Assassin

Like a thief in the dark, the hooded dark figure turned and crept pass the sleeping trees, making no noise, save for the soft breathing sound of his mouth. The cold air limited his vision, with icy cold wind acting as a veil for the enemy.

Step by step he approaches the enemy.

The full moon glowing, the eyes of the stars gazing upon a murderous intent of a cold blooded bastard.

The hidden blade unsheathed, his eyes turned red, his blood pumping, one more step, and the prey will breathe no more.

The enemy looks back, as if staring death in the face, without movement, without words, as if he saw who was behind him, but not retaliating nor fleeing. The assassin, still as a pole, seeking an opportune time to place the blade where it belongs - the heart of his prey.

Still the enemy looks intently and whisper softly into the wind, the assassin could not make out the words. Dawn was drawing nigh, the strike must be now! Without much hesitation the assassin thrust his blade into the enemy.

Glass shattered, no scream was heard. Only owls responded by making awkward noises.

As the sun peeks through the horizon, the assassin opens his eyes widely, the enemy lay there, shattered. A mirror, a reflection, the assassin gasped in horror, fell to his knees, wept a silent tear, fearing of who he became, fearing the label, fearing what the world made him. Fearing what he was to the point that he could not bear the sight of himself. Solitude he known, solitude now owns him.

Now the blade resides in his chest. No bard will sing of him, the will of the world was too strong. There he met his end - peace.