Chapter 2

AN: I apologize for the sudden switch in viewpoints. It is simpler for me to write in first person than third.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Mass Effect universe and more than likely never will, much to my detriment.

Aria's POV

I watch as my failed assassin sits down on the couch next to me, relaxing as though she owns the city, not me. I am amused by how defiant and confident she seems.

"I would advise that you do not act like you own this place, Miranda," I say, using my calmest tone. "It would not bode well for you if you carry on in this manner."

"If you were as truly threatening as your reputation would have me believe, then you would have ordered your guards to kill me, which they would have failed at." Miranda adopts an even cockier air. "You could have also had me dragged here to kill me yourself, though I get the impression that you believe you are above that. Since neither of these cases apply, I am inclined to believe that you have ulterior motives for having us alone with no one watching. So, Aria T'Loak, great Empress of Varris, why do you have us alone? Why did you gesture, so dauntlessly, for me to approach you? I just tried to kill you, yet you have me sit next to you as though we have been friends for ages."

If she expects me to be surprised by her accurate assumption, she should be sorely let down. I push some of my hair out of my face, only to have the strands take up their previous position.

"If you are so confident in your ability to assess my actions," I retort coldly. "Then how about you tell me why we are alone?"

Miranda jumps at the opportunity. "Because you—"

I grasp the hilt of my own dagger, buried in the leg of my right boot. It is a custom made knife, with the handle made so it fit perfectly in my grip. I whip out the weapon and move faster than is humanly possible to hold the blade of the knife against Miranda's neck.

"Do not presume to know me, Miss Lawson," I whisper fiercely. "No one knows who I really am, and I intend to keep it that way. Save your mind games for someone who is considerably more gullible than me. Or I will make my threats a reality instead of just your nightmares." I let the razor edge bite into her skin, drawing a hint of her blood.

The minutest trace of fear glints in her pale, stunning eyes. I mentally shake myself to get rid of the poisonous thoughts I am experiencing toward the woman whose throat I hold a knife to.

"Why did your boss send you here?" I demand. My voice rises to near shouting. "Huh? Everything is perfect in the Land of Light! The only political problems that exist are what your employer and your clique strike up." I notice a peculiar expression cross her features, one of admittance at what I say. I lower my voice to what I know is a terrifying whisper. "So that's why Timothy sent you." I take my favored knife away from the woman's neck. "I understand you have a mission to complete, Miss Lawson. You might want to do so now. It's the ideal time and location." I retrieve my white, leather coat and turn around completely, awaiting the decision of this Miranda Lawson, if that is even her real name. I shrug on my jacket, sliding my arms into the familiar sleeves. The length of the garment is longer than most, and much more expensive than any not born of noble blood could afford. It reaches down to my knees, something some of my mercenary groups think is ridiculous.

It seems like an eternity before I feel something sharp and cold prick my through the fabric of my clothing.

A sorrowful expression crosses my hidden features. I can tell that the person behind me is trying her hardest to push her sword into my skin and in my heart. I move my head as though to look at my right flank.

Quietly I speak, "You cannot fathom the amount of times I have waited for someone to end my prolonged existence. And you believe that you can do that with one simple thrust? No, I can't die so easily. Leave your things here, Miss Lawson. You can stay in this room tonight. We can talk in the morning, if I still find that you are here."

I face forward once more and stride to the door. I grab the metal handle and twist. Just before I leave the room, I gaze back at Miranda Lawson, my failed assassin and say, "I wish I could, though. Die like the rest of you mortals."

I walk out of my "command station" and to my personal quarters on the fourth floor.

I had decided many years ago that crimson was a color that suits me well. After all, the doors and tapestry of my luxurious tavern matches that color. I open the door in front of me, the one that leads to my home for over three hundred years. Inside is perhaps the most lavish living area anywhere in the Fringe or the Land of Light. The foyer is decorated similarly to the main hall of a castle. Marble statues of the previous rulers of Varris and various animals acted as columns for the apartment. Cherry wood tables line the walls, along with vibrant paintings of different landscapes and time periods. Along the floor is a rug woven from my favorite hue of red with gold lacing the edges of the large accessory. I stroll further into my not so humble abode and am greeted with the sight of the immense living room. The ceiling stretches well over ten feet and has golden ribbons streaming from countless spots. Furniture matching the things in my private balcony are placed near the fireplace. There is another couch, two arm chairs, and a reclining chair, which is an uncommon feature, even for this time period. A carpet similar to the one in the foyer covers the marble tile surface. Two, small tables made from glass and metal rest at each end of the couch.

I continue my small trek to my bedroom, which is down a hallway past the extravagant kitchen. I walk through the door into the room and immediately launch myself onto the massive, four-poster bed. I immerse myself in the silk and chiffon bedspread. It, of course, matches the rest of the fabric in the establishment, only with mellower tones. The lamps on the bedside table and in the four corners illuminate the entire room. A small painting of myself in my younger days was on the wall near the bathroom. The only reason I keep it is for a reminder not to lose who I truly am, not that anyone in this god-forsaken city would care.

I roll onto my back and stare at the diamond and obsidian chandelier above me. The lit candles throw out prisms from the diamonds. I close my eyes, not bothering to change out of my outfit from the day.

I wake up to a cold sensation coursing through my chest. Without opening my eyes, I know what it is. I reach my right hand over my heart and grasp something warm.

A wrist.

I quickly yank it away from my body as my eyes fly open.

As I had suspected, it is indeed Miranda Lawson.

I fling her body away with a flare of the dark blue energy that fuels my existence.

"How many times will I need to tell you before you understand, Miss Lawson?" I ask, voice hoarse from my interrupted slumber. "Stop trying to kill me. It won't work." I rise from my horizontal position and experience a slight pain in my chest. I look down and spot a familiar knife lodged between my ribs where my heart is located.

"How many of these damn things do you have?" I inquire as I remove the weapon. I throw it and it thunks into a nearby wall. I don't expect her to respond. The hole created by the blade sealed quickly. "Great. Now that'll be sore for a few hours."

Miranda stumbles up to her feet, shaking her head. I swing my legs over the side of my enormous bed and rest my arms on my knees. Miranda gains enough sense to pull something out of her waistband and launch it at me. Another knife wedges itself in my ribs. I grunt at the impact. I feel yet another dagger hit me. After a few seconds, there are five knives stuck in my chest.

I give the woman across from me a droll stare.

"Really," I say. I lower myself from the bed and advance toward the door to my bedroom. I open it. "Get out. Unless you're going to stay here and chat, or throw more knives at me."

The brunette quickly exits without a second glance, shutting the door soundly on the way out.

I release a long groan as I pull out the daggers, wincing as the blades leave my skin. I feel the wounds seal themselves and look down to see a faint blue aura underneath the thick fabric of my tunic. I also see that I can't wear this shirt anymore. It has rips from where the knives tore the fabric. I stride to my closet and choose a new outfit consisting of a sleeveless, black shirt with a pair of black pants. Every item in my closet was made from silk, satin, or chiffon and I don't know why. I've never cared about my appearance; every piece of clothing I owned was a gift from some noble when I had overtaken Varris.

I wander to the window and pull aside the crimson drapes, gazing out into the center of the city I hold under my command. It's currently the dead of night. The only things on the streets are stray animals and the occasional drunk stumbling home to the wife he undoubtedly cheats on. The lamps that are lit cast warm light in the near-vacant plaza. From my window, I admire the massive crystal and onyx fountain in the center. It is carved to look like a colossal wolf, three stories tall, howling at the full moon. I always like looking at it. Reminds me of myself. Well, how it's a lone wolf, not running with a pack.

I lift myself up to sit on the bay window sill. I lean my head back against the wooden lining and close my eyes once more, hoping that my sleep won't be so rudely interrupted again.