• She looked down at the black tattoos that covered most of her body. One for every person she ever murdered; a prince in 1750 to a teacher only a month ago. That's what you get for being a humane assassin.
    They were wounds, cuts and scratches and scars of black ink, but most of all, they were her mistakes. Each was more painful than the last, and she felt like crying out in pain every time the needle came down on her bare back. She held her head down, her dark hair covering her face that was filled with shame. The buzz of the needle was annoying, like a bee buzzing by your ear. She knew there were many people marveling at the wall of graffiti she had become. Her mind wandered, not even caring that it was like a freak show to them. She could only think of whom she was getting this one for.

    …

    A blanket of velvet covered the sky, not a star was to be seen. Rooftops had always felt cold to Xen, but this one seemed to be freezing. She held the knife in her hand, not daring to bring it up to her face. It never looked good; the steel always seemed to feel better to the touch than to the eyes.
    They had told her she only had four minutes to finish this man off. Four minutes was all she needed. The blade was jittering in her hands, as if the inanimate object was anxious. She figured that it was always like this.
    A smile painted itself upon her face as the rusted metal door opened. Her ears pricked, listening intently. There was only one pair of footsteps, emanating the same sound, indicating there were only her and him upon the rooftop. She stepped out of her hiding spot on the roof, not making a sound. Her feet brought her to standing next to the man, and he still didn't notice. He had a cigarette in his mouth; it made Xen want to choke.
    "There are much more interesting ways to die, you know," She told him. She felt pity for him, she could she could tell he couldn't see. He said nothing, as if he knew.
    "Tell me your name, and tell my wife I love her," He said, the content tone in his voice contradicted the frown upon his face.
    "Xenophonia. I will. Promise," She said. Her arm went backward, and the blade sailed through the air, and it was done.

    The needle still pressed on, waking her from her faux reality.
    Promise.