Emily Thorne. It had taken a while before the name had stuck well enough in her mind for it to trip easily off her tongue. She hoped the owner of her old name would fade away into obscurity as promised. She'd written a pretty big cheque, but money only takes a promise so far.
Ah money. The false God. The things people will do for it. Like lying, stealing, conning… or blowing up a plane full of people so that you can win a fortune on the stock market.
Sometimes she worries that, after she's finished watching the Grayson's puppet show burn to the ground, she will not know what to do with herself. She's thought about starting an underground school for teaching other people the skills to exact a successful revenge, but she's not sure she'd recommend the path she's chosen to others. Although she'd never admit it to Nolan, she does worry about how much of her life it has consumed: but her obsession is so strong. It weaves its tangled web in her brain and she can do nothing but follow it to its centre and let it consume her.
It is a cool spring night and she is watching Victoria watch her and pretending not to watch her watcher in return. They're all very confusing sometimes, these games they both play. Sometimes she'll be doing recon at the Grayson manor and Victoria will say one of her double-edged comments, and it's all Emily can do to stop from bursting out laughing in her face at the absurdity of it all. She wonders what would happen if she did. Maybe Victoria feels the same way. Oh God. Did she just attempt to empathise with Victoria Grayson? She needs to stay focused. She idly traces the indentation of the infinity symbol in the wooden balustrade beneath her hands and turns her eyes away from the dark figure on the balcony and towards the lonely moon.