Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne, or Dilandau or any lyrics that may appear within the fic…They should mostly be lyrics from The Used and Disturbed but if more jump in there…well I'll be sure to tell you about it!

A/N Hello, you're probably wondering why this fic is back up, well I was reading through the reviews the other day and Taka Shira's new burst of creative energy (and the fact that she said I was her favourite author, can you believe it? I sure can't… I mean she's so much better than me!) Inspired me to rewrite the fic 'In the Shadows we Dance' complete with a new title. I mean after all, looking back I was younger when I wrote it and so didn't have enough writing experience…now though I hope to create a new (well, it will have the same charactersthough a slightly different plot)fic from the ashes of the old one. The original will still be up on my account until I have finished this version.

Additional Notes: The story is going to be told in third person, because I have wavered off the path of writing in first person…

Now, ON WITH THE FIC!

Shadow Stealer

Prologue

A shadow is never heard; a shadow is never seen, never known and never found. A shadow is deadly and contains more terror than any person on the planet. Each person sees it as something different, as something more terrible than their nightmares. Something that hounds their every step when they walk home at night, something that peers at them from behind towering trees, its invisible claws clutching at their ankles and slowing them down.

People used to say that the unknown and unexplainable was a miracle in its self. But what miracle turns grown men into weeping insomniacs frightened to close their eyes at night? What miracle leaves children shaking and parentless in the cold? What shadow steals away the hunger in a starving woman's stomach and then leaves her corpse for the clamouring masses of carrion?

There is one shadow, a shadow that moves faster than others, moves swifter and more silently than anything in the world. A shadow that has no name and no home. A shadow that only the informed know about, a shadow that has no face, except for the one seen moments before a man's death.

That shadow is an assassin, a mercenary and a thief. That shadow is the best in the world…


Another dream that will never come true,

Just to compliment your sorrow,

Another life that I've taken from you,

A gift to add on to your pain and suffering


She pressed her back up against the dark wall as the rain lashed in sheets from the dark skies above. Her lips were pressed in a thin line as her clever mahogany eyes darted about up and down the deserted alleyway.

To a passer-by she would look only like another shadow amidst the dark and dreary world, another moving form that lived and rotted within the deep dankness of despair. They wouldn't make out her lithe figure and they wouldn't recognise that what they were looking at was a young woman swamped within the masses of a long dark coat after all, why should they? Were they to look closely enough and be unfortunate enough to catch just a mere fleeting glimpse of her head and face they would surely recoil in horror or pass out from sheer shock, only to awake babbling and unbelieved by all they knew. For on the shadow-girl's head was a smooth, black painted skull. Not just any skull, it was the upper jaw and head of a large dog, possibly a wolf, no one really knew for sure, and its jagged sharp teeth pointed down at vicious angles before her eyes and nose. It rested on her face like a helmet, disguising all but her lips, chin and eyes from view. Her eyes sparkled through the skull's eyes holes; they were heavily lined with black kohl and dark pastel. Underneath the skull lay a thick black wolf pelt, its shoulder and back fur running down to the small of her back over the cloak, and the upper part pushed under the skull so that the pricked ears were visible through the top of the bone. There were two small holes drilled into the sides of the skull where her real ears were so that she could hear everything that was going on around her.

To anyone unlucky enough to catch sight of her moving through the darkness she would look just like a black wolf moving about on two legs. But of course, no such animals existed.

She pressed her hands against the wall, feeling the rough brickwork through her thin black gloves as the rain washed over her, sliding down her skull headdress and plastering her cloak to her skin. She waited for a few moments until the people out walking around had passed the place where she was hiding and then she pushed herself away from the wall and darted further into the darkness.

Her knee high, heelless boots thudded quietly against the muddy floor as she ran matching her heart-rate perfectly. She was racing towards the palace of Deheria, the small but powerful province that had the misfortune to rest next to Zaibach. It was her intent to murder the crowning prince in his sleep. She had been employed for the task three days ago by a nameless proprietor that had grown tired of waiting around for royal intervention on some matter or other. It wasn't her concern if things went wrong for him; all she cared about was doing the job and getting paid.

Lightning forked above her in the sky, and for one brief moment her form was illuminated in the dark as she ran from one end of the road to the other, slipping into the darkness and the shadows around her as she went.

She ran on, she was too close to her goal now to give up on it. The palace was in her sights, the tall foreboding walls were rising up on the horizon, blocking all but the main palace tower from view. Another view moments and she would be at the main gates. Tiredness did not register in her mind as a factor, she had been in the business for years, lending to her great strength of will and stamina.

She was the best at what she did, no one in the world knew her name and no one was ever going to. No one had ever seen her face, those that had had died mere moments later. Sometimes she did not even request pay if she already knew about and despised a selected victims, and sometimes she even indulged in mercy killing or killing those that had done others wrong. She wasn't a force of good trying to help the world along; she wasn't a vigilante justice girl, all she was a nameless shadow that killed for money, revenge, pity and pleasure. There was nothing good about her. She was an unrivalled force throughout the world, unrivalled and untamed. Some would say she wasn't even human.

She was Death.


Another nightmare about to come true,

Will manifest tomorrow,

Another love that I've taken from you,

Lost in time on the edge of suffering


She reached the palace walls and tensed her muscles under her. Her boots hit the floor heavily as she pushed herself upwards in a single strong bound, her gloved hands reaching out for the top of the tall wall.

The rain had made the wall slippery and her hands slipped against the surface as she hooked her fingers into the small cracks and holes. Her sharpened fingernails, thick from years of use, dug themselves into the very brick of the wall to help keep her from falling. Satisfied that she had a good grip, she braced her feet against the vertical side of the wall and then swung backwards, using her momentum to swing her legs up and over the wall. Her hands released the bricks as she flew the short distance through the air and then landed safely inside the royal grounds.

She dropped into a crouch immediately and pressed herself back against the wall as her eyes scanned the front of the palace looking for entrance points and easily accessible windows.

Rainwater dripped off the fangs of the wolf skull and she was distracted for a moment by the gentle dripping sound they created as they splashed downwards and hit the upper part of her boots. She raised her eyes seconds later, banishing all thoughts that would further distract her or endanger her pay check.

There was a lit window, half way up the main tower; the glass pain had been pushed open no doubt to let the cool air in and the person within had forgotten to draw the thick draping curtains. If memory served her well, which it often did, that would mean that the window was one of the view ways to enter the Prince's room. Third window from the left she had been told, that was the young Prince's room. Three windows from the left. And lo and behold, the lit window was three windows from the end of the tower. The gods of fortune were certainly smiling down on her tonight.

What made her job even simpler however was the tall gardening trellis that covered most of the tower, the crisscrossing pieces of wood making a perfect impromptu ladder. She frowned slightly; did these people have no sense of safety? Or were they simply to arrogant to care?

Looking left and right to check for danger she made a quick and calculated sprint to the trellis, practically jumping at it and beginning her swift climb towards the victim's window. It was lucky that the trellis went to right under the window; else she would have been stuck as to how to cover the additional distance. That was not the case however and she foresaw the ease with which she could complete her job. Her victim had in fact, by placing the pretty but sturdy gardening lattice below his window, sped along his death.

She had no idea how old her victim was, she had seen photos of him that her employer had left in a secret location, but she couldn't discern his age. He was perhaps twenty or twenty-one. He was going to have a short life.

She hoped in a disjointed way that he had accomplished something that made his short time on earth worth while. It was no skin off her nose if he hadn't, but it was nice sometimes to think that all the lives and lights she extinguished had not lived like hapless sheep, following the rest of the silly crowd.

Her hands clutched at the window sill and she leaned up to peer through the opened glass. The room was large, even by royal standards and the walls were decked with luxurious dark red velvet, the four poster bed draped in silk that was the same colour. The light source of the room, turned out to be just a small candle-lit chandelier at the top of the room.

Her eyes darted around the room, seeking out the Prince as the rain continued to lash itself against her back, soaking her to the bone. She lowered herself from sight again as soon as she locked onto the Prince's young body standing in the corner staring at a portrait of himself hung upon the wall.

How very vain of him. Still, she supposed that will looks like his he could afford to be vain. Had she been a girl that had more beauty than brains she would probably have gone about courting him. He had the golden dusted looks that only Prince's out of fairytales had. Curly golden locks and big blue eyes, finished off with a finely tailored tunic and trousers, enamoured with fancy and sparkling jewels.

She didn't like men like that, they traded on their looks, like most women did and did not expect to do once ounce of hard work in their lives, more content to let others do it for them. They were the type of people that won wars by sitting in their throne rooms watching the battlefield while surrounded by an expensive guard.

She had killed many like him in her time.

She pulled herself up onto the window sill silently, trying not to disturb his musings, it would just not do to have him cry out and alert others that may be residing in the house.

She slid into the room quietly and placed her feet upon the richly carpeted floor, not really caring that the mud on the soles of her boots was transferring to the dark red threads. She stood for a moment, her chest rising and falling with her pulse as she watched the Prince squander away what little time he had left by admiring himself.

Thunder rumbled in the sky outside and she took the opportunity to reach down to the black leather belt strapped around her waist and grasp the hilt of one of her four throwing daggers. The hilt was cold to her touch as she curled her fingers lovingly around it and drew the deadly blade out from its black sheath. The ring of the metal was disguised by the rumbling of the weather, shortly followed by the crack of lightning as it arced downwards from the heavens.

The Prince jumped at the sound and turned to the window with a rueful look, probably chiding himself on being so jumpy and stilled immediately when his eyes caught sight of the monster stood before him. The black skull shone and flickered in the candle-light and a pair of dark painted lips curled up into a sadistic smile before the expression faded back into serenity.

She stared at him calmly for a few seconds, her left arm, the one holding the dagger, raised slightly away from her body as he stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He didn't scream, the only sound that left his throat was that of a stuttering denial.

Her arm lashed forward in a deadly premeditated movement and the dagger left her hand with a hiss, the silver blade spinning with deathly intent towards its frozen target.

The Prince choked slightly as the dagger embedded itself in the soft and vulnerable skin of his neck. His eyes looked down at the protruding handle in surprise rather than pain. He looked back up, his blue orbs filled with inconsolable fear as his blood began to seep out of the wound and stain his pale tunic. He crumpled like a sheet of paper, landing in an undignified heap upon the floor, whatever sound, be it scream or call for help died on his lips as he passed away.

She watched with an impassive face, before walking over and pulling the blade from the dead body. She wiped the bloodied weapon upon the fabric of her cloak and then slid it back into its resting place. She turned to go, sparing the corpse one last emotionless look before she slid back out of the window and vanished into the shadows where she belonged.


Another taste of the evil I breed,

Will level you completely…