"If there's a single lesson that life teaches us, it's that wishing doesn't make it so."
Lev Grossman
, The Magicians

Red wine swirled around in a cyrstal glass, the crimson liquid leaping from over the rim as it collided with the ground. The sweet alcohol seeped into the white shag rug beneath Baltra, its blood red mark inching along.

Next came the chess board, its wooden pieces clattering to the floor in a frenzy of noise. Knight, bishops, Kings and pawns alike all mixing together on the ground.

A man who smelled of Cuban cigars and fine aged whiskey strode closer to Baltra, the elder man losing his footing over an upturned chair and falling into the wine stained rug with a thump and a wheeze. The man did not slow his march as he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a metallic object that glinted in the dimmed light.

Elizabeth watched in horror as her father's featured warped in panic, the gun aimed directly at his head. Baltra tried to scurry backwards, panicked whimpers escalating into screams. The man leaned over the elder, pressing the gun into his temple.

"If you don't have the money by next week," the man said in a near hushed tone, calm and calculated. He jerked the gun upwards, making a low pop sound. The message was received loud and clear.

The hitman rose to his full length, towering in the ransacked room. A candle flittered, its orange light extenuating his sharp features. His cold eyes scanned over the closet where Elizabeth was hidden away, the door slightly ajar. Her breath hitched in her throat and she covered her mouth to keep in her soft sobs.

His eyes did not leave the door as he grinned sadistically. "You have a very beautiful daughter, Baltra. It would be best if you keep today in mind unless you want something to happen to her."

Her father lunged forward, his eyes wild, "Don't you dare bring her into this!"

The man kicked Baltra swiftly in the ribs, sending the older man to a coughing fit on the ground, clutching at his chest. Elizabeth gasped, biting her tongue to hold her screams. Wine soaked into her father's beard and clothes, staining them a sickly red.

Without a word the man left. Elizabeth burst from her hiding spot, running over to her father. Her knees skinned against the fallen chess pieces as she scoped up her father.

Hot tears streamed down her face in wet globs, the salt dripping onto her father's cheek. He tenderly swiped away at her own cheek, pushing away the dampness as he smiled despite his condition. "I won't let anything happen to you my sweet Elizabeth. Not for as long as I live."