The Beautiful Treason

[Heart of Zaga]

Fine plumes of steam emanated from their pale lips. Their breath was heavy from their unstopped throttle. A few stands remained, dirty and small, red worn awnings hanged from poles carved out of rough wood, their glittering lights blossomed in the dark, luring the moths into their dismal aura. A dark layer of rain twined with dirt covered the cobblestones; light storms had brushed through the region, patting their trails with mud and water.

“Are they still there?” Selene whispered, her quivering voice trembling with exhaustion.

“They have not left” Zaga’s hand had already placed itself over a piece or merchandise, a fine little glass cup whose tarnished and old appearance gave no reflection to the already decrepit light.

Meters of silk adorned both women, streaks of light cut through, revealing the waving and lavished features of their contour. A pair of round, amber, eyes glowed from under the shadows of a cloak, the weariness they clasped would not reflect the real panic that she felt. A snub and delicate face could still be appreciated; her nose was small and a fine, dark, line was drawn between her two slim lips. Like the face of a perfect statue or a divine angel Zaga’s was taciturn and static without expression.

Her mistress stood beside her, with an idle gaze regarding the objects with no apparent curiosity, though set alert for the swarm of shadows that loomed the streets among the clueless pedestrians that cruised through. The merchant had commenced his peevish propaganda, offering deals and offers the buyer “could not refuse”, but his voice had long been drowned by her thoughts.

She could feel the wind breathe through the cloths and uncover her head from a dark shawl. Her locks danced in the cold air while her skin crawled relentlessly. Yet her body did not react to her mistake, she stood still, pretending to appreciate the worthless values. Either of the women considered it feasible for their feet to keep moving, so they held ground, and waited for the looming forces, that, though could not be seen, where sure to strike soon.

A man that seemed to have had one too many drinks entered the street. He moved with a wobbling pace, his back was arched in comparison to the rest of his slim body. His clothes seemed dirty, and his hair had no better expression. He walked slowly their way, through the street to fetch another tavern it seemed, with steps that resembled those of the living dead. Just another person, they thought, just another man, just another pathetic drunk. His facade posed no flaw. They where rash, and did not see in him the malicious nature that would dare to attack them.

As he approached them a slim, metallic, shimmer emerged from his cuff shattering the darkness.

[Arsène]

It was cool night; the kind that left pale skin tingling as wind embraced flesh. All the humidity had gathered the day before and soaked deeply into the ground, creating a thick and sloppy path for unwary travelers. The market square seemed to fester and rot like a swollen sore left untreated, complete with a cavalcade of colors and a host of strange creatures. As lanterns and torches flickered, and shadows on the ground danced to their beat, one man walked the sullen streets at his own pace.

He strode drunkenly, as if stricken by a fever that had left him delirious. The energy of the night mixed poorly with his melancholy, causing only a disdain for existence and an ever-present boredom to the world around. As he peaked at the people around him through a tangled shag of long black hair, he could swear that every word spoken was nothing but the incoherent babbling of sheep.

He crept from shop post to shop post, hoping to find something to catch his eye. Leaning against the weak oak frames of the venues made the man appear like quite the lush, though that was only a distant dream.

"Arsène," he whispered to himself, mumbling with a hint of elegance, "what you wouldn't give for suckle of liquor." Instead, the shimmering bobbles around him would have to curtail any excess energy. His pale fingers crept over gold plated ashtrays and fine velor fabrics. All the while, he ignored the two people nearby.

As he lifted one particularly heavy bronze elephant statue, the man lost his grip. Arsène's hands were sent reeling, desperately trying to reclaim the prize and bumping into one man who crept just behind the couple.

The statue made a sharp noise against the dagger he had in hand. And with the sound came a hundred eager eyes all glancing at Arsène, the couple, and the assassin now expose.

[Heart of Zaga]

Zaga's arm coiled around Selene's and with a violent pull out of the street Zaga placed herself before her master, glaring with vicious animosity into the killer's eyes. The error of a client had thwarted his attempts. Her body was open; with a quivering lip and a nervous frown her arms opened slightly to receive a blow instead of her misters. She would not be able to spare Selene's life, she would take her if Zaga died, killing her mistress herself before letting a man tear her skin into pieces.

The assassin stood still with his tangled posture still intact. Two yellowish orbs peeped between his grubby hairs. They where those of the devil, streaked by wires made of blood that cut through the only thing not false about him, the blue in his eyes. One shook with anger under a heavy frown.

His countenance loosened with a growl and a rasp cough as he was obligated to resume his walk, under the instigating eyes and the whispers of pedestrians.

"He came too close" Selene whispered behind Zaga as she clenched her defender's dress and rested her face upon her back. Their bodies trembled with fear, and both her faces where flooded by tears.

No one in this city should be trusted.

"The Secret Police," Selene continued, "has no claim on Corone, they can't kill in broad day light, if they had found us in Knife's Edge we would be dead by now."

"We cannot stay here for much longer, there are too many of them tailing us..." As a mother tells her children to endure long journeys, in a tone of compassion Zaga portended to her the future that awaited them.

Selene slowly feel to her knees, her tears thickened and her moans grew to sobs. Zaga placed her cloak around her master and accompanied her in the floor where she lent her shoulder. "I cannot go on, I cannot go on".