~abandoned well, secret meeting.
~Bradles Worth, Lake Victorine~~~
“’More of an observer than an actor…’” said Mercie neath her breath.
That statement of course did not sit well with the mix-blood. That kind of statement sounded like Gianna was to be some kind of consultant; which may or may not be worse than the role of babysitter. But one things was for certain, Matron had her claws in deep in this one. Matron wanted to know what Mercie was up to.
Or maybe Matron already knew…?
“I always knew you as more of a hands-on kinda’ lass, Gianna—” Mercie had laughed then cut herself short when she suddenly realized the double-entendre and very bedroom innuendo sounding her statement was,
“—not like that though, sister. What I meant was that as long as I have known you, you would rather do it with me, rather than just watch—not what I meant. I—I… uh…”Was it true? Was the grand Mercaidi Kin-Myla, cold-blooded assassin, spiritualist of Shadow and Mists, ass-kicking, ball-breaking, curse-bearing member of the infamous
Underhanded blushing and stammering and acting like a little girl with huge crush?
Was it true?
It took every nerve in her body to stop from jumping when Gianna poked her there. Not like that…! No, not like that, but Gianna had poked Mercie where the mix-blood female was most ticklish. Mercaidi Kin-Myla, also known as her deadly and feared alter-ego, Wicked One, giggled along like a little school girl as Gianna kept teasing her.
Yes, it was true.
A wry smile hung from her lips as she found her eyes following the beat of the back and forth swishing motion of Gianna’s hips.
“Aye… same spot, Gia…”For a few moments more she gawked, then as soon as Gianna pulled her invisibility cloak over her head and disappeared, Mercie shook her head several times to free herself from her stupor.
“Oh, but damn you, Matron…” said the assassin rather gruffly, yet affectionately,
“but do you ever know how to work your subjects. To all hells then, MotherGrand-Assassin…”~~~
~The Percullin Main Mansion.
It was nightfall when she had climbed the giant tree overlooking the homesteader mansion. Yellow-orange eyes stared out at the large house of her ‘owner’ Master Jono Percullin. Aye, ‘Master.’ But over time, Master Jono was only her owner by tradition. Such was the ways of being a servant in Bradles Worth. And even though she was technically was his property, he never treated her as such. Nay, he had learned to love her and treat her as a daughter.
But Mercie was the cold-blooded assassin. She cared not deeply for such sentiment. She cared not for this kind of life. And so true to form, when the time came, she would dispose of such a life. This did not mean killing all here, no, this only meant killing her ‘persona’ here at the Percullin Orchard. And here, her persona was that of Ouna, limp and mute, yet kindly and hardworking orchard servant girl. And today, Ouna was going to die in a fire in the servant quarters.
Mercie would set it up so that no other collateral damages would take place. Meaning; no other would die here as necessary; and no other death was necessary. She would need a body, a sacrifice, to lay into the fire and she had just the one subject. He was a male, but one of a similar height and stature. And one that would not be sorely missed. In fact, this particular male had been missing for 11 years to date. And Mercie had kept the poor, poor soul in the dimension of her Shadow Cloak and like so many others, ‘lost’ in there; pity be their state, but deserved was their imprisonment. You see, this one fellow in particular—
Mercie’s keen ears perked up. Something was just about to go awry in her plans. Slowly her head swivelled and locked in on the direction of Jono’s study. The master was crying. But not just any cry. This was the cry of one whose heart had been ripped out from their chest and the cry of one who could still feel the pain and anguish as Fate continued to stab said heart with a glowing orange, fireplace poker. The plans to dispose of her life here were temporarily set in respite.
~~~
The window set of the orchard owner flew open and the Wicked One descended into Mister Jonothan Percucllin’s study and abode.
“Who’s there?! What’s that then—”An expertly timed and practiced manoeuver found the Wicked One subduing the blind man and keeping him in a vice grip and painful lock.
“I could be a thief. I could be a rival’s hired blade. I could be merely one afflicted with a madness and set to torture, rape and murder all of your subjects and make you watch, old man. It matters not. Just know that what has entered your home is worse than you can imagine. All that you know. All that you own. All that you are ceased to exist as soon as I descended into your life—”Jono should not know her voice. No one would know the person behind this voice.
The mask of the Wicked One sent the speakers voice into the ventilation openings, yes, but they passed more than mere slots. They passed the realms of Shadow and Mists as Wicked One spoke. The sound was both unique and unnerving. The sound of the voice was that of a soul in torment, yet soft and calming like a newborn hearing mama’s sounds. One’s hackles would raise as electricity shot down their spine, tears would well up as emotions and memories unremembered would come to the forefront of one’s mind.
“Hahahahahah…” laughed the orchard owner sardonically and painfully,
“nothing you could do now could ever hurt me… take it…! Take it all damn you to all known hells, you ignoble intruder…! Take it all for nothing can hurt me anymore… NOTHING, I SAY!!”In the heart of the Wicked One, Mercie stirred for she knew the reason, the one and only reason Jono would act with such madness.
“And what hurt could hurt you more than I, merchant—”“THEY TOOK HER!!! BY ALL GODS, THEY TOOK HER, AND SHE IS GONE!! MY BELOVED ENNA-LEIGH IS TAKEN FROM ME!!!” Jono broke down into incoherent sobs. Wicked One could hear the servants crying and sobbing along with their master from behind locked doors. What kind of owned servants should take pity upon master…?
The ones with a kind, compassionate master whose daughter matches, if not exceeds, such kindness, compassion and care.
“And what would you have then, mister. If there was a single Mercie in this world…” it was a direct double entendre but one that he would not know. But one that would allow Wicked One to act if he asked something of Mercie(mercy),
“What then? What would you have that Mercie do?”This was the ultimate skewer that would throw her plans awry. A skewer tossed into the mix by her own hand. A welcome skewer nonetheless. For Mercaidi Kin-Myla too loved the master’s daughter with all her icy heart. The painful submission hold acutely tightened as she spoke next.
“Speak, cur! What would you have Mercie do for this beloved, this one named ENNA-LEIGH ? Your life here you say matters not, but this one is only interested in that which strikes you down and hard. Speak, cur so that your prize may be retrieved and defiled in front of your own eyes.“A single Mercie. What would you have that Mercie do for this pain and anguish? Who took your prize? And where did they go? And what are you willing to give up to see your prize again… only to be defiled in front of your own eyes…?”She knew he was blind. She knew he was in his most vulnerable state. But most of all, she knew he would do anything to get Enna back.
And so would Mercie.
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