Glass
Eve stared out the simple glass window, looking past the wooden cross-bar to stare at the same scene she saw every day: an immaculately kept cobblestone courtyard, an occasional leaf drifting over the looming outer walls. The mansion continued on, behind those walls, rooms she had never been in. She didn't care much what was inside. Her world was this room, this plain spartan box. Occasionally she would leave. And then she would return, and sit, and stare, until the next time she was called for.
She didn't move, save for her eyes tracking the rare bird that crossed the sky. She didn't think; there was no point, no reason. She did as she was told. She was obedient. As long as she did as instructed, she would continue to exist for another day. Continue to obey. Continue to kill.
She heard footsteps from outside the door, the doorknob squeaking slightly as it was turned. She didn't bother to turn, tracking the door from a side-glance as the man took a step in, recoiled slightly at her stare. It was all the same.
"Time to go," the man said, fiddling with his jacket and tie as he spoke. A nervous tic of his. Whenever this one came for her, he always messed with his tie. Eve got up from the chair wordlessly, heading towards the door with soft footsteps. The man in the suit stepped to the side, let her through. She didn't spare him a second glance. She could hear his sigh of relief, despite his efforts to conceal it. She was used to it.
She walked down the hallway, the parade of priceless artifacts, paintings, tapestries, and other antiques blending in with the gaudy wallpaper and carpet to become just another blur. Take a left, down the stairs, right, past the statue. Up ahead, more men were assembling in front of the decadently furnished double doors; they weren't her concern, so she paid them no mind. Only one mattered.
"Eve."
Torneo's voice instantly caught her ear, the gravelly rasp demanding immediate attention. She looked up, saw him in the middle of the throng, his attendant close-by. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a cold run through her veins. She didn't let it show, instead just stared up, waited for instructions.
"With me. Get in the car. It's time to play a game."
A game. Game. Game...
A sudden jolt of pain brought her back; Torneo was standing over her, fist full of her blonde hair. She winced slightly, but made sure her eyes never left Torneo's.
"Did you hear me, Eve?" he growled, pulling her face toward his. She could smell the pungent odors of his cigars still clinging to his clothes, the faint whiff of alcohol and cologne. The crags and bulges on his face framed those narrow, beady eyes, glaring straight through her. The shiver returned.
"Yes," she replied, her voice a soft whisper. "A game..."
"Good," Torneo crowed, his face contorted into an ugly sneer that revealed his stained teeth.
Good. Eve was good. She obeyed.