Love is Revenge

A gust of wind caused a spray of sand to rise around the lone figure walking across Egypt's sands. The figure pulled the sheer thin cloak closer to their body. However, the gaze behind the golden mask did not falter from the single-story house a few feet away. The shadowed figure reached the house quickly, jumping onto window's ledge, and then jumping from it, landing silently on the smooth floor.

A candle was flickering in the center of the room. The small source of light was enough to illuminate the curves of a woman wearing a tightly fitted, one-sleeved top that barely covered the hem of her knee-length skirt. One slit was sewn into the back of her skirt while another ran up her leg. The slits allowed the skirt room, if any was needed. Both pieces were black, which helped conceal her in the night. Per chance, the only thing that stood out was the woman's gold mask. The candle's slight reflection was dancing on the surface.

The woman silently weaved through the well-furnished house. She stopped at the highly polished table, where the candle had dutifully regained its composure. Papyrus scrolls were strewn about, most of them rolled out while decorated rocks acted as paperweights to hold the edges down. The woman's eyes stopped at the one that seemed untouched. It looked like the man had made it himself. The woman picked it up, ran her finger through the seal, and unrolled the papyrus.

Under the mask she grinned. Tonight she received an unexpected bonus. She quickly rolled the scroll and stuffed it in the robe's left hand pocket.

The man in the next room was in his late fifties and had married once. His wife had long since passed on to the next world. They had no children. The man worked for the government, keeping watch over the Valley of the Kings. Like every other night, the covers would be slightly thrown about him. This man always slept on his back, face up. Usually sleep would claim the man as soon as he hit the mattress. Tonight however, the man had uncharacteristically drunken three glasses of beer tonight and made the job much simpler.

Entering, the women couldn't catch the smirk forming on her lips. The man was even snoring. She pulled a large dagger from each holster on her thigh.

The woman carefully climbed onto the bed, placing each of her feet on either side the man. She distributed her weight evenly before she lowering herself to her knees, keeping careful not to let any part of her body touch the man. The fabric of her skirt met harmlessly with the bed covers. She brought her daggers to the man's neck. Each dagger tip lay parallel from each other, only a hair away from the man's pale flesh. "Wake up old man," she breathed.

The man stirred in his bed.

The woman's eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Wake up old man," she repeated, quickly growing irritated. The man stirred once again, gracing his skin with the sudden contact of the cold metal. His eyes shot open, his pupils instantly contracting. The woman let the man register fear before she let her nimble hands pull the blades across his, slitting his throat.

The ill-fated man was killed instantly.

A spray of blood splattered across the woman's hands. The victim's brown eyes continued to stare at her blankly, as if peering into her conscious. "You fool," the assassin said getting off the bed without another thought.

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