AN: Thank you for all the kind and, yeah, funny words! Thank you all for following and putting this story on your favourites! And thank you viewers for making this story reach over 4000 views! You da best!
I saw the making of the Assassin's Creed and the maker said she got the idea for the Assassins from an actual historical event. (duh) At one point I'll mention the word Hashashin and that's the original name for the assassins that existed all those centuries back in the Middle East. So don't get all confused and be like what is that. Or I think that was just me when I first read it. Ha.
Enjoy! :)
What We Can't Have
Order.
Everything is in order, from the grandness of the Universe to the complexity of the cells. Nothing could break their built structure, it just goes according to an already written plan.
So what if I told you what everything strived for could be breakable? For example, Fate. Could one perhaps make a mistake that could alter its direction, the conclusion of what was to happen? Could one even dare to try?
How could one possibly perform such an act? And if one, dare I say, does alter the direction of which Fate has chosen for us, does it still mean it is going according to the plan?
The things that are meant to take place will take place, it is simply inevitable. And yet... could it still be broken?
Chapter Eleven
1190, Damascus, Syria
The day had come.
The day that would display her and Edwardo's engagement to the world, had arrived.
She wanted to die. Right here and now. The days had whizzed by so fast, she couldn't even catch her breath. Nothing was working out her way. Nothing.
Her attempts at fully escaping and starting a new life had failed.
Her attempts at ignoring her father at all costs had failed.
Her attempts at gaining sweet freedom and being independent had failed, and earned her a death sentence in the process.
Venture forwards, Dovaros, she reminded herself. Venture forwards. The past was just that, the past. And it would stay behind. Just alike the speeding time, she would not permit it to catch up to her. She'd speed towards the future, to new possibilities. To a new life. Altair would help accomplish that. Yes, he would attempt to kill her off, but one could not kill someone who was not present.
She'd concluded to run away.
Last night's deep contemplation had at last given her an answer. How would Altair, the sole being who'd end her life, help her gain it? She'd questioned. But then the answer was obvious: through him she'd been presented the chance to step out of the walls of her domain, and through him her plan would succeed.
He'd ordered her to converse with Edwardo and draw him out to a secluded place where he'd take his life. Farah had already planned everything through.
First, she'd talk to Edwardo tonight, in their engagement party, and get to his good side. Once she had his unwavering attention, she'd then ask her father to arrange a date for them, and the reason would be, of course, so she could get to know her "future husband" better. Her father surely wouldn't disagree. Second, once she was alone with Edwardo, Altair would act upon his vow, and while he was at it, that would be the exact time Farah would act upon her wishes and flee.
He'd not see it coming, and that was splendid.
She'd told her mother of this spineless yet achievable plan, told her they'd escape after she returned from her "date". She left the involvement of an assassin out, and prayed everything would go as swimmingly as planned.
Her mother half-heartedly agreed, still thinking Farah had gone mad. But she had agreed, and that's all that mattered. All her mother had to do was be ready. Once Farah returned, they'd escape from the back door and take the horses for a long ride. For all, it would not even cross their minds since they've never done something of this sort, and that was good. The guards wouldn't expect it. Her father wouldn't even toy with the idea. And by the time they'd start to contemplate their dragging absence, hopefully Farah and her mother would be far gone by then. Afterwards, finally, they'd be able to live together in utter peace; away from everything and everyone. It did not concern where. Perhaps it was a good thing to choose a random land of their liking and settle.
They'd be happy.
So blissfully happy, Farah couldn't wait.
"Nervous?" Sarah's voice came from behind her. She turned slightly and smiled. "No. I mean yes. But I'm more eager to get this over with than anything else."
Sarah smiled as she tied a silky pearl-white sash around her waist, giving her long jade and ultramarine dress a unique appearance. She wore a corset, the squeezing tightness of it provoking her average sized breasts to swell upwards and form a deep V. She felt exposed but that was the design of the dress—one Edwardo had sent her as a gift—hence she had to agree to it.
If it was given by a gentle and pure and stainless hand, she'd call its layout beautiful. Jade and violet roses from all sizes decorated her chest then skidded down alongside her side to her waist. The lower umbrella-shaped part of her dress was created as a blossoming rose. The materials hung from different edges to create the face of the flower. And yet, wearing something Edwardo's touched left her feeling disgusted. Too harsh? She had to be. They deserved nothing but her anger and hate.
"I'm sorry," she suddenly heard Sarah's gentle voice break her musings. Farah frowned, fully turning around to face her friend. "Why ever would you be sorry?"
"Your escape. I'm sorry...it was not a success. We tried everything in our hands to aid you. But..."
"Don't ever say that. You have succeeded. I made the error of returning due to my...weakness, you could say." Farah gently smiled, cupping Sarah's cheeks. Then she stilled, the smile dropping from her features. "We?" she asked, brows furrowing.
Sarah parted her lips to speak, closed them, blinked, and then parted them once more to release a sigh. "Your...mother. She asked for my help. We planned it for weeks and, finally, when the moment was right, we acted upon it. Please don't be mad," she suddenly rushed out. "We only wanted the best for you, honest. Your mother loves you very much. She couldn't live another day with you suffering under the abusive hand of your father. Don't blame her for her motherly love. Please."
This time, Farah opened her mouth in shock, blinked rapidly, and croaked out," I-I...am not. I'm not mad." She swept her suddenly sweaty palms against her dress while feeling her stomach tighten and curl in on itself.
Her mother had tried to help without consulting Farah of the plan? Why would she do such a thing?
I mean, yes, she thought. Her mother loved her, but they always did things together. The other party was at all times aware of the other one's plan. It was their mother-daughter thing, one would not do something without saying it first. It was essential to their relationship. They were all that they had. Hence why would her mother aid Farah and not herself?
Then another thought struck her, paralyzing her in her state.
She had abandoned her mother. If the assassin had not forced her to return, she'd have left her mother behind.
She was such a hypocrite. How could she? Where was her brain at that time? Her shame?
"Sarah could you please open the window?" she croaked out, finding it difficult to breathe. The corset hugged her figure with determination, further squeezing her lungs. Sarah obeyed and opened the window, allowing fresh air to whisk inside.
Farah inhaled deeply, filling her lungs, and tried to ease her thoughts.
She'd do right by her this time. She'd take them out of this Hell with her own bare hands. Oh, Lord, please aid me. She'd save her mother, not leave her behind.
Venture forwards, she reminded herself.
"Lady Farah, are you well?" Sarah asked in worry.
Farah shuffled up to her bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She nodded, rubbing her stomach to ease the nausea from ruling over her calming state. She breathed in more of the fresh air.
"Can you please get me water?" she asked Sarah.
"Of course, my Lady."
As Sarah strolled away to get her water, Farah stared out her window and to the sunset. Despite her trembling state, a lazy smile slowly graced her lips. The sky was painted with golden, pink, and blue rays.
Where was he? she vaguely thought. What was he doing?
Would he watch over her at the party?
"Here." Sarah outstretched a cup of water, immediately breaking her out of her musings. Farah looked at her and then slowly took hold of the water.
She smiled. "Thank you."
"Of course, my Lady." Sarah smiled back, her fingers going to Farah's hair and fixing it. Her long strands were tamed into a delicate bun on her head, some of them curling down till they grazed the skin of her shoulders. Farah sighed, closing her heavy lids.
She had to get herself together. Had to be strong.
Yes, chin up and back straight.
From outside, echoing from the garden below, was the symphony of chuckles and chatter of the present guests. The clinking of glasses filled with red whine blended well with the slow music playing in the background as entertainment.
She had to wait in her room until it was time to descend, and who would accompany her? Why, yes, the one and annoyingly only Bastardo.
After a few torturous minutes of listening to the sounds emerging from outside, a knock sounded at her door. She jolted in sudden awareness. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
It was time.
She bit down on her lower lip, her pupils going wild with anxiety. Her hands grabbed at the bed-sheets and tightly fisted them, causing even her knuckles to leach out of colour.
Wait, why was she even nervous? It wasn't like their plan(s) would succeed. She would be the one victorious. Because Altair said so. But still, facing Edwardo's repulsive body and character would unnerve her. The last time she was in his presence, he sent her heated, filthy looks, caressing his neck while pointing a finger at her—as if attempting to feel her by feeling himself—and had sloppily licked his fat oily lips. She'd nearly vomited at the sight, would vomit right now if she didn't stop thinking about it.
"In a minute," replied Sarah, aiding Farah to her feet. Her dress was so wide, she feared it'd swallow her whole. A small part of her wished it actually would.
Chin up. Back straight. She repeated in her head.
With determination, Farah strode to the door in elegance, her dress swishing from side to side, and watched Sarah as she clicked open the wooden barrier.
Inch by fat inch, Edwardo's belly revealed itself. Oh, wait, that was his face.
"Lady Faa-rrr-ah," he clacked his tongue, bowing slightly. Oh myyy Goddd.
She pursed her lips to stop a grimace from forming. Instead, she cleared her throat. "Sir Bastar—uh, Edwardo." She swished her dress aside and gently bowed, hoping he didn't hear the nickname she gave him slip out. Well, in all reality, she hoped he did. That's how far her love for him would extend in their "marriage". Meaning, none at all.
He rubbed his belly instead of chin as he examined her in evident interest. His large—like really large—eyes raked up and down her person, and she swore his pupils dilated. This time she allowed the grimace to form.
Then, he raised up his arm, and waited for her to rest hers between his inner arm. And she did, before retreating it at least five times.
His meaty muscles squashed her delicate fingers with their fat, and to make it more painful, he tightened his hold—flexing his inner muscles as he did so. Perhaps he feared she'd bolt.
Farah cast Sarah an expression of weeping, and her friend pouted in helplessness.
"Good luck," her friend mouthed.
"Thank you," she mouthed back. With a powerful jerk, Edwardo began walking through the beautifully candle-lit hallway, and nearly dragged her in the process. After a few strides, they turned to a corner and to the wide staircase, and there awaited many unknown faces of the guests. Eyes rose to the top of the stairs. When Farah's breath hitched in her throat, they released cheers, and the space was filled with applause.
In the midst of this chaos, her mind drifted away and visioned a white-cloaked male, his robes fluttering in the soft breeze that swept past the land, and unknowingly witnessed her heart swell in longing.
Altair. Please be here.
-x-
1190, Damascus, Syria
Altair resided on the rooftop, his sharp eyes scanning the scenery below. Bodies of both male and female filled the garden space, and chatters and rich laughter resounded around them. All in all, the luxuries image failed to tempt him into any feelings of adoration and worldly-lust.
But, even with the sixty people in his current view, he did not lose sight of his target. She darted from one side of the garden to the other, once in a while glancing behind to see if anyone was following, and only halting to catch her breath and soothe her injured side when she over exerted.
Now, she stood next to a small but long table as her chest heaved in and out, the corset around her bodice too tight for her own good. Snapping open her fan, she started moving again, disappearing into the crowd. She moved with such casualty, the guests failed to notice who exactly passed by them, but to Altair, even if he did lose sight of her, he'd find her just as fast. How? Simple. He'd just have to look at a figure walking as if to escape, almost attempting to hide rather than socialize in her casual yet clumsy manner.
Darkness had long dawned, and many torches lit the garden with their orange fire, providing much light to mistake the evening for morning. Bright dots of millions of stars twinkled above, cornering the silvery moon, and a sweet yet cold breeze blew across the area time to time.
Altair inhaled deeply, then gradually exhaled.
The soft music going on in the background suddenly whined to a stop, and the instruments ceased their tunes.
"And now," said a booming voice, catching everyone's attention and silencing them in the process. Heads simultaneously turned towards the fountain. "The dance of the Lovebirds begins. Everybody, choose your partner and take your designed places; the fun is about to start!"
Excitement suddenly saturated the atmosphere—everyone smiling and eager—and guests started to shuffle around the place, quickly grabbing their partners and taking their positions while Altair still contained his plain expression. But only one person seemed unhappy, and it was the one and only Lady Farah.
She placed her hands on her waist and loudly exhaled, rolling her eyes. His lips twitched. With everyone now in order, it was quite easy for Edwardo to spot her. At his face, Altair's blood abruptly boiled. He grit his teeth as he worked his jaw.
That man...
He'd die by his hands. For sure. Altair would show him what it felt like to be in pain. True pain. That, he vowed.
But now, seeing him take the female into his arms, the ache to slaughter him increased tenfold, provoking a shudder to travel up his spine. He could do it, right here and now. He could take his life.
Why was he not?
Patience, Altair. He reminded himself. The last time he acted carelessly nearly cost him his life. And pride. Never again, he said. Never again would he display such weakness to his brethren. If it means tolerating de Pablo touch the female like that, he'd choose to take a seat and witness it until night dawned to morning.
He focused on the figure that stood before Edwardo in the row of people with only a few feet of space between the two bodies.
After a moment, the music slowly regained beat, but this time the violin joined the lively tunes, causing a playful melody to greet the ears of the guests. It encouraged smiles from their faces. With a bow and a swish of their skirts, the men and women clashed together, at last closing the few feet of distance between for good.
Edwardo literally shoved the female against his fat body, and his belly wiggled due to the impact with Farah's smaller figure. She winced, her expression then deepening into one of pain.
That vile bastard, did he not realize his grip on her was squeezing the hell out of her bruised side?
The female tried to distance herself or, at the very least, balance her weight properly. The music took on a faster rhythm, causing the dancers to hop around the place with their partners. Laughter erupted, and they twirled. Stopped. Clapped twice. And then continued circling around the garden.
Farah had difficulty keeping up with Edwardo's hasty and jerky moves, much less the dance, and appeared out of complete breath. Exhaustion lined her face. He grit his teeth.
The dancers let go of each other, females twirled in place, and the males changed partners, grabbing onto someone new. The dance continued.
Altair watched Farah, and spotted her with another man. Although he was thinner than Edwardo, he was still unaware of her injury and demanded more than she could offer. The female forced out a smile, her expression still pained.
Then, in the midst of it all, an idea bloomed in his mind. At that thought, he cocked his head to the side and formed a short yet satisfied nod. Making up his mind, he jumped down the roof, using the windowpanes as leverage. Landing with skilled grace, he effortlessly straightened, and eyed the dancers from behind one of the many columns in the spacious garden. His hawk eyes scanned the area for the female's figure. After a few look-outs, he found her in the far corner, twirling.
With her as his only target, Altair calmly made his way through the crowd of dancing bodies and colourful dresses. Keeping his head low, he avoided all contact with the dancers.
They stopped. Clapped twice. And on they went again. As they were too captivated with the dance, whoever spotted him didn't dwell much on his appearance. Altair walked over to where the female was dancing and, when the time came to exchanging partners, he shamelessly stole her from her next dancer in her twirling state.
The force of his pull caused Farah's body to slam against his, provoking a sharp gasp to escape her lips.
"Hey!" he thought he heard her partner let out as Altair ventured them away from him. Farah struggled in his arms to right herself and also rip free from his hold.
"Keep your calm, it is only I," he reassured.
Her head flew up, her big brown eyes clashing with his golden ones. Then, a bright smile of utter relief broke free from her lips, and she abruptly hugged him close. Air escaped his lungs at her tight embrace.
"You do not know how relieved I feel right now," she sighed out loudly. Altair waited for her to release him. Slowly, almost gently, she let go of him, and before he could think she was departing, she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other in his palm.
Staring down at her as she up at him, Altair slightly leaned down, snaked his arm around her waist, and gently brought her figure closer and up, lifting the weight off of her injured side from her feet. The moment her body pressed against his, breath escaped her plump lips, and their chins slightly kissed each other. The act of their bodies meshing together made the hand on his shoulder travel further back until his shoulder blades, which encouraged Altair to wrap his fingers around her delicate ones.
With a leisure pace, they began joining the row of dancers. The female exhaled. "Thank you."
He briefly inclined his head down in response. "Have you made a plan?" he then asked.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. "Yes. I talked to Edwardo about wishing to dine with him so we could get to learn more of each other. He eagerly agreed. The pleasant—well, according to our plan—part was where he wanted it to be only the two of us. You could say I eagerly agreed." She laughed weakly, her eyes opening. "It is after tomorrow. Our rendezvous, I mean."
Altair nodded. "I'm pleased." That I'll be able to kill him soon, he silently added.
Farah was quiet for a long while, then, "Me too," she murmured. "Me too."
He supported her weight with his own, and when it came to changing partners, he effortlessly dodged them out of the way.
That seemed to have delighted her because she laughed, looking up at Altair. "Impressive," she praised. Their leisure pace might've helped gain back her stamina because when she stepped back, he helped her twirl, but kept his hand close to her side. Then, when it came to clapping, he had to release her completely.
The lines of tension eased on her forehead, and he found himself staring at a person really enjoying the given moment. "Come on, dance with me," she said with a side-smile.
He arched his brow. "Were you just not dying of fatigue?"
She shrugged, coming back to his arms. "With your aid, I seem to be gaining back my lost energy."
He softly scoffed.
Arm to arm, chest to chest, toe to toe, they danced around the garden. Although Altair refused to partake in this foolish act of clapping and twirling, he aided her hop around, gently lifting her by the waist, and brought her figure back to his when the act ended. With him, she seemed to be truly smiling. Even going to the extend of laughing. And he found that he liked it. A great measure.
This is the least he could give before taking her life.
At that thought, his pleased attitude immediately disappeared. The gleam in his golden eyes burned out. He faltered.
The female smiled wide, revealing pearl-white teeth. Her eyes twinkled, the edges adoringly crinkling, and her shaped brow lifted in merriment. She threw her head, released a bubbly laugh, and closed her eyes, appearing to be relishing in the moment.
Space and time ceased to exist at this exact moment; it was only her. He watched as her soft strands bounced up and down, slapping her neck and cheeks, watched as she danced to the music in his arms, and watched still as she stepped back, raised his hand, and turned elegantly.
Kill her? Truly take this joyous soul, this Farah, away from this world? Snatch her away from her mother, the sole woman Farah seemed to love dearly? Destroy the females chance at family and freedom? Even if Farah's death was essential to the safety of the Assassins—his brethren—what right did he actually have?
That last thought caused him to stop all together, and he was snapped out of the moment of weakness. The female nearly tripped.
Altair stared at her dumbfounded and, once she righted herself, she stared up at him with the same expression.
How could he even think that? Emotions made a man weak, caused him to question his motives. Wait, did he actually just think emotions? No. Never. Not him. Just because of some moment, he was willing to sacrifice the lives of his brethren? What has gotten into him?
He would kill her—even if it felt as though everything in this world rotted away right after that statement—and he would see it through.
Suddenly sick at the thought, he abruptly pulled away. He had gotten the required information. He had to leave.
"Is everything alright?" the female asked, frowning in confusion. He didn't bother answering her as he plainly pushed her towards a new approaching partner. The dancing man happily embraced Farah close, causing Altair to slightly narrow his eyes. Farah frantically gazed at him, the unasked question still hanging from her parted lips. No. No more dwelling. Mind set on escaping, he made his way through the crowd, and ignored the feeling of a person watching him, almost burning a hole in his back.
Altair had left her before she could say anything, but that was for the best.
Once he got to a safe secluded place, away from all eyes, only then did he dare to glance back.
As if she was the only one in the garden, his searching eyes found her in a heartbeat. Her partner was careless, tugging her back and forth, left and right, and making fatigue once again attack her. She no longer smiled, no long appeared at ease. Her laughter was gone, her amusement as dead as his trained emotions. Farah instead looked pained and restless and, if he wasn't mistaken, her lower lip was quivering. Her brows creased in the middle as if to stop the sudden urge to...cry?
He didn't know if the guy pulled her too hard or if she suddenly could not hold herself up, the only think he knew was her standing one moment, then falling the next.
His muscles jerked in response, nearly provoking him to walk back to her.
Her partner stopped dancing and hastily knelt down. Then, everyone at some point stopped dancing, their eyes on Farah.
"Help!" her partner shouted. "Lady Farah hurt herself!"
The music instantly ceased playing, and panicked murmurs soon overflowed the place. People began crowding her, blocking Altair's view of her person. More murmurs rang out, and he spotted Edwardo push his way through the mass of bodies, his belly bouncing up and down.
After a while—his muscles still stiff—the people began to move away, making way for her. At last he caught sight of her face.
"I'm good. It's alright, I just tripped. That's what it feels like to wear a dress, gentlemen," Farah's weak voice rang out, breaking the tense silence. At her words, people laughed, and tension waned away. Thinking she is well, some of the guests went back to talking with each other. But, as if her voice was some key to his body, her gentle tone allowed his knotted muscles to gradually unlock and relax.
The music started to play again, and the people scattered around the garden once more and started enjoying their evening, doing whatever they were before the accident occurred. Even Altair as he started walking away from her.
Tonight has been...eventful, but he wouldn't dare allow it to stray him from the importance of his mission.
He would be the assassin he was meant to be.
-x-
1190, Damascus, Syria
Emerald eyes watched the two figures in the garden, her heart leaping in her chest at the scenery.
Her daughter was happy. She was laughing, for God's sake! She appeared relaxed and content, as though she was not marred and was instead experiencing the time of her life, and it was all due to that man cloaked in white attire. He was a stranger, that much she knew. He was not an invited guest.
So who was he, the sole man, being, who could raise Farah's mood from gloomy to utter happiness in a split second? It seemed he just had to appear before her and that would be enough for Farah to genuinely smile.
In the manner she laid her head on his shoulder, the way he held her slightly off the ground due to her injury, and the way he helped her dance, made her laugh, protected her as he took her away from other suited dancers, clearly displayed how deeply they cared for each other.
When did they meet? How had this relationship come to be?
Her daughter told her everything, so why not this, the one thing sprouting such gladness in her?
Lady Dominica Dovaros was confused more than ever. Why did her daughter hide such an important person from her?
But no matter the reason(s), she began to smile broadly at the way her Farah danced away. All she wanted for her sweetheart was such a blessing: for her to receive love and affection from someone other than her mama.
Wetness skidded down her cheeks, dangling at the edge of her jaw. Only when a few drops landed on her hand, did she realize she was crying. Tears of joy, gratitude, and a little bit of grief for her offspring, wet her cheeks.
Thank you, O Great One! Thank You so much!
She'd been praying for such a beautiful gift to occur, and occur it had. A burst of laughter escaped her lips, causing her fingertips to rest on her lips.
Her daughter was at last happy; she was blessed. Her daughter had found someone special; she was deeply cared for. There was a chance for her. A bright future awaited her. To hell with her engagement to Edwardo; once they talked this through, she could help her escape like last time. Her daughter was chosen to be one of the happy ones, her daughter was— pushed...away?
Dominica instantly straightened, watching as Farah stumbled back and was grabbed by another dancing partner. Her eyes immediately tailed after the man in the white, trying hard not to lose him in the moving crowd.
He disappeared. Vanished as though he'd never existed. Was she imagining it? Was her brain displaying her what she yearned for her whole life? What was the meaning of this?
Sparing her daughter a glance, Dominica grabbed her flowing skirts and started emerging out of the shadowed place she hid behind. Where was he? Where did he—there he is!
Spotting him walk towards a dark corner, away from the garden and its light, she hastily followed after him. She had to speak to him, had to convince him to save Farah from this Hell. He would do that, wouldn't he? Seeing how he treated her treasure before abruptly pushing her away, he would at the very least care, wouldn't he?
Just when he was about to jump up the wall, she let out a, "Wait! Wait, wait, wait!"
Others would not see nor hear them, for they were tuned out due to the music and sounds coming from the garden. They were away from prying eyes.
At her voice, he instantly whipped around, unsheathing a blade from an armoury on his wrist.
Her breath suddenly hitched, and she froze. Eyes widening and lips parting, her wild pupils slowly rose to meet the hooded features of the man.
Assassin.
She gasped loudly. Her daughter was associated with an assassin.
Emerald pools still wide, she stared at the killer—who was calmly staring back at her—and felt her pulse quicken.
Is this why her daughter kept her love for a murderer a secret, because she feared permission will be denied to her? Because Assassins were her father's greatest enemy? How had she even known of that fact when their identity was kept a secret?
"You know who I am, don't you," she stated rather than asked.
He stood in silence. Then, "Yes," he calmly issued.
"You know my daughter."
"Too well for my liking, I fear."
She frowned. "I know who you are."
He stood unmoving, the atmosphere around them thickening. "Is that so?"
She straightened her spine, gaining composure. She couldn't comprehend how her daughter could touch this lethal man, laugh and hold him while she was trembling at the mere dangerous sight of him. He radiated a compelling aura, one of confidence and determination that'd annihilate anything and anyone who dare crossed him.
What was wrong with her daughter?
Like she was the one to judge. Wasn't she the one with an abusive husband?
"My husband knows of you, thus I know of you," she explained. "But tell me one thing, Hashashin, do you love my daughter?"
"Don't be absurd," he answered without a hint of hesitation. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a lilt of ridicule in his response.
Dominica's lips parted at his words. The way they danced, held each other, and interacted...did she misunderstand? Having received no love from her own husband, perhaps her eyes have fooled her? But Farah appeared so blissful, so...carefree. Did that really mean nothing?
Despite it all, she wanted that for her daughter. Wanted her to be carefree. It didn't matter if the man was a murderer. If he could make her that happy, then he cared. Caring meant he possessed a heart, and having a heart meant...well, everything.
"Who are you to her?" she questioned. "How do you know my daughter?"
"The answers to those questions do not concern you."
A speck of anger ignited in her chest. "She's my daughter, that means the answers concern me more than they do anybody else."
"You still will not receive them." With that, he turned on his heels and began to walk away. She knew she was helpless to stop him. But she would not back down. Somehow, Dominica knew the chance of seeing and talking to this assassin, this man, was one in a million.
"Wait!" she called out again.
He gradually came to a halt, not bothering to turn around this time. That just indicated how weak she was, how he could handle her even with his back turned.
She shook the insecure thoughts away and focused on the main goal: Farah's safety. This man could provide it, she was sure of it.
"I don't know what you are planning," she started, taking a deep breath. "Whatever it is, keep my daughter safe. Please." Hot tears blurred her eyes. "I beg of you. She... She's my only child, my baby, and she has not experienced joy in such a long time. I love her with all my heart and if anything...anything happens to her, I will retaliate. Knowing of your nature, if you shall cause her harm, I will—if alive—hunt you down and like a lion, rip every limb from your body. If I'm not alive, then I shall curse you from my grave."
Dominica didn't mean to turn the conversation into one of threatening, but she could not help it—Farah meant everything to her.
The man stood in silence, his head slightly bowed down.
"Don't hurt her, assassin. Please, guard my baby; she's an innocent."
"Is that all?" he lowly muttered.
Her chin trembled. Slowly—as though defeated—she bowed her head and gazed down at the ground.
There was a brief disturbance in the air, causing the hairs on her nape to prickle. She glanced up, and realized she was alone. The assassin had left.
A breeze, stronger than the last, blew against her figure, causing her skirts to flutter and her black strands to brush her neck. She glanced up at the dark sky, watching the stars and moon illuminate this corrupt world with pure light. With a bitter chuckle, Dominica allowed the burning tears to at last fall.
Her knees gave out before her own figure, and she collapsed on the ground. Covering her bruised face with her hands, she wept. Oh, how she wept.
Her shoulders shook, her chest heaved, her throat tightened, and her insides scorched and burned.
She sobbed out into the night, and released an anguished scream into her hands. Her shouts of loss and misery mingled with the playful music playing in the background.
Dominica wept for her life, her doom, but most of all, she wept for Farah.
My Farah, she cried out. My sweetheart. My treasure.
Resting her heavy head on her lap, she sobbed harder and louder. In her defeated state, two words echoed in her head, the two lone words she could only hope to receive.
Forgive me, she prayed.
"F-F-Forggive m-me," she wailed out into her lap. "Fogiv-v-ve m-e-e... Forgive me, my Farah..."
-x-
