It wasn’t easy to make himself look like an ancient wandering priest. It was even harder to talk his way into the mansion, but the young assassin had managed it. The powder he’d slipped into Lord Rowan’s drink would kill him by twilight, and no physician would be able to detect the elusive poison.
The boy felt proud of himself, but also scared. He wasn’t sure whether the leaders of the Order would praise him for completing a task assigned to a more experienced assassin or flog him for disobedience. He contemplated different scenarios as he left the Lord’s land, but since none of them ended in sudden death, the boy deemed it safe to show up on his mentor’s doorstep.
After hearing his student’s story, the elder assassin said,
“You use magic well.”
“I tried my best.”
“You… enjoyed killing him, didn’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
As the future assassin went to sleep, looking forward to the leaders’ decision, his mind was continuously assaulted by the images of the smiles he’d seen on the faces of Lord Rowan’s children. They didn’t have to kill to be happy, so what was wrong with him?
Assassins, magic, and Van Gogh. Never thought that combination would inspire a story.
All comments are welcome!