A Touch of Thorns

Chapter 4.5- Lord's Message

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People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do.

-Issac Asimov

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Dear Thorn,

Rumors of your recent dance with the target reached my ears. I must say, your performance seems lacking, old friend. If the lady you're meant to dispatch is still breathing, I dare say your skills might need a tune-up.

Remember, emotions are a luxury assassins can ill afford. One moment of sentimental weakness, and you might find yourself on the wrong end of a blade. The lady in question appears to be no walk in the proverbial park. Perhaps you should consider sharpening your skills or investing in a more foolproof dance routine. We wouldn't want you tripping over your own feet in the deadly waltz of our profession.

Looking forward to a more successful encore, Thorn.

Best,

The Syndicate

I crumpled up the parchment, its faint scent of ink and parchment wafting through the air, and tossed it into the crackling flames. The paper curled and blackened, consumed by the fiery dance. My frustration burned as vividly as the parchment.

"Damn it, I should've known it was her," I muttered, the acrid taste of regret lingering on my tongue.

"That old geezer," I gritted my teeth, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste, like the remnants of a poisoned draft.

The room seemed to close in as the weight of those words settled on me. I could almost smell the ink, feel the texture of the paper beneath my fingertips. The irony of it all hung in the air, a bitter taste on the back of my tongue. The game, the dance, the intricacies of power – all laid out in that simple sentence. The scent of intrigue mingled with the faint aroma of the candle burning nearby, casting long shadows across the room.

I leaned back in my chair, the cool upholstery a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire. The crackling flames provided a soothing backdrop to the tumult of thoughts in my mind. It was a game, indeed, but one where the rules seemed to shift like sand beneath my feet.

In the distance, a clock chimed, its resonance cutting through the quiet like a knife. Each tick marking the seconds passing, bringing me closer to the next move in this grand chess match. The rustle of papers, the soft murmur of the wind outside. A bitter smile played on my lips. A game, yes, but one where the pieces had a peculiar way of moving beyond the board.

"Damn you, Princess." I rubbed my tired eyes, feeling the day's weariness settle into every bone. I fell backward onto my fluffy bed, the softness a welcome contrast to the harshness of the world outside. The scent of lavender filled the air as my body sank into the comfort of the mattress.

"I really hate you," I mumbled, my words a half-hearted protest against the demands of my role. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting a warm glow. The events of the day replayed in my mind, each memory a thread in the intricate tapestry of courtly machinations.

The sound of a distant clock reached my ears, its rhythmic ticking merging with the rustle of leaves outside my window. A gentle breeze carried the whispers of the night, as if the world itself was preparing to rest. My eyes fluttered closed, the exhaustion pulling me into the embrace of sleep.~:~

I love you guys so much and I'm so proud of you.

You are beautifully perfect and don't let anyone make you think otherwise