It was a funny thing. She'd just been granted the title of Grey Fox, earned her place in history for stealing an Elder Scroll, sneaked under the noses of hundreds and hundreds of people none the wiser, and picked the pockets of just about every guard in the Imperial City just to say she had. All of these things under her belt, and she still got caught with her hand in his pocket.

He had seemed a simple enough target; a tall Imperial in dark robes, hood drawn, surely a mage. She spotted him while skulking the Waterfront; she was just about to turn in for the night when footsteps appeared right in her line of vision, along with the faintest sniff of some familiar lost perfume, leather and nightshade, home and comfort. She'd thought to ignore it as she was quite a bit tipsy, but then he appeared out of nowhere, hood obscuring his features as he recast a chameleon spell with a muttered phrase and flick of the wrist. She was hooked.

He didn't see her coming at all. Not that he seemed all that rich. It wasn't about the money, anyways. It was the challenge, the rush of being so intimately close to a person without them ever noticing, It was about lifting prized possessions from their person with skill, replacing the weight if it was heavy, and then later greeting that person on the street like a long lost friend. Sometimes it was a close call, but she was a master of stealth, and there wasn't an alley she couldn't disappear in. So it was surprising indeed when she found her wrists in a bone crushing grip above her head, back shoved against dilapidated walls, a dagger pressed to her throat. The faintest of cuts marred her neck, a trickle of blood rolling lazily down white skin. She shuddered, struggling as carefully as she could, but it did little as the man used his body to hold the squirming thief still.

"You are not the first to attempt such a thing, thief. Hmm, what was it I did last time? Ah, yes." The dagger moved up higher, pressing ever closer to her left eye before she began struggling in earnest. The jostling and shaking continued until her hood fell off, and she glared up at the now still man until she too froze, a faint gasp catching in her throat.

"L-Lucien...?" her voice was a tremor, faint even from his intimate position, but it didn't matter. She was there. She was alive.

She was pissed.

This is my first time posting any sort of story, aside from first person summaries of my D&D group's adventures. Please be kind! Any advice would be appreciated.