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

  1. #51
    The Ashen One
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    The conversation seemed to relax the housewife and take her mind off of their situation. When she spoke again, her voice seemed lighter, though her words were unexpected. “Oh, no—” Anne tried to reply, but her protests got lost in her throat. Of course she knew she could never be king; the pinks her mother had once swathed her in had ensured that. But beyond that, Anne was the least eligible person in the kingdom to take the crown. As much resentment she held for the royal and his ignorance of his own sins, Anne knew she had committed far more. She was surprised Ophelia even considered the thought. She seemed too demure, too obedient to the men in power to ever consider a female king. Maybe Anne had misjudged her after all.

    Unfounded as they were, Ophelia’s compliments brought blushes to Anne’s cheeks. She wondered what Ophelia placed her trust in. The fact that Anne was a woman? Was literate? Could wield a blade? Or was it something more? Did Anne have Ophelia so brainwashed that, even with the dubious start to their relationship and the many stumbles since, she still trusted her? No, Anne thought, Ophelia was too smart for that. Whatever Anne had done to win her trust, she hoped it kept working.

    Before the assassin could continue the conversation, her attention was pulled to the road before them. Ophelia had noticed it too, the sound of a branch breaking, and Anne could hear the hitch in her breath. It was clear from the strength of the sound that they were in no danger, but Anne reached a hand towards her sword anyway, gaze steady. If nothing else, perhaps her own calm would help Ophelia relax.

    Anne ventured a step, then another. Another snap. This time, she unsheathed her sword while delicately moving forward. In another moment, she found the source of the distraction. A boar stood just a few feet away, half-covered by some bushes, eyes wide in fear. It was just a baby, and from its sudden movements, it was lost and confused. Anne lowered her sword when she saw it, and a smile came over her face. “He won’t hurt us,” she called to Ophelia, calling her over with a wave of her hand. “His tusks are in no state to damage us, and he’s far too afraid of us to approach.” She stepped closer to him and motioned her sword at it to shoo it away. It scurried in the opposite direction, clumsily bumping into a tree in its eagerness to escape. Anne chuckled lightly, glad that their assailant this time was such an inept one.

    But a realization dawned on her. If that hadn’t been a baby, the boar might have been a problem to them. Anne thought back to the way Ophelia had changed when she held a sword, and she knew she’d be in no state to actually attack, especially not a living creature. But that wouldn’t do out here. Anne could easily handle herself, but if anything were to disarm her, they would both be killed in a heartbeat. “If anything ever does attack us,” she said, turning back to Ophelia, “I need to trust that you’d be able to take care of it. My swords are rusty, but they’ll do the job, even in your hands. If it’s their lives or ours, you always have to choose yourself. You understand that, don’t you?”

    But Anne didn’t let the sentiment settle; now wasn’t the time to overwhelm Ophelia further with possible dangers on this journey. It was likely in Anne’s best interests that something happen to Ophelia now, anyway. There would be no witnesses when she returned to their home to finish her job. The thought settled uncomfortable in her throat, and she shook it off. “But nothing will attack us this close to the city,” she said, “so we are perfectly safe.” If her days with Ophelia weren’t numbered, she wondered what it might have been like to gift the woman her own weapon, to teach her how to use it, to be more than the helpless wife she’d been raised to be.
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  2. #52
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    As the small boar stumbled off into the brush Ophelia felt the tension in her shoulders ease. To have gotten so worked up over such a helpless little creature! She let out a small laugh at the thought.

    Still. It could have been something far more dangerous. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all, coming out in search of her husband. After all, were she to disappear into the forest along with him, who would be there for Milo? It wouldn't be fair to leave him an orphan on the small chance that the two could actually track down and rescue Rolf. She thought of how long they'd been walking. If they turned around now, how long would it be to reach the safety of home; a warm bed and hot stew?

    Anne's reassurance helped, if only a little. The idea of having to defend herself with a sword she had next to no experience with made her hands tremble, but there was no use letting that get to her now. She had to push onward and hope that nothing unfortunate happened to her escort.

    "You're right, there's no sense worrying myself silly over naught. I am prepared to continue at your discretion. I have no head for the passage of time, however. Is it long before nightfall? I would hate to be caught out here in the dark without shelter of some kind. Not to rush us to find any, of course," she finished with a nervous smile, internally scolding herself for her relentless capacity for passivity even among those she trusted.

  3. #53
    The Ashen One
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    Ophelia was trying hard to hide it—even from herself—but Anne saw the fear that clung to her breaths. She didn’t outright protest at the prospect of using a sword; even if their threat had been harmless, the dainty woman knew the importance of self-defense out here. But understanding was one thing; accepting was another. Anne would have to work with her somehow, make her more comfortable around blades, more confident in her skills… The assassin swore under her breath. It wasn’t her job to train someone in all the things she’d had to train herself, and she should have been focusing more on murdering this woman’s husband instead of ensuring she’d come out of this already, but Anne could not deny her humanity, could not deny the interest she’d taken in the noblewoman she had crossed paths with, and as she watched her, Anne’s mind wandered.

    The women continued on. As they walked, they shared conversations about nothing at all. Anne didn’t bring up the boar again, nor any other possible threat they could face. They would cross those bridges when they got to them. She instead guided the talks elsewhere, to Ophelia’s life, her family, her childhood. She had never gone out like this, alone, and she expressed some of her anxieties about that. And Anne talked about herself, about growing up with her sisters, and the father who had wanted his daughters to know how to fend for themselves. By the time night fell and a silence fell over the pair, Anne was surprised at how much she had willingly shared, and though she scolded herself for her carelessness, she had to admit, it felt nice to talk so openly with someone for once.

    When Anne noticed Ophelia’s slowed pace and the fatigue in her step, she stopped walking. “We should set up camp for the night,” she suggested, already surveying the area. They had made it to a clearing, and even going at the slower woman’s pace, they had made good progress so far. Anne motioned towards the distance, to a forested area that would be better protection than the open field. “There,” she said, and she led Ophelia to a spot shrouded by trees and bushes, a place that would hide them from view and protect them from the elements. She took a few minutes to examine the nearby fauna to ensure none of the surrounding leaves were poisonous—and she took her time describing to Ophelia what to look for and how to tell—before, satisfied, she got to work preparing the spot for sleep.

    Anne had done this too many times alone to even think to ask for help. She gathered plants from around the forest and soothed them onto the earth, creating a makeshift bed for them both. When she finished, she stepped back and motioned towards the area, admiring her work. “Well?” she asked her companion. “It might not be anything like you’re used to, but it’ll be better than sleeping on the twigs and rocks all around.” She plopped down on the leafy spot and patted next to her, inviting Ophelia to do the same. Anne then busied herself with removing her bags and sheaths and setting them nearby. She pointed out where she was leaving her sword to Ophelia. “In case,” she said, though she doubted anything would attack them in the middle of the night.

    As night settled around them, Anne started a small fire away from their sleeping spot and the grasping vines all around her. On it, she roasted some of the food they’d brought, mouth watering at the smell of cooked, dried meat. Once fed, she put out the fire, bathing the area in darkness. She settled onto the leaves she’d prepared and listened for Ophelia. “Will you be alright?” she asked. “I’ve done this plenty of times, these camping trips, and there’s nothing to worry about. I can protect us.” She flashed a grin her companion wouldn’t see.

    In the silence that followed, Anne looked above, at the canopy of trees and the starlight that shone through, and she sighed. She had made so many mistakes already, and she was lucky to have gotten this far. She needed to start planning… She would only take Ophelia far enough away to convince her that her husband was truly dead, and then they would head back to her manor. Rolf should have been home by then, and off guard, Anne would be able to get the job done and leave before she ever got to see Ophelia’s face again. She nodded to herself. It wasn’t elegant, but hopefully, it would work, and she could forget about all of this. Though as she listened to the breaths beside her, she tried to remember the last time she’d been this close to another person. Anne shook her head, and with it her foolish thoughts. She closed her eyes and tried to get to sleep.
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  4. #54
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    That evening became somewhat of a template for the nights to follow. The two would spend the hours of sunlight walking and sharing their pasts with each other-- or at least what they felt comfortable giving voice to. Ophelia found herself slip into a sense of ease while listening to Anne's tales of her childhood. The honesty of her companion made it easy to overshare when talking about her own upbringing. She couldn't remember if she had ever had the luxury of bending another's ear to her woes, her triumphs, and all else she managed to conjure up from memories which hadn't seen the light of day since at least prior to meeting Rolf.

    This would go on for hours as they tramped down the paths Anne suggested for them. She certainly knew her way about these woods. Perhaps nearly as well as she seemed to know the ways of the sword, which they occasionally paused to have a lesson in. These lessons didn't feel to Ophelia as though they were doing much to advance her measly abilities, despite Anne's assurance that she was showing improvement. Yet she looked forward to them, if only for the opportunity to watch Anne's graceful, aggressive performance-- a demonstration of everything Ophelia could never hope to be. Though of course there always came the time when Anne, poised with her blade jabbing out into the gut of some imaginary demon, moved her stern gaze from her prey down to match Ophelia's. In that moment, her fierce expression would slip into that of a confident smirk. Her body would follow suit, melting from that stiff pose until she was bending down towards Ophelia, offering the hilt of the sword to her with their eyes still locked. Ophelia would try to hide her face turning red as she took the weapon, swap places with Anne... and proceed to commit the worst crimes imaginable against proper swordsmanship.

    * * *

    By sundown each day, Anne's cautious yet brisk gait proved too much for Ophelia, and so they set about making camp where they could. Sleep didn't come easily the first few nights, or even the few after for that matter. But slowly Ophelia grew more accustomed to life outdoors. Surely, she would not have made it this far alone, but as the daily routine ground its way into her she found a small sense of confidence blossoming where it hadn't for years.

  5. #55
    The Ashen One
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    It was incredible, watching such a timid and docile thing find her way through the wilderness. When Anne had first met Ophelia, she would have bet the noblewoman wasn’t at all built for being out here on her own, but since they’d left her cozy little cottage, Anne had been proven wrong. After the first couple days, Ophelia had gotten the hang of traveling with Anne. She’d even taken the initiative, dictating what paths they ought to take and when they ought to stop to hunt their meals. Anne watched her with curious interest, not as she might watch a target, but as a bystander experiencing a woman finding herself for the first time. It charmed her almost as much as it angered her. If Ophelia was gaining this much confidence out here, it meant that she’d never had such an opportunity back home. Anne filled in the blanks herself—even if Rolf wasn’t downright evil, he was still a monster for clipping his wife’s wings and confining her to a cage he left unprotected. Maybe, Anne thought, Ophelia was better off without him.

    And perhaps there was something else brewing in the pit of Anne’s stomach, a disease she did not want to acknowledge. Anne wasn’t a child; she had had many bouts of romance and sex throughout her life, and she knew what she liked. She’d known she wasn’t interested in men since before she could even talk, and finding a pretty lady attractive was nothing new for her. But there was more to Ophelia than her bright eyes and slim, elegant figure that was drawing Anne’s eye. Unlike most of her other relationships—if she could call them that—this feeling didn’t feel quite so base-level. Anne had watched Ophelia bloom from a dainty thing who meekly followed Anne’s lead to an independent and confident woman with a smile that warmed Anne whenever she saw it. Anne denied it to herself, and she would do so as long as she could, but there was a weakness forming in her, and the longer she put it off, the worse it would get.

    They had been traveling for several days when finally Anne decided it was time to turn around and return to Ophelia’s home. She had been stalling for so long, and the bounty on her head wasn’t getting any lighter. She had debts to pay to save herself, and Ophelia wasn’t a toy, despite how Anne was playing with her. Ophelia was nothing more than an obstacle in the way of the paycheck her husband would be. So, before Anne could allow herself to continue this charade, she approached Ophelia, who was still asleep beside her, and nudged her shoulder.

    “Hey.” Her voice was light so as not to alarm the other woman out of sleep. Ophelia sleepily blinked the world into focus, and Anne smiled at the woman’s face, serene and at once attentive. Anne cleared her throat, cursing herself for getting flustered so easily, and she looked away. “I think,” she continued quietly, “it might be time to admit defeat.”

    It wasn’t something she’d ever been good at, sympathy. Anne had killed more people than she could count, and she’d used their bounties to keep herself fed and clothed. She didn’t have time to think about the consequences of her stolen lives, the people horribly affected by her selfish actions. She didn’t know what to say to someone who believed she’d lost her husband like this. It had never been an issue before; Anne wasn’t in the habit of getting close enough to anyone, let alone her targets’ families, to need to offer condolences. Now, however, she felt incompetent. Anne wanted to say something to Ophelia, to lighten the blow somehow, because Ophelia was different, as much as Anne did not want her to be.

    She reached for Anne’s hand in a gesture she hoped was comforting. “I’m sorry,” went on, “but I’m not sure this will get us anywhere. If we haven’t found him by now, I don’t know that we will, and the further we go, the more dangerous it might be. I would hate to take you from your home and your son. He needs a mother.” Anne put on her most sympathetic expression and hoped it was convincing enough.

    She stood and offered a hand to Ophelia so that she might follow suit. There would be time to mourn later—once Rolf was actually dead, perhaps—but they needed to get back so that Anne could put the rest of her plan into motion. There was no telling what Rolf would do when he found his wife missing, either, and Anne did not want to deal with whatever search party he might send for her. The sooner they got back, the sooner Anne could dispose of Rolf, and the sooner she could pay to regain control of her life. And the sooner she would be without Ophelia, Anne realized, and she hated the sadness that washed over her at the thought.
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