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Thread: [M] The Knife That Cuts the Deepest [BurningKirby & Ashen]

  1. #11
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    Anne didn't like being made to sit and wait for her tea like a child, but she knew protesting would get her nowhere. She bowed her thanks to Ophelia and let her do the work, studying the way she reached for the leaves, the specific kettle and cups she used. The assassin had no idea how long she would be staying in this house, but she supposed she would need to know how things worked if she wanted to get anywhere with her plans.

    She found it odd that Ophelia spoke so openly. She responded interestingly; men protect things they hold dear? Not Rolf? Perhaps Anne was looking too closely at the girl's word choice. After all, despite what the assassin had studied for this job, she couldn't have gotten a chance to speak to Ophelia before this moment. She wrote it off as nothing to worry about and nodded along with the conversation. She was now talking about the neighbors, and Anne had noticed how... quiet they'd seemed. She cast a glance towards the door, remembering the merchant from the previous night. All the other townsfolk seemed to bustle about, ignoring her. It was so unlike where Anne had grown up, and she wondered which setting she preferred.

    With the tea no in front of them, Anne took a sip as she looked back to the child, Milo. She listened to Ophelia, noting the embarrassment in her voice. Anne turned to look at her and shook her head. "My mother and father were ill-prepared to have children," she started. "By the time they bore a daughter, they were both young and inexperienced. They had no idea what to even call her, so they referred to her as girl for a long while, years even. It was only at the age of three, when their little girl had to be taken to a medic, that they had to pick a name for her. The doctor needed something to write on his forms after all. They chose the name Gretchen after overhearing it in the plaza that very day. Isn't that something? My sister was named entirely on a whim, and it has been the name that has stuck all this time." She turned back to the toddler playing. "I'm sure you and Rolf will find a fitting name one day, even if it might take years. For now, yes, I think Milo is a bit more fitting than boy, wouldn't you say?"

    Anne paused, wondering why she had said what she did. She hadn't talked of her sisters in years, not wanting to somehow get them involved in her lifestyle. She'd just given out her sister's name, and true, Ophelia had no surname to work with, no features or anything. There was no chance Ophelia would ever meet Anne's sister. Even so, Anne could feel the anxiety bubble inside her, the irrational what if? She tried to push it away. Perhaps her sister's story was something Ophelia needed to hear, and if that were the case, Anne would do what was needed to gain her trust.

    Anne turned back to her tea, taking long sips and loving the warmth they brought. She had never understood tea, never understood the allure of leaf-flavored water. It tasted a bit like dirt, she thought, too filled with the inedible tastes of nature, but the way it warmed her mouth, the way it sent warmth down her throat and to her whole body; this was a waste she could ignore for this simple pleasure. She thanked Ophelia again for the tea.

    She finished her tea and motioned towards the door. "No one told me anything about these parts," she admitted with a shy smile. "In truth, I think they only sent me because the king owed my cousin a favor, and I was a woman. I don't know much about this area. What is there to do here? Your home looks incredibly tidy, and your child content, but if the neighbors are so against socializing, what occupies your time when your husband is not home?" She looked around the house, trying to answer the question herself. "I was thinking, as I made my way here, that I have not had a female companion in some time. Women are always in the company of men now, and I have to say, it is very pleasant being with a woman for a change. It reminds me of my childhood, of my sister and I getting up to all sorts of troubles together. I'm sure you are much more tame than we were, however, so I wonder how you might like to spend your afternoons? Please do not worry about chores; that is why I'm here. Your husband wanted you to enjoy yourself, like... a vacation. I am here to help in any way I can."
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  2. #12
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    Ophelia felt her stomach settle upon hearing Anne's response to her predicament over "Milo". That could have gotten messy. I don't know if I can deal with too many questions right now. Stop being so jumpy! The sincerity with which Anne talked about her sister relaxed Ophelia, sending her into a sort of zen mode. Perhaps she really didn't have much to fear from this visitor. She couldn't quite bring herself to buy into the reason she claimed she was here, but didn't feel any immediate threat from her either.

    The offer to do something surprised Ophelia. It was phrased as an innocent question; just a stranger curious about what people did around these parts to keep busy. But it seemed clear to her that it meant more. Yet she had made her decision. The woman was in her home. There was no going back now.

    "Ah, I apologize, but I can't say that my life is all that exciting." Ophelia forced a laugh. "I often spend my day just tidying up the house. I occasionally go for a walk, but there isn't much to see nearby, I'm afraid." She paused. "Would, um, you be interested in having me show you around the few sights we do have?"

    What are you doing? You barely know her! Ophelia scolded herself. What are you going to say if they ask you how you met this woman? You just let her in your home for no good reason? How's that going to sound?

    She wanted to smack herself for being so careless, and was about to do so, but realized just as she was bringing her hand up to deal the blow that Anne was, in fact, still in front of her. Ophelia slowly let her hand drop back down to her side, her face growing red.

    "It's a, uh... nice day out?" She squeaked, struggling to bring a shaky smile to her lips. Hours seemed to pass as she awaited Anne's answer.

  3. #13
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    Anne watched the woman in front of her, suddenly aware of how jumpy she seemed. A walk around town would provide a good opportunity to not only get to know the area, but also to better acquaint with Ophelia. But there was something bothering the local, something Anne couldn't place. Was this stranger still wary of her? That would make sense, but she thought it was something else. Her story of Gretchen seemed to relax her, but there was still something nagging. When Ophelia raised a hand, as if to strike Anne, the young assassin braced herself, not daring to make any movement to protect herself. But Ophelia just put her hand down, awkwardly muttered something about the weather, and tried to move on.

    Anne let out a gentle breath. Maybe this girl was weirder than she was. She smiled brightly and nodded. "I think a walk sounds like a lovely plan," she replied. "I cannot remember the last time I just went for a stroll. There always seems to be some task to do, some errand to run. I am impressed at how kept you keep your home, knowing how busy you might be." She excused herself from the table with a small bow and walked over to Ophelia's son. Crouching down, she offered him a hand, which the baby grabbed onto mindlessly. "Would you care for a walk, little man?" she asked. "I'll bet it beats sitting around here."

    Anne took another glance around the room in thought. She turned to the door, prepared to go, but she lingered in the house. "Is your husband away a lot?" she asked. "He must be. One does not gain a reputation like his while sitting at home. I could teach you, if you'd like, how to keep yourself occupied with something less grueling than household chores. Whittling can be relaxing, and it might even result in decoration for your home, or a toy for your boy." Would that how she'd get closer to Ophelia? By teaching her some man-skills and making the girl more independent? After all, wouldn't Ophelia need the independence once Anne was finished with her?

    No. Anne knew better than to think of the after. If she wasted time thinking about the wives and sons of the men she had to kill, she would never make a living. Brushing it off, Anne shrugged her shoulders and started for the door. "Only a thought," she added. "I grew up with very active sisters, and we found ways to keep ourselves busy. Most of them were just childish games, but I find even now these juvenile activities can provide nice stress relievers, or just ways to pass the time. Milo is young yet, but perhaps he could pick up on the activities too. A busy child is a temperate one, after all." She cast a glance towards the boy again. "Well, most of the time." Turning back to Ophelia, she asked, "So where shall we head?"
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  4. #14
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    Anne's glancing around the room put Ophelia slightly on edge. She hadn't been prepared to accept a visitor today. Frantically, she tried to follow the strange woman's eyes, perhaps in some desperate hope that she would see something amiss in the room and be able to rectify it before it could be noticed. A silly thought, but she couldn't help herself. It wouldn't have been the first time a stranger had noticed a stray piece of food on the ground or some dark blot on the wall she had missed.

    She continued this tense game of mirroring Anne's eyes until they came to rest on Milo. The woman had begun to make her way toward him. Usually this would only serve to heighten her anxiety, but as she approached the boy Ophelia's nervousness fell away to a strange serenity. She listened to the gentle way Anne spoke with him, though he couldn't speak himself. As she watched, all seemed to progress in slow motion. Each image flashed through her mind just long enough to burn it there for eternity before the next took its place. Anne's soft smile, blue irises shifted down towards the child. Milo's confused expression as her hand was offered to him. The tight certainty of his tiny fingers clutched around her slender index.

    And then the moment was over. Anne had risen back up, and Ophelia had watched her as she did, but it was as if in a dream and she only now understood that a question had been asked of her. It took her but a moment to return to lucidity. "Ah, yes, that would be lovely of you. I don't often find myself without anything to do but to be honest, not all that I could do requires doing. At least not right away..."

    Ophelia considered where in town she might take her guest. "Do you think you might be interested in seeing the market?" She wasn't exactly sure what they would do there, but liked the idea of being Anne's guide. "It's not exactly an exciting place but if you have yet to see it then perhaps it would do." She crossed the room and swooped up Milo before making her way back past Anne towards the door. Using one arm to push open the door and hold it there while carefully supporting the child in the other, she glanced back at the woman with a smile. "Shall we?"
    Last edited by BurningKirby; 04-29-2019 at 01:31 AM.

  5. #15
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    Anne bowed gracefully towards Ophelia, a thanks for opening the door for her and offering to show her around. She had been to the market, that was where she'd gotten her food earlier, but she was willing to see it again. Maybe Ophelia would have some insight on which shops were best for grabbing supplies or snacks. She just hoped that man from the night before wasn't still there, lingering, waiting for a woman he could put in her place. Would Anne have to quiet her feminist ideals to not frighten Ophelia? She hoped she would not have the opportunity.

    Outside, Anne breathed in the fresh air. She caught a whiff of something cooking, some grilled chicken dish she guessed, and her stomach grumbled quietly. "Is the market always here?" she asked, allowing Ophelia to take the lead and guide her, though Anne knew the way too. "Where I'm from, the traveling merchants would only set up shop once a week, on Tuesdays. It was always an event, going to the market, seeing what the travelers brought in. It seems so exciting to always have some shop to explore here." With the market in view, she made her way to some of the stands, surveying the wares. She'd been to too many places across too far lands to not know which of these trinkets were fake, and she wondered just how many people these fraudulent merchants were able to trick.

    Remembering her place, Anne fell back into step behind Ophelia. "Do you often shop here?" she questioned, trying to keep conversation going and get the jittery woman to relax some. "Perhaps here we can pick up some tools." She looked to Ophelia's hands, the smoothed hands of a rich woman. Would she take well to whittling? Perhaps they ought to try a different activity first. Anne saw a merchant selling scrolls and walked up to him. He made some sexist comment towards Anne, which she pretended to not hear. If Anne taught Ophelia to read, would the poor woman be better off once her husband was offed?

    Thinking about how much coin she had on her person, Anne decided to buy a scroll from the merchant, who fought her only until he saw her money. She also bought a small knife, figuring they could try whittling anyway. She turned back to Ophelia. "I think the little one might like to be read to," she said, an excuse. "Now, why don't we check out your favorite shops? Surely you have a few, living here." She scanned the market, at the various people walking by. A bad habit, she counted how many coinpurses were visible, how many wallets she could easily pilfer, but with Ophelia watching, she decided she would leave her thievery for another time.
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  6. #16
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    Ophelia led Anne from her doorstep, taking care to close the door behind them. It wasn't very far to the market, so she took her time as she walked. It occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last time she had gone there without the intention of buying food or other supplies for Rolf, Milo, and herself. She knew the way well, and so walked confidently along the path. Anne walked rather confidently as well-- though behind her. She took note of the brisk way the woman walked, nearly running into Ophelia a few times. Has she been this way before?

    As the market came into view, Anne asked Ophelia if it stayed in town year round.

    "Oh yes, it has to be here, always. Onryx isn't known for much, but the market draws travelers and salesmen from all sorts of places. I believe the taxes from it are a major source of income for us," She said, gesturing at the town about her. Anne didn't seem too interested in what she was saying. The woman hovered between the stands, eyeing up the merchandise at each for a few moments before flitting over to the next. The way she darted about reminded Ophelia of a very confused insect, and she couldn't help but giggle a little. The sound alerted Anne and drew her back away from the stands to walk alongside her. The questions resumed. "We don't really have any other options nearby when it comes to getting our food. If the market were to leave I don't know what we'd do." Ophelia replied with a lighthearted laugh.

    Anne mentioned something about picking up "tools." It caught Ophelia by surprise, and the look on her face reflected this. She wasn't sure what exactly Anne could mean, but watched as the woman left her side again and made a beeline for a stand nearby. She returned shortly after with a scroll in one hand and a small knife in the other.

    "Oh! That wasn't necessary, but thank you. I... adore reading to Milo." She managed, again perplexed at Anne's expectation that she be literate. Her eyes were drawn to the small carving knife in Anne's hands. The sight of it disappointed her. It was... too small. Pitiful, in a way.

    The next question again caught her off guard and for a moment she peered at Anne, wondering if the woman could read her thoughts somehow. Then, something caught her attention. Ophelia's eyes moved slowly, as if in some hypnotist's trance, to focus in on the large blacksmith's shop over Anne's shoulder. The large blades glinted in the sunlight, daring her towards them.

    Ophelia wanted to feel them.

    The smooth, polished grind. The serrated threat of the blade's edge. All else around her seemed to fall away to blackness and a moment later she could feel the weight of a wooden handle against her palm. It felt so familiar in her grip. So comfortable. How she had ever lived without it was impossible to fathom. But in that moment she felt that it would never leave her. There was no taking from her the power its sharp edge gave so freely. She let her thumb wander up from the handle and gently traced it along the base of the blade's spine, taking in the strength of the craft.

    A man's deep bark brought the world crushing back in on her, bright and unfair. Her sight took a few seconds to return fully, but when it did she was greeted by an angry bearded hulk of a man glaring at her over the shop's counter.

    "Put that down, you'll hurt yerself!"

    The shock of his earthy, growling voice grounded her back in reality. She realized she was holding a knife nearly as long as her forearm and loosened her grip. The blade fell to the ground, just nicking her left leg on its journey down. This only served to upset the blacksmith more, but Ophelia was paralyzed. Her eyes frantically searched about her for options. She desperately avoided locking gaze with any of the increasing number of stares she was getting from those around her.

    First they went to the man.

    Then back down to the knife on the ground before her.

    At last she spun around and they came to rest on Anne, who had been watching the incident from a few meters back.

  7. #17
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    Anne had asked a simple question, admittedly not even caring what Opehlia's answer was. If the woman got to show off something that had sentimental value to her, all the better. What Anne wasn't expecting, however, was Ophelia's drunken gaze. The assassin tilted her head, her eyebrows asking a question her voice would not, but suddenly the young mother didn't even know Anne was there. Anne turned to follow her gaze, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. "Ophelia?" she prompted gently, but then the woman was starting away, lost.

    She wandered past several vendors, Milo balanced silently in her arm. Anne padded after her slowly, unsure of what had come over her. Had she done something wrong? Anne scanned the market. Everyone was simply going about their day, unaware of the scene unfolding. Anne turned back to Ophelia, and that's when she saw the weapon in her grasp. She froze, her thoughts liquid and overflowing. Whatever she'd done wrong, Ophelia was about to punish her for it. How far could she run before she was caught? But the longer Anne watched, the more at ease she felt. This woman had no intentions of hurting her, at least not yet. No, she just wanted to feel the blade in her hands, a feeling Anne knew all too well.

    But she knew this was not the place. Anne walked behind Ophelia just as the blacksmith started approaching. Anne plucked Milo out of Ophelia's arm, knowing how the scene would look to onlookers. She set a reassuring hand on Ophelia's shoulder. The girl looked panicked, now with all eyes turned towards her. "Let's put that back, shall we?" Anne murmured, motioning with her free hand towards the elongated knife. Carefully, Anne bent down to pick up the knife and hand it to the blacksmith with a chipper smile, all while making sure Milo didn't fall out of her arms. She turned back to Ophelia, still paralyzed, and gently rubbed her back. "We ought to go before we attract a bigger crowd. How about we find some food and have a picnic? Take Milo somewhere near here, somewhere away from the crowds. I'll find you, and I'll bring lunch, alright?"

    Though Anne seemed, if anything, gentler towards Ophelia, her thoughts were raging. The way Ophelia had reacted to the knife, the way she'd held it and caressed it like an old lover... Who was this girl, anyway? If she were just the sheltered wife of one of the king's men, why did she seem so interested in something she couldn't have? No one would sell her such a thing, and she couldn't possibly know how to wield any blade... But the glimmer in those peridots, the trance-like love she had for the stainless steel... Anne folded that memory deep into her mind. If it was swords Opehlia wanted to play with, Anne had plenty of experience with those.

    She stood watching Ophelia, waiting for her to come out of her stupor. She'd be kind to her now, kinder especially because she knew the humiliation in Ophelia's features. Her offer to find them food was part of that kindness, but she had other motives, too. With the sun hanging so high in the air, Anne knew her time was limited. She needed to get that letter forged, and she needed to send it to someone who would be able to reach Ophelia's husband. If the man came home too early, she didn't know what she would do.
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  8. #18
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    Ophelia watched Anne return the knife, the weight of the eyes watching her from all sides pushing in on her, keeping her from budging from that spot. The woman seemed so graceful the way she plucked the fallen blade from the dirt and replaced it on the rack. She did this with such confidence and care for the tool itself that-- and perhaps it was just Ophelia's now-frazzled imagination at work, but it seemed that Anne was unusually comfortable with the knife. The fear which shattered other women's nerves seemed to be lacking in the way she handled it.

    Her mesmerization was cut short when she saw the child balanced on Anne's arm. Ophelia now noticed how light her own arm felt. She had been holding it up as though to support some invisible kid all this time. Realizing this, she let it drop to her side. When did that happen? She pondered this momentarily, allowing herself to be lost in thought once more before she felt Anne's warm hand on her back and her voice in her ear. The gesture comforted her and she withdrew from her mind before turning to look at the woman.

    Words shot from Ophelia's lips but they wouldn't connect or build on each other as they should. They simply crashed and burnt up before any meaning could be extracted from them. She had to stop herself. She knew she wouldn't get anywhere this way. Ophelia had to slow down and allow herself time to think over what had just occurred, otherwise she'd never get past it.

    She wanted to argue with Anne about the picnic, tell her that now was no time for such frivolities, but her head was in no place to do so and she couldn't help but agree that the crowd was only growing. She took Milo back into her arms and heard herself reluctantly mumble an agreement. Moments later, she found herself stiffly making her way towards a patch of grass shaded by a large oak a little ways off from the market. There, she plopped herself down, letting Milo scramble out of her arms to her side, and waited for Anne to find them.

    Sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms draped tightly about them, she recalled something of an apology she must have murmured at Anne before leaving her there among the shops. She couldn't bring herself to think any further back. Her head dropped down between her knees and she let a few familiar tears roll down her face. It was a hot day, but the shade balanced out the sun's heat resulting in a temperature that was far from uncomfortable. Her mind was a mess, but she began to doze off there with her head in her arms, pondering what ill twist Fate had in store for her next.
    Last edited by BurningKirby; 05-26-2019 at 08:12 PM.

  9. #19
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    For a long while, Anne feared Ophelia would decline her, would want nothing more than to head home and put Milo to bed, to crawl up and cry. She knew the expression on her face, the shame and regret, the deep embarrassment. But Ophelia found her confidence, and, though reluctantly, she agreed to Anne's simple idea. Anne bowed lightly, promising she'd meet her in just a few, and as she walked off with Milo in hand, Anne was thinking about all too much at once.

    Anne darted through the market on her way back to the Warde house. She slipped back through the door and dove for her bag. She managed to pull out a blank scroll and her fanciest quill. She sat at the dining room table of the house and hastily wrote up some excuse, some "order from the King himself" to a Rolf Warde for his services needed over in the east, in a small town she pulled from a map in her bag. With that done, she shoved her tools back into her bag and hesitated. Anne tugged at her satchel, knowing what was in it. She was an assassin; she had more ways to kill a man in her bag than most people contained in their homes. She pulled a blade out of her bag, shorter than her forearm but sharper than any she would find at the market. Anne thought of Ophelia, of the gleam in her eye, at the weapon she'd been holding only moments before. Hesitating for only a moment more, she retrieved the straps and buckles from her bag, fastened them to her waist, grabbed a cloak to conceal it, and headed back out into town.

    She kept her hood lowered, but her cloak hugged tightly around her body. It was how Anne normally moved about, blending in without looking suspicious. This way, she could hide more weapons, but now, she hid the way to Ophelia's admiration--hopefully. It took her only a few minutes to find a young boy willing to deliver her scroll, a young boy who knew the man well and had an idea of where he'd be for work. Anne shoved some coins into his palm and gave him the most piercing look. As an assassin, she killed for coin, but if this boy screwed up, she would make an exception. Her icy glare told him all of this, and he shuffled off nervously but determined.

    With her duty taken care of for now, Anne wandered into the market and found the food she'd promised Ophelia. She chose the first thing she found, two small loaves of bread and two thick slabs of meat. With her funds now running low, Anne scurried off in search of a frazzled woman and her oblivious toddler.

    She found them beneath an oak tree. Anne approached them cautiously, noticing the drying tears and the drooping eyelids. "Ophelia?" she said softly, padding up to her gently. "I brought the food." She sat down next to her, debating whether she should mention the tears. Ophelia reminded Anne of her sister, little Kirsti. How many times had Kirsti needed consoling? How many times had Anne failed, as a sister, as a compassionate woman? She shook her head and motioned towards the bread and meat. "My apologies, I got a bit lost, and the butcher gave me a bit of a rough time." She shifted, feeling her knife rub against the ground under her cloak. "Do you want to talk about why you reacted that way?" she prodded. "I've never met another woman to look at a blade like that. I... I thought I was alone."
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  10. #20
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    A familiar voice made Ophelia jerk her head up from where it had come to rest between her knees. She glanced around in search of its source. Her search was rewarded by the sight of Anne's boots a few feet away. Her gaze traveled up the woman's frame before coming to rest on blue eyes that peered back at her, the brow above them furrowed.

    "Oh, hello. Welcome back," Ophelia managed. She wanted to pick herself up to greet the woman, but just couldn't muster the energy. Instead, she let her feet slide forward, bringing her to a more natural sitting position. Suddenly she became very aware of how she must look to Anne, sitting here with tears streaking her face. She tried to rub the moisture from her cheeks as best as she could. The combination of her crying, rubbing, and embarrassment left her face beet red, and she realized it would be of no help. The loaves and meat caught her eye. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Bread sounds so good right now." She extended her arm, took hold of a loaf, and brought it to her lips. It had a delightful crunch to it, albeit slightly dampened by a few tears which crept their way down her face before dripping off the tip of her chin. She imagined using the sponginess of the bread to dry her face, and the silliness of the thought sobered her somewhat. The tears slowed. "I do hope he didn't give you too much trouble. You really didn't have to go and do this."

    Somehow Ophelia hadn't been expecting Anne to ask about what had happened in the market. She took in a deep breath and, keeping it in, turned to look into Anne's eyes. They met hers, piercing them. There was concern there. And curiosity. Ophelia turned away, shutting out the world again, and swallowed the piece of bread she'd been chewing. What do I say? I can't spill everything here. I don't think I could if I wanted to. What would she think of me?

    She let the breath she'd been holding in out at last. With it she began to release some of the demons that had been stewing inside her in Anne's absence. "I've long had an interest in knives and swords. There's something about them. I'm not supposed to touch them unless I'm cooking, but-" Here Ophelia paused. Her expression was cold. The red began to drain from her face. She continued in monotone, "I can't help myself sometimes. There's a power that comes with them that I... I like. Maybe too much. I guess I was weak then. In the market. It was terrible of me to let that happen. I scared everyone."

    The lump forming in her throat was making it increasingly difficult to speak in an even tone. She tried to move the attention off of herself. "So, y-you like them too? Blades?" As she said this Ophelia turned back to face Anne once more, doing her best to keep her composure. She didn't know what to expect from this woman, but was glad to have someone to talk to regardless.

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