“Where the hell did you find this?”
The only thing I know of the hooded figure is his voice, his voice that is often dripping with downright annoyance that he reserves especially for speaking with me.
Grinning, I place my booted feet upon the crappy wooden table infront of us and he has to spring the bag out of my disastrous way before I can crush its contents.
“Well I obviously bought it at the market, right between the fruit and vegetable section.” My attempts at humour seem to be lost upon him for he growls in response. If I could see his eyes, which I can’t, I’m sure they would be cutting a thousand daggers in my direction.
He clutches the bag closer to his chest, every so often taking another peek inside afraid that whatever is in the bag has dissapeared.
“I don’t see why your holding onto the bag so tightly, it’s not as though he’s in any position to run from you now.” Smiling sweetly I place my feet back on the floor before calling for a drink from the barmaid.
“I would not be surprised if one day someone is handing me your head in a bag Elena.” His tone is warning, and if it were any one else saying it I would’ve almost thought he cared. Almost.
“Yes well luckily for you that day is not today.” The barmaid hands me my drink, and taking a deep swig I let the bitter contents run down my throat, trying to ignore the swirls of dread in my gut.
I can feel his gaze on me, assessing and calculating in that annoying way of his and I take another drink to avoid looking back.
“You still haven’t told me where you found the King’s head.” He says, and I can tell he is not fond of letting the idea go anytime soon.
“If you really must know I found it on my doorstep. Encased in a red velvet box addressed specifically to me.” The air in the room drops, going cold with the realisation he is now feeling.
“That means somebody knows it was you that killed the king.” He says, his voice a low whisper, as though saying the words speak them into existence.
“Yes.” I say grabbing my drink with a nervous swallow, unable to meet his shadowed face. “Somebody knows.”
Emery’s whole life had been one big performance. So as she waited backstage for her number to be called, she did not feel the curdling anxiety in her gut that all the other girls were surely feeling. For performing was all she had ever known.
Though, she was beginning to grow impatient and her foot, that she had wrapped pristinely in her favourite pointe shoes, was tapping methodically against the cold black floor.
Emery knew the judges would not be looking for her talent but rather for her flaws. Their hungry eyes would lap up her stumbles rather than her soars. Eyes passing over her perfect arabesque to watch as she then misses a step.
But Emery was used to the art of performing. Whether it be a perfectly timed smile, the batting of her eyelids or a flawless pirouette.
She had honed herself and her craft into something faultless.
Sometimes she would have to lock herself in her room for a few days, shelter herself away from the demanding world just so she could remember who she truly was. Purge herself of the personas she adapted, cleanse her mind of sweet words and fake smiles just so that when she looked in the mirror she could once again recognise the girl that looked back.
She had learnt from a young age that to get what she wanted in life she had to be flexible. She had to be able to bend herself into the shapes people so desperately wanted her to fit.
If she could achieve her dreams it did not matter whether or not she lost herself along the way. Atleast that’s what Emery would tell herself late at night as she stared at her ceiling, wondering if she really knew herself at all; if anyone really knew her for that matter.
She had watched from the sidelines as girl after girl had walked on to that stage and begun their dance. A stage that seemed small to Emery, for the world was her stage, and in comparison this one was nothing.
A few had stood out to her, their dances beautifully breathtaking. But she had also watched the judges faces sour. Looking to one another shaking their heads, scribbling in their notebooks with poisonous ink. Their minds had been made before the first damning strum of the violin.
Another thing Emery had learned: you could be the best at what you did and yet it still would never be good enough. You could be the best dancer in the world, but if you weren’t the dancer they were looking for it didn’t matter. Some of those girls walked onto that stage head held high, confident, sure of themselves. And those were the girls the judges had turned down.
They didn’t want a girl who knew her own worth, they wanted someone who didn’t realise just how good they were. A girl they believed to be meek.
A girl that would submit.
After what seemed like an eternity to her they eventually called Emery’s number. Like a swan skipping along the surface of a lake she glided across the stage, made her steps small and graceful as she made her way to it’s centre.
Looking at her pointed feet she slowly raised her head and smiled sweetly, softly at the judges before looking away again.
Shy, meek, malleable.
She heard their whispers of agreement and saw the stars that gleamed in their eyes. Watched as the poison in their pens turned to sugar.
Though she wouldn’t dare show it, on the inside Emery smiled. A viciously ugly smile, a smile that she supposed was truly her own. A smile that would have had those judges cringing back in outright horror.
Let them think her weak, let them give her what she so fervently craved. Success.
Allowing her chest to swell with warmth she quieted her own voice in her head, replacing it with the voice of the girl they now believed her to be.
Emery did not mind letting herself go, because beneath it all, beneath her masquerade she knew that she had won.
And oh didn’t victory taste ever so sweet.
Sophie did not like working with thieves, they were sticky fingered, conniving, backstabbing lunatics who only looked out for themselves. Upon telling people this she was often met with weird stares — after all she was a thief herself. However, she was also a thief low down in the criminal food chain and therefore had no control over who she worked with when her boss dictated that she must take someone else on this mission with her. But just because she had to didn’t mean she wouldn’t resent it.
Sophie had put in all of the hard work, scaled down the wall from the roof with nothing but a rope to keep her from falling to her untimely death, she had rolled through unforgiving lasers that had leaped to try and graze the slivers of her skin exposed to their wrath — almost singeing off her eyebrows! And yet here he was, strolling arrogantly through the brooding corridors, prize in hand as though he had done a thing! He had all but snatched it from her grasp as soon as her silent feet had hit the floor, after she had done all the dirty work and he had just watched like some incappable moron. Told her he would “keep it safe” for her. She knew what that meant, it meant he would hand it to their boss and get all of the credit for it. He had caught her on a bad day though, because it’s not like Sophie wasn’t used to this happening, it was the reason she despised working with other thieves. Normally she would let it go, would limp back to their headquarters ignoring the pain in her legs, the strain in her back from all the work she had done and let them claim it as their own. But tonight she had decided she had just about had enough. He was whistling as he swaggered along, swinging the necklace around the tip of his finger its long chain dangling lazily from his hand. She trailed slowly behind him, studying him as he walked, waiting for a sign of weakness, an opening. Despite being a sinner, God seemed to have heard her prayers and decided to answer them because the sound of heavy footsteps came from the other end of the corridor. Security. The other thief turned to her, eyes wide in alarm, and so she too masked the panic upon her face. She grabbed his arm, dragging him into a shadowed corner as they watched the security guard stroll by. The guard was coming closer and closer and Sophie always felt that nervous thrill of excitement at almost being caught. When you knew you were doing something bad and there was a chance you’d get away with it. It had her on edge. And just when the guard was a heartbeat away from them, when she could see every pore and wrinkle marring the man’s face she grabbed the necklace from the thiefs hand and before he had time to object she kicked him in the back of the leg and watched as his knees buckled and sent him stumbling to the ground. “Hey!” The security guard yelled but Sophie was already running, running for the rope attached to the ceiling, running to freedom running like hell on earth. At first the guard was too busy tackling the other thief to the ground to go after her, not realising it was she who possessed the stolen item. Upon reaching the rope she hastily put the necklace around her neck, and using two hands began climbing like hell. By the time the guard came over to her he just stared helplessly up at the mountain of a rope in defeat, a rope he was never going to climb in time for she had already reached its top. It led to a window on the roof and she clambered through letting the cold evening breeze kiss her face. Let it unfurl her hair and coddle her in praise. Untying the rope to ensure she couldn’t be followed, she allowed herself a moment to pause on the rooftop. Her boss would kill her when she returned for leaving her partner behind, letting him get caught despite him being stupid enough to turn his back on a thief.
That was if she decided to return at all….
Looking down at the jewel around her neck Sophie decided she liked the way that it looked hanging between her collarbones, the jewel bright against the flushed skin of her neck. Why should she return the necklace when she was underpaid and definetly underappreciated. She was a thief after all and it was incredibly stupid of her boss to trust a thief with something so expensively shiny and pretty. She decided her boss had brought it upon himself, after all she was only what he had perfected her to be. You don’t train a dog to bite and withdraw your hand in shock when it finally does. So Sophie looked out into the cloudless night, at the endless possibilities suddenly presenting themselves before her and decided she was going to be a very rich woman indeed
