cause i am, i am a little wicked
hands red, hands red just like he said
hands red, hands red just like he said
Through the door and into the shadowed alley, Vendetta moved silently. A spectre, her hooves made almost no noise on the sand dusted streets. Without her skirt there was no fabric to rustle against the sandstone. Without her roses and pearls, no wind to whistle through petals or chiming of jewels as they gently swung off each other. She moved like a predator, with grace and fluidity—so different from the way she carried herself normally, head held high, each step a force.
In her thoughts she was already back at her residence, cleaning the dagger she carried, admiring the way it sparked like electricity, hot and blue, before placing it in the case alongside its brethren. Her ruby eyes glittered in the dim light, truly catching the light like facets of a gem. And then before her, the shadows grew and grew and grew. Vendetta paused, muscles coiled like a snake’s, gripping the dagger at her back. Until the shadow separated itself from the rest and became a boy.
Her eyes narrowed, pulling apart the details of him. Midnight black, darker maybe, with two pairs of wings folded at his sides. Eyes silver like the moon floating idly above them. The smile on his lips was as smooth as ice with as much authenticity as a two-bit diamond, and his eyes read as much into this moment as her own.
‘Good evening, miss,’ and Vendetta almost felt the corner of her lips curl upward, could almost feel it dragging from her a bitter laugh. Was he not just the perfect young gentleman, then? Oh, but she could see right through him. The unicorn had not risen to her status on trusting the facades offered to her by others. She had looked deeper inside them, dug out their true intentions. She knew so few who showed who they really were.
“Your formalities are lost on me,” she said, and if she’d had a tail it might have flicked for her exasperation. Then, Vendetta continued to walk. Without ceremony she brushed past him, and could feel the warmth of his skin on her own as she did, for the service alley was barely wide enough to fit a small cart down without scraping the sandstone on either side. She thought, perhaps, a few feathers from his large pairings of wings whispered against her side, but then she was beyond him and heading toward the mouth of the alleyway.
“I hope that you were not expecting to meet Abazar—alive,” the unicorn tossed over her shoulder. The words were casual, light, as though she were simply saying goodnight to the other equine and not suggesting something which she knew he already had found out. “I’m afraid you would be disappointed,” and if there was a steel glinting in her eyes, like a polished knife, he would not see it for her back was to him.
Though she made no admission of her involvement, there was no point in hiding what the walls hid; it would be news soon enough come the rising of the sun. Oh, word of his murder would no doubt fill the streets, flooding it with whispers and wide eyes and secretive glances. Who had done it? Why had they done it? But Vendetta would be in her home, high atop her throne, and none would touch her.
This was not her first exploit, and it would most certainly not be her last. Oh, Vendetta knew she could not kill in such a way constantly. The nobles, while more often than not the swine of Solterra, did have some merit she supposed. If she were to pick them off nightly it would cause problems. She was smarter than that. Then she had a though, her pace slowing slightly as it occurred to her. Did she need to worry about this black as night boy saying something?
@Caine she went there
