Red String {EDITING}

Chapter One | The Way Back Home

Abilities, or gifts as some liked to call them, were rather common amongst the werewolves. They were the Children of Night, beloved of the Moon Goddess, and their fates were woven by the Weaver himself. It was said the presence of the white thread in each of their tapestries determined whether one had the potential to wield a gift, and that was decided solely by the Weaver. But it was also said the Weaver had given the white thread back to its owner – the one whose hair from which the thread had been spun – that honour belonged to none other than Lunaria, Goddess of the Moon, Patron Deity of the Aria Religion, and it was she who determined who received which ability.

With a smile, Lyra glanced over to the near empty bookshelf tucked in the corner of her room, eyeing the little book of lore and myth on which that particular religion was based on. She'd received it when she'd been sent to infiltrate one of the towns in which the Aria Religion had prominence. It had been an easier assignment than most, and she had been oddly sad once it was over. Though she'd long since learnt not to show such emotions on her face.

Tools had no need for emotion. It would only hinder in their duties. They simply needed to serve – to bend to the rule of their unseen leader. It was for that purpose she had been taken, and for that purpose she had been trained into what she was.

An assassin.

She was no good when it came to fighting opponents head on. Her gift was aligned with speed and agility, with the power to allow her to move at fast speeds. There were almost no drawbacks to it, unless she pushed herself to the limits and needed to recharge herself. Then, and only then, it became a problem. But Lyra had long since learnt to never push herself to those limits. Not when she couldn't trust a single soul around her.

Not that she was going to be pushing herself to her limits then and there. Her plan had been designed specifically so she wouldn't have to do just that. Like all plans she'd ever followed, it was a simple one, because simple plans were far more likely to succeed. The only problem she'd had was her method of reaching the nearest unalarmed window – a problem now solved by the master key.

She palmed the key in her hand, smiling at the feeling of the cool metal. It felt better in her hands than the handles of the various knives and daggers ever had. She still remembered how the weapons had been given to her – still remembered the cold voice in her ear that whispered. "Kill him, Eighteen."

Eighteen. That was her name there. A number for a tool.

How she'd hated that name. She'd loathed it whenever she heard it being called... but now it might have been her salvation. She was going to be eighteen when she escaped that place.

Sighing to herself, she glanced back outside the window, watching and waiting as the moon rose higher and higher. It occasionally peaked through a gap in the clouds, and Lyra grinned as it reached the appointed height. Her bare feet were silent on the ground. Noiselessly she made her way over to her door, heart pounding in her chest as she pressed her ear against the cold wood. She strained to hear as much as she could, a toothy grin splitting her face when she heard the silence beyond.

The silence was soon broken though, as she twisted the key inside the lock. It opened with a click loud enough to make her heart race that much faster.

Her hand went to her chest, breathing strained as adrenaline rushed through her. It was finally happening. She was finally escaping. "Calm yourself," she whispered, reminding herself of her training. No matter how much she'd disliked the killing of innocents, she could hardly deny how useful the training for those very acts had just become.

Waiting was the key lesson she had learnt from there. Patience was key, as was one's information. Lyra had gathered enough of both.

Slipping the key back into her pocket, she opened the door silently, glad the hinges were always well oiled. This was it. There was no going back now she had left her room. If she were caught there would be no escaping the cell below.