Iron, in the air, in her mouth, dripping and sticky on her fingers. A messy kill-her favorite kind. Tasked with sending a message that her target's family should spend their lives in fear for the same gruesome end, Rhiada made sure to sever a few arteries of the middle-aged Nord woman, giving her plenty of paint for the floor that acted as her canvas for such a note.
She dragged the woman to the center of the soaked rug and took a few steps back, stopping just in front of the main door. Tilting her head, she imagined the perfect scene for the target's family to come across upon returning home. With the mess she'd caused, it only made sense to have the murder be an immediate find. Arms across her chest, hands on either shoulder: the typical pose for a corpse in a coffin, maybe? Dismembered and spread about in the shape of a handprint? No, the Dark Brotherhood's sigil wasn't necessary for this message. Perhaps propped up against the wall, as if merely taking a nap? Or, better yet, hanging from the wall?
The family was visiting relatives in Skyrim and wouldn't be home for some time, so the assassin was free to create her art with absolute attention to detail.
Starting at the top with the head, Rhiada pushed the hair out of the woman's face and neatly parted it down the middle. She brushed through the already-drying blood with her fingers and let the blonde locks rest against the tops of the woman's shoulders. Her hands hovered over the face briefly before pulling the eyelids open-a mother would greet her husband and children with a warm and loving gaze. Rhiada moved to straddle the body and pulled the arms out perpendicular with the shoulders before crawling back toward the feet. She parted the legs slightly and pointed the feet forward as if the woman were in a natural stance.
She stood up and stepped back toward the door. Lips pulled forward in a purse, she examined her work, her art. It needed a little more... color. Rhiada disappeared outside a moment and returned with a handful of freshly-pulled yellow peonies. She began plucking the petals and letting them drift to the floor as she walked around the body, leaving a stark contrast of yellow and maroon in her steps.
Her circling halted at the woman's feet, and she smiled before squatting and placed what remained of the peonies in the woman's palm. Delicately, she pushed the fingers in to hold the bouquet of stems and bruised, half-torn flowers.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up, feeling his presence before he spoke.
"Truly captivating," a deep, gravelly voice spoke behind her. "An enthralling sight, watching you carry out your tasks."
Rhiada stood and walked backward to better admire her work.
"I particularly enjoyed this one," she remarked with a smile. "I think the peonies add an elegant break in the vast red surrounding her."
He chuckled. "I, myself, am rather fond of red. I believe there can never be too much."
"Normally, I'm inclined to agree with you, Speaker," Rhiada said, "but this piece is not for me. One must keep the intended audience in mind, and I think the yellow will be appreciated by the Bjorrsens."
"You make a good point, my dear assassin," Lucien replied. "Your choice of pose is impeccable. It is as if she is reaching out to embrace her family, to return them to her arms deep in the Void."
Rhiada's chest felt light, his praise pulling at the corners of her lips. But a thought crossed her mind, one that had a few times since her joining of the Family, and she frowned.
She glanced at him, catching sight of just his sharp nose and smile peeking out from the side of his hood. Crossing her arms, she returned her attention to the body in front of them.
"Is this typical?" she asked.
Rhiada felt his eyes move to her, but she remained looking down.
"Is what typical?"
"Following. Watching." She raised a brow. "Do you take such an interest in the rest of the family's killings?"
She peaked at him just as he looked away from her and at her work, clasping his hands behind his back.
"No," he said after a few moments of silence. "You are... different."
Lucien began stepping around the body, taking slow, considered steps, seeming to examine each droplet and streak of blood surrounding them. Rhiada's gaze followed him, watched as his robe brushed against the rug.
"I feel her on you," he finally spoke, his voice taking on an enraptured-like tone as he stared at the body. "Her touch, her love. I have devoted my life and blade to our dear matron, and I've not felt her presence so heavily wrapped around a brother or sister."
He stopped in front of her, looking at Rhiada with a hint of wonder as she stared back, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed.
"You carry the essence of the Night Mother," Lucien said. "I am eager to see what you do with it."
At a loss, Rhiada simply remained silent, holding his gaze and pondering his words. And he allowed her time to process, keeping quiet as her face held stone-like, but her eyes darted back and forth between his and down at the floor and to each of the flower petals.
She couldn't help but think of Ama, the woman, the voice who cared for her after becoming an orphan. The voice who offered guidance, words of comfort, scolding when Rhiada acted out. Ama left after Rhiada had joined the Family; "Rhia, I must leave you, for now. You are in good hands here, my sweet velvyn. They will offer love and support, and you will never be alone." Rhiada never came to know who or what Ama was, but she was magic in nature, she had to be. Was it her that Lucien sensed, mistaking it for the Night Mother?
"Do not dwell too long on my words," Lucien said, startling Rhiada after so long a silence. "They were not meant to discomfort or confuse you, and I do not wish you to place any unwarranted pressure on yourself."
She opened her mouth to respond, but still, words escaped her.
"Carry out your duties as you would," he continued. "Fulfill your contracts. Do what comes naturally."
"I-Of course, Speaker," she finally managed.
He offered a smile. "If you are finished here, I can return you to the Sanctuary. After satisfying a contract so beautifully, I believe a languid journey home is well-deserved."
"I'd greatly appreciated that," Rhiada replied, returning his smile and giving a slight bow of her head.
Lucien reached out toward her, his gloved hands palm up. She hesitated before placing each of hers in his, and her body felt warm as he lowered his head and began wrapping them in an invisible cloak of magicka.
A short moment later, and the assassins vanished from the macabre scene.