatred with every glance of her burning eyes. Things became so much worse after their deaths, all of her hatred was directed solely at me. She never dirtied her own hands, but forced me to sleep with the sheep in the barn, eating the grass and leftovers from the table, drinking only rainwater and never allowed inside the house like i was stray dog that wouldn’t stop begging for scraps. I killed her with the kitchen knife. I couldn’t stay there, i walked along the dusty road until my feet bled and i collapsed in the dirt. I was found by an old slaver, and he took me to the village to sell with the rest of his lot. Airr found me there. He saw something in my eyes. That hate, that pure evil something. But, he saved me. It was a long time before i spoke again, before i could sleep through a night. But once I could, once i had started to heal, i found myself stuck on this strange, myserious man. Eventually,I loved Airre so dearly it felt as if my heart was based solely on him, like my whole existence destined for me to be by his side,and  it hurt how unrequited it was. I was a weapon for him to use, not a friend, and definitely not a love. I worshipped the ground he spit on and I couldn't dare ask for anything more because I was elated to do it. I was pathetic, and I was so happy.

The masked man placed the rough skin of the rope around my trembling neck, my heart banged like a drum in my chest, and fear paralyzed me. I was no stranger to death, death crept into my bed every night, death invaded everything I had. How poetic, a death so planned and meticulous for a girl so unstable. Ashen, spooky faces hung below me, I hated them. Bystanders come to be spectators at my execution, how dare they judge me with glares and nasty whispers. I deserved a moments peace especially before my death, although I really don't deserve much anything. Actually, I guess I deserve this, the discontinuation of a life that held and caused more trouble than it could ever be worth.

My crimes were read before the audience

"Natalie Anne Parker is sentenced to hang till death for her crimes against the public and authorities of this great nation," boos and hisses erupted from the crowd, a short list of victims was also given. Not even close to the real number of ones slain.

Cold, not warm, tears slid and dropped from my eyes. The rope necklace was tightened around me, I grew claustrophobic. Tones mumbled loudly, the priest from the church served his speech to the crowd. I didn't listen, nothing could repent for my sins.

"May your soul find it's way into god's heart, if that is the will of The Lord," he droned, closing his little black and gold bible.

The uniformed man to my left broke my dark reverie with his dominating voice

"Say your last words now," he ordered, my mouth was so dry

"Now," he commanded again, I could feel every eye on me in that second, I needed this moment to count.

When I spoke, my voice did not sound like my own,

Tears stormed my eyes, and stole my breath. The executioner placed his gloved fist on the lever, I panicked.

“Wait.. wait,” I near sobbed, my eyes rose to the crowd almost blinding by tears, words came from my mouth without a thought then, “May i go, gladly to Hell,” I announced, raw and cracked, “Because I know, He will find me there too,”

And so, the floor beneath me fell, and so did I.

"Focus on the transfer of energy," his voice rang close to my ear, I quivered in quiet excitement, goosebumps ran up my neck as I felt his breath curl against me. His eyes were focused, not on me, but on the object gripped in my hand. The silver knife, with grits near the handle. He positioned my hold on it, his ink black hair stood up on his head like a mysterious shadow dancing in the light, he eyes glinted an stormy gray eyes that sunk into me whenever I looked into them. His arms were around me, miming my movements in soft stabbing motions, instructing me with care.

The lesson carried on last dark, with me throwing the dagger into the bark of a chosen tree. I was hopeless.

"If you can't do this you might as well go home," his words were even and solid and cut like the knives we were throwing. I tried again, again the knife sticking then falling or flying completely out of range. I dropped a frustrated sigh, and he went ramped.

"Do you think I have time for a weak little brat!" He strode towards me,

" pathetic whining scum,” Airre cursed, his knuckles found my neck.

Suddenly I was choking amid the darkened trees and fresh moonlight. A peaceful quiet joined with an owl's midnight song. I choked, begging, and then less begging. His eyes were glowing and his whole body tense. Black spots invaded my vision before he released me and I sunk onto the dirt. I never missed the target after that.

I slept, usually near him. On the floor or on a spare cot. In the dead of night, when only a single candle was lit and everything seemed still. I could hear the distant steady beat of his heart, and the rhythmic pattern of his breath. I felt whole, I felt satisfied with everything. I was so blind and so deaf to what we were doing, but I felt endlessly brave and pure next to him. The best days came when he defended me to others. I cherished those moments too dearly, when a correspondent or fellow assassin commented negatively on me. Either commentary on my young age or mass naivety, Airre never appreciated those remarks, and he always made it known. Through a vague threat or cruel jab at the offender, my heart exploded at bliss. These were moments I depended on, and prized.