“Kill you...?” Gilbert couldn’t figure out the hidden meaning behind the girl’s words, and the more he attempted to unveil the concealed thoughts hiding beneath her cold blue eyes, the worse his reason became.
Jade’s hands untied the assassin, his gaze falling on him with a thirst for blood he couldn’t begin to describe. It was only when the girl sat back down that the pressure from the slave dissipated. “That’s enough, Jade. Now, Gilbert, won’t you entertain me?”
“What about him?” His index finger pointed at the platinum-haired man, hands shaped into fists, gaze threatening to rip the assassin’s head from its body with a single movement. Surely, with him around, he wouldn’t win, especially considering the heavy wounds his body had just gone through.
“He won’t interfere.”
As those words left the girl’s lips, the assassin dashed towards her at full speed and his dirt covered hands grabbed Ophelia’s thin neck, causing her torso to lean on the trunk. Yet, as he squeezed with all his might, she smiled as if her soul had craved for this moment for its entire existence, enjoying it to the fullest.
“Kill me, Gilbert.” Ophelia’s hands cupped his, peacefully accepting her death and his strength increased, despite that, there was no pain in her eyes, no doubt in her words. “Do it!”
For years, he’d killed more people than his mind could recall, thus he was very familiar with nobles. He knew how to behave around them, how to lower their guards just to make them act in certain ways but as his grip tightened, as blood pumped through his veins, dropping onto the girl’s skin, he found himself hesitating. What exactly happened to you?
No matter how much his hands attempted to snap her neck in two, his soul crumbled, being unable to bring himself to kill her. His eyes, clouded by doubt suddenly glimpsed sorrow in the girl’s gaze, as if living was a pit of pure sadness. And, even thought, Gilbert’s body screamed in pain, his gut sending red flags left and right through his nervous system, his mind found itself stuck in that expression, that dreadful, pitiful expression.
Suddenly, the assassin fell on the ground, screaming in pain, rolling through the dirt like a dog. “It burns! Shit! Fuck! It fucking burns!”
“Of course, it does. Salt doesn’t mix well with wounds, didn’t you know?” Ophelia massaged her neck slightly before uncovering the top of her chest by removing the thick cape surrounding her body. In her hands, grains of vivid red salt lingered, taken from the small pouch she carried around like an amulet. Her face and clothes had been completely tainted by that man’s blood, however, she appeared rather unbothered. “You are such a disappointment.”Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
“Salt!? Don’t you know no mercy!?” He cried out loud, feeling his blood pumping out of his body as a rush of adrenaline voyaged through his veins.
“Jade, bring her to me.” Ophelia commanded and the slave hesitantly left, bumping into the assassin who tried to get back to his feet once again. When their eyes connected, a shiver ran down his spine and he finally understood he wouldn’t make it out of there alive, not if that fucking slave had a word in it. “Mercy is nothing more than an idealism of righteousness that we both lost far too long ago, wouldn’t you say?”
“I will fucking kill you! I swear to God I’ll...!” Trying to lift his body back up, the man kept on stumbling, dizziness clouding his sight, numbing his senses. He couldn’t accept this; he couldn’t deal with the fact that a mere 15-year-old would be his murderer.
“Then please, by all means, come and kill me.” Her arms opened up, and a smile stretched upon her lips. He launched his body onto her, but his movements were slow, sloppy, equal to the ones of a very drunken man. “Don’t tell me this is how far your determination goes?”
“I swear I...!” Regaining his footing on a nearby tree, the man turned and tried once again; however, this time Ophelia stood still, being embraced by the man. “You bitch!”
The assassin’s body fell on hers and they both found their way onto the ground, the noblewoman’s hand carefully grabbed the back of the man’s head. Her sweet voice whispered into his remaining ear. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to take it out?”
He tried to hold back his screams as the dagger penetrated onto his leg, soaking his trousers with blood. “Why...? How...?”
“Because you’ve killed me once already.”
“Why...?” The assassin kept on muttering to himself, crying compulsively, unable to listen to the words leaving the girl’s mouth.
When his hands surrounded the dagger, Ophelia rapidly realized his intentions. The anger burning within had turned into pure despair and now all he could see was the death of the curse before him. “Are you sure? You will die if you remove it.”
Hatred. Disdain. Anger. Come, take your pick.
Gilbert removed his grasp on the blade, knowing her words rung true. Everything around him was coated in blood, from the now muddy terrain to the girl’s clothing, who appeared to have been dyed in dark crimson red. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to not despise her, to curse the woman in the seven corners of his mind, to wickedly imagine how beautiful she’d look with all her limbs cut out, with her head hanging on a spike at the entrance of the Wharton’s estate - like a trophy of sorts.
“I’ve already told you... everything I know, so... let me go.” He glared at her, trying once again to negotiate his release.
“A commoner like you dares to order me around?” At that moment, Ophelia pushed his body down with her feet and stomped the man’s head, causing it to sink into the muddy ground. Feeling his skull crack open, his freshly cut ear twitching alongside the sole of her shoe, the man screamed. “Please tell me more Gilbert. What would you like me to do next? Bring you a kettle and pour you tea!?”