Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words | Page 96

Reaching behind her, she unfastened the weapon nestling in the
small of her back. Loosening the haft that ran the up the length of her
spine, and releasing the single bladed axe, said to once belong to a
witch hunter's executioner. Taking a double-handed grip she rested
the smile of the axe on the monster's exposed neck, and in a blur of
movement swung the axe over her head and cut the head. It flew from
the shoulders to land in the shadows.
Lifting it by long, dark hair she remove the elongated incisors with
a pair of heavy pliers.
Her trophies collected, she returned the head to the bed, laying it
face down just above the neck in a rapidly expanding pool of
crimson. Of the desiccated youth lying next her mark, she paid she
him no mind.
Satisfied the scene was set in such a way that few would ask
questions; she fled through the same aperture she had entered, once
the moon was suitably shadowed in thick cloud.
Wrapped in her cloak of Midnight, her face hidden by a black, fine
mesh veil, she crouched low and quickly, carefully made her way
over the curved roof tiles. Slippers, crafted lovingly in the deserts
beyond the pewter moon, easily gripped the smooth surfaces as
Marinhold's rich merchant class slept peacefully below her feet,
blissfully unaware of her passing.
She had to hurry now. For she had another more pressing matter
to attend to. She gently slid from her perch, her smooth slippers
touching down silently onto the polished marble balcony of
Marinhold's grandest hotel.
At her employer's behest the glass door had been left open for her,
the scent of rose petals greeted her entry and brought the curve of a
gentle smile. She moved around the large bed, her fingertips lingering