9| His Game

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————————————————————Archer picked up Violet bridal style once she was sound asleep

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Archer picked up Violet bridal style once she was sound asleep. He didn't do sleep, you can't when there's a thousand voices screaming in your ear and memories sharper than knives cutting deep into your veins.

He looked down at the sleeping innocent beauty in his arms and wondered what life felt like with a sane mind. He sighed and walked down the stairs to the second floor, his eyes trained on hers and traveling over the contours of her face.

Her nose was perfect. It was cute and button like, he's pretty sure 'boop-able' was what some people called it. Her hair was thin, but there was so much it; it felt like angel hair running through his fingers like water. He sighed and stopped in the hall. He was almost to her room and he wanted to keep looking at her.

He was trying to figure out what made her so special, what made him want her more than almost anything he'd ever wanted. He'd felt like a child making grabby hands toward a toy they wanted. Her full plump pink lips were pouty and slighty parted as she breath.

Her breath. He felt her lungs fill and deflate against his chest as her breath beat slow and quiet.

He usually stoped hearts, he'd never felt one pumping, very much alive, against him.

It made his pulse quicken and a primal urge to keep her heart beating burned inside of him.

He growled softly and gripped her tight to his chest a furrow settling on his face. His.

She was his.

His grip got a little too tight because she whimpered gently murmuring in her sleep. She shifted softly making him still and loosen his hold on her as she wrapped her arms around his neck nuzzling deep into his chest. She murmured little words he couldn't understand and he felt something swell inside of his chest.

What the fuck did she just do? And why am I so floored.

He sighed and shook it off as his sexual needs.

He walked into her room and laid her down on her cool satin sheets. She groaned a little and shifted in her bed till the blanket was pulled over her and she snuggled into it.

He stepped back and looked at her.

So small and innocent.

Now he had to go be the complete opposite.

~•~
(Gore warning)

Archer put on his jacket filled with weapons. He preferred knives, they were light, small, and quiet. His muscles ripples under the fabric as he narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist.

He slid on his gloves, as soon as he felt the familiar leather that scaled buildings and grabbed throats, he knew people going to die.

Once he got to his targets location, he stalked. The night around him engulfed him, welcoming him as just another one of the shadows.

He perched on the window sill on the fourth floor of the Macredie's Mansion. That's all he knew about his target, other than how much he was getting paid to take care of him.

He watched the man sitting at his desk in his study. A cigar in his mouth with smoke swirling out of the glowing tip and circling through the air around him.

Archer watched him grab his glass filled with ice and pour some whisky into it.

The wind blew in through the open window making the curtains fly.

He lifted the screen silently, his eyes trained on the man.

He stepped inside of the room like he weighed nothing. His heart quickened from the rush he was going to receive.

He was excited.

He imagined the smooth clean blade of his dagger sliding into the mans flesh.

His wicked grin widened as he stood up straight behind the mans chair. He watched his lungs inflate and deflate, much like he had with violets.

But this time the overwhelming joy of stopping that motion filled him.

He was brutally fucked up.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a long black blade. The tip was curved slightly and it had ridges along the base.

Quick as sound he put the man in a strong head lock. He choked and thrashed but archer held him with ease. Grinning like a psycho, he took the knife and slammed it into his heart. Plunging it deep and twisted the brutal knife listening as his final breaths fanned on his face. He chuckled and pulled it out before stabbing back into the bloody hole once more and twisting.

His blood splattered out from the wound as he stabbed it repeatedly and onto the paper that was in front of him.

Decorating the white pages with the mans crimson blood. His own kind of fucked up artwork.

Once his movements stilled forever and his body went numb, he pulled out the knife and slid it back into its spot in his jacket. His gloved bloody hands reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue hydrangea.

He stuck the pretty flower right in the stab wound.

That was his mark.

A blue Hydrangea.

~•~

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