The assassin sprints through the streets, his boots pounding against the cobblestone.
His feet are bounding across like a stallion. His hood is over his head, his cowl covering his face. The chill of the winter night doesn't even phase him as he keeps his eyes on the castle. His heart thunders as he hurtles across the streets.
His cloak trailing behind him, he's a phantom of the night. Pumping his arms at his sides he wills himself to be faster.
Arendelle's castle comes into view. Guards are all along the outside. He draws his swords without even caring about them seeing him.
One of them tries to stop him, but the man's leg is already slashed open, leaking blood before he even tells him to halt. The others are dismembered and lying in puddles of blood in seconds.
He's inside, and here he slips into the shadows, scanning his perimeter. While keeping to the shadows, his feet keep their speed, barely making a sound as his cloak shrouds him in darkness. He sheathes his swords to keep them from leaving a trail behind him.
He makes his way up the stairs, quickly finding a set of doors leading to an outside balcony. Like a snake in the grass he's back outside in the cold, crawling across the bricks like a spider.
The assassin looks up and finds the balcony to the queen's chambers. Quickly he climbs to the closest balcony and slips inside the doors, the warmth enough to make his skin sweat. He's in the hallway of the queen's chambers, just a left and a right and he'll be at the door.
With everyone distracted from that demon-things diversion, silence is unneeded. The assassin sprints down the hallway, weaving his way towards the queen's chambers.
Two more guards are present at the doors, and just as they lay eyes on him, he disables them and renders them helpless in seconds. Blood drips from his swords.
Their howls of pain don't reach him. He can't hear anything over his pounding heart, like the beat of a heavy drum. His swords are stained with blood, splattered on his clothes.
He rams his foot into the door, shattering the locks into pieces.
The assassin beholds the room.
The door to the balcony of the chamber is open. Its lace curtains billowing in the chilling breeze. Nothing is shattered, in fact it looks as if they were delicately opened.
And sitting in the chair . . .
Sitting there . . .
The assassin pulls his hood down.
"Why hello, lovely." He smiles crazily, his voice laced with deadly calm.
The world slows to the beat of an ancient, ageless drum.
"No! No –!"
Deathly screams, splashing of blood and ripping flesh erupt from the chamber.