Full preview: "The Moiraio family is a house in which all the men are dead. The women aren't so lucky either. Psyche Moirario, the youngest assassin in her family, is arranged to marry Illumi Zoldcyk, the eldest son of the Zoldyck Family. Haunted by her past, she is eager to escape her life at home and readily accepts. All she ever wanted was to fall in love. Hopelessly, madly, and foolishly in love. She carries that hope with her to Kukoroo Mountain. Illumi, cold and unfeeling and harboring secrets of his own, has other plans in mind. He is well versed in marriage vows. Especially the last. Till death do us part- or perhaps sooner. Patience, unfortunately, is not one of his virtues."
Hellooo, this is my first Hunter x Hunter fanfiction! There are so many illumixoc fics that involve illumi being set up in an arranged marriage, which makes me think that no one believes he can get a date on his own. To which i agree, so i decided to write my own haha.
My OC is Psyche Moiraio. The main pairing is IllumiXPsyche. There will be other OCs in this fic too, so fair warning.
(Disclaimer: Hunter x Hunter is the rightful property of Togashi Yoshihiro. My OCs, story, and plot thingys belong to me.)
Chapter 1: A Wife and A Knife
Moonlight no longer protected her as he greedily plucked her from the shadows, like a thief hidden in the night. She gasped for air when he pulled her into him and let out a mischievous laugh when their bodies collided. They almost toppled over the other, mumbling apologies they didn't truly mean. His arms wrapped around her back and down her waist. Chest to chest. Hearts aligning. In his embrace, the night was no longer cold. Neither was she. He tilted his head back, intoxicated with joy. He never felt anything like it before. A smile spread across his face. "I caught you." he said between ragged breaths. He was so beautiful when he smiled. Breaths mingling, hearts racing, she made no attempt to escape him. He made no attempt to let her go. She did not want him to. She reasoned to herself that she would never want him to let go of her. They were both adamantly determined to stay where they were. Holding on to the other.
It was destiny for him to hold her here. Now.
"You have me." her voice softened, vulnerable. "What will you do?" Heat flooded her cheeks as she gazed into his eyes, anticipating his next move. His eyes were no longer pitch black. They were dark and deep and alluring as the night sky-a beautiful cosmos of the ocean's deepest blues, the hot ruby rays of the sun, and the white core of a fire raging over a hearth. She saw stars-light-within him. She always knew it was within him, captivating her. The longing and desire in his eyes reflected back at her own.
His lips brushed her neck. Soft and light and fleeting. Anticipation and longing rushed through her as he relentlessly teased her. She ached for him to devour her. Whole. Over her ear, he breathed, "everything."
She welcomed it.
He has never been happier than this moment. How he wished he could immortalize it. And she would do that for him. Through her lips upon his. Every time he thought of this moment, he would feel it on his lips and remember. Remember her touch. Remember her warmth. Remember her love for him. Her love...for him. That alone made him smile. Finally, they closed the distance. Embers kindled inside of them as their lips parted and joined. Again and again and again.
The moon was their sole witness as they began the start of the rest of their lives.
Together.
The alarm buzzed, pulling the girl out from her enchanting book. She blinked her eyes a few times, refocusing on her blurry world. She sighed, bookmarking the page to resume later. Oh, she didn't want to stop reading! The captain and his kitchen maid finally revealed their love for each other, station nor class could not extinguish their love and there was no going back for either of them. They changed the order of their world and the consequences for it will be nothing short of fierce, and they knew that and still tread onward. She traced her fingers over the pages, love transcribed with ink and pen. True love sounded absolutely….the word was on the tip of her tongue.
Tantalizingly marvelous.
No matter how tempted she was to dive back into that wondrous world; the darkness of her own beckoned her.
An assassin's work never ends.
This story starts in a peculiar way. It starts with the murder of Eliot Knox.
For the next hour, thirty seven minutes, and three seconds-Eliot Knox consumed our assassin's life. She knew a few things about Eliot's life. He whored. He drank. He beat his wives, one after the other. That was all she needed to know about him-beyond that was unnecessary. Men like Eliot Knox do not become better men. Men like him do not get better at amending their mistakes. Men like him only get better at repeating them.
Hence why he was here, frantically running through the corridors of his own home, tripping over the carpet underneath his feet, cursing and scrambling to pick up the bullets that fell out of his trembling hands. Forgoing the ones his hands and mind could not grasp as fear took a hold of him instead. Strangling his senses. Because dear, dear Eliot was running out on time.
He was going to die.
Not if he could help it, of course. He most certainly tried. All of her targets try. Maybe he should have tried to be a better man, a better husband. Maybe he wouldn't be here if he thought twice about beating his wife until her skull was fractured, her face battered beyond unrecognizable, and she unable to speak, leaving her jaw wired shut. A prisoner in her own body. How many more tries are men given, promising change and better days knowing full well they have no intention of changing the monsters they are inside. Eliot tried to escape. But given his countless attempts of trying, there was little chance he'd succeed.
The floorboards creaked.
The shadows moved.
Something sinister lingered in the dark.
Eliot whipped around, lifted his gun-and fired.
The frightened man fired one bullet after another. A cacophony of pops and firecrackers bounced off the walls, firing mayhem and madness into the home that was supposed to keep him safe. Finally, silence reigned. The firing came to an abrupt halt when he ran out of ammunition. A trail of smoke rose from his gun. There was a sickening moment, a mixture of calm and unease in the silence, hoping he shot his assassin or fearing that he missed.
His eyes and mouth widened, agape.
He always was a terrible shot.
He dropped his empty gun. And ran.
Eliot's eyes were blood red as he sprinted towards his safe house, where a servant-the last one- was waiting to open it up when the master would arrive. The servant was covered in blood, perhaps another's, but Eliot didn't have time to question the boy. The servant, overcome with fear, hurried to find the key among a sea of others. Clicking one over the other. Eliot, impatient, pushed him aside and grabbed a hold of the keys himself.
He found the right one and locked himself in the safe house. Leaving his servant, alone and vulnerable to the monster that awaited outside. The servant pounded on the door, pleading to be let in. Begging. Crying.
Eliot barricaded the door-whatever he could grab. Creating a mound of furniture, thus sealing himself inside his tomb.
The servant's crying stopped.
Eliot froze.
He learned forward. He pressed his ear against the cool metal and beaded sweat rolled down the wall.
Listening.
Screaming pierced his ears-his own- as something sharp and deadly slashed his legs. The thought never crossed his mind that he wasn't alone-no, no, no. He was alone. There was no one else in the safe house, but him. No one was allowed to enter but him. His knees gave out, and he collapsed on the floor. Blood pooling all around him. He turned around-willing himself to meet his assassin dead in the eyes. To curse him out, to negotiate a deal, to plead for his life-fear rendered him undecided, but his killer wasn't going to take away his options.
Wetting himself wasn't one of them.
There was no man. No killer. No human of flesh or blood.
There was only a silhouette on the wall. A shadow without an owner. It was entirely black and it was not motionless, but pulsating with life. Something that shouldn't be alive, was living. That made it all the more terrifying. All over, wild currents rippled through it like a river made of black. There were arms and legs and a head, but that's where the resemblances ended. The outline of the shadow was hunched and crooked and beastly. It was beyond human. He looked into the shadow and it looked back, sending shivers down his spine.
The arm of the beast extended past the walls. Talking form and flight. Reaching out towards the dying man.
Eliot screamed.
It pushed the furniture behind Eliot aside. It wanted to move it. It wanted to open the door.
There were more visitors that needed to be let in.
The locks broke. The knob turned. The door opened.
Eliot began to laugh hysterically.
His killer, his assassin, the monster who wanted him dead was but a little girl! His laughs echoed off the walls, yet no one laughed with him. Not the shadow monster nor the girl he mocked. The girl and the monster remained motionless as the man toppled over himself in laughter, trying to control his labored breathing. Like the shadow monster, she wore all black, blending into the night. He may have considered her little, but she looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair, dark and wavy, shaped her tear drop face and flowed down her back. He would have called her pretty, if not for the expression on her face-laced in disgust and malice for him. He was no stranger to that look in her eyes.
But he did not know her. Or did he? Thoughts raced through his mind about their acquaintanceship. Was she a prostitute he slept with? There were so many, it was hard to keep count. Was she jealous that he did not notice or love her? No…was she an illegitimate child that wanted his fortune for herself? No, he didn't see any of himself within her.
The shadow monster moved. Eliot thought it was going to attack him again. He quivered and shielded his head with his arms. Shutting his eyes and awaiting his death. But the monster did not strike. Peeking through his arms, still covering his head, he saw the shadow slither towards the girl. Fusing into her own shadow and disappearing entirely. Monster and girl. One and the same.
He realized then that he should be afraid.
Eliot snarled and snapped his teeth. Curses rolled off his tongue. "GUARDS, KILL HIS FUCKING BITCH! KILL HER! GUARDS!"
"They won't be coming to your rescue. No one will. All your guards, servants-everyone-have left the estate or died trying to fight back." The girl turned her head towards the door, where the servant was standing moments before. He fled without putting up a fight. "Your home is empty. You must have noticed that yourself, when you were running out of your home...firing bullets at me." This man was rude and a terrible shot. "There's no use calling-"
His breathing was wild and furious, just like his mind. "YOU'LL REGRET THIS YOU FUCKING CUNT. GUARDS! GUAAAAARDS! KILL THIS BITCH! KILL HER!" Eliot wouldn't stop screaming. He wouldn't stop calling for someone-anyone to save him.
Darkness brewed behind the girl's eyes. He wasn't listening to her. How vexing.
"There is no need to curse." The girl did not raise her voice, but she was still annoyed.
"Fuck you." He spat at her feet.
The girl sighed, his bark was worse than his bite. Then, she did the cruelest, most unimaginable thing she could do to a man like Eliot. She ignored him.
And left him simmering in his own shit. Fuming.
"Hey, I'm NOT DONE TALKING TO YOU-"
Another voice echoed outside. "You always wanted to have the last word, Eliot."
Eliot's eyes widened, his body trembling. The girl stepped aside, for this was not her battle to fight. No, it was his wife's fight.
Eliot's complexion faded to spoiled milk. The air was stolen from his lungs as he saw his wife standing before him. He gasped for air and swallowed, hard. "Rinah..I..I thought you were.."
"Dead? One of us will be."
Tears pooled in Eliot's eyes.
"Thank you, Psyche." Rinah said to the girl. "I can handle it from here."
"Rinah, I'm bleeding out-help me-Rinah. Please." Eliot struggled to hold onto his legs, they were going numb and cold. He sat, defenseless and scared, in a pool of his own blood.
Psyche spoke over the man, ignoring him. "Are you sure? I can stay with you, if you like."
"Rinah-baby," Eliot's lips quivered. Fear fractured his words. "I'm dying."
Rinah held on tight to her own hands, gripping and reminding herself that this was real. She was fianlly here. She was here to get her revenge. She turned her attention away from Psyche and looked Eliot dead in the eyes. "He doesn't scare me anymore."
Eliot struggled to push himself closer towards the wall. Away from her.
Psyche simply nodded and left the safe house. Closing the door behind her. Leaving the two alone. Leaving Rinah to find her peace.
This is how Rinah wanted him to see her. She was not cowering in her hospital room, not jolting at every person who walked through the door, thinking it was Eliot or one of his men that would greet her with a mocking smile and a bat. She was not pleading for his forgiveness, begging him to forgive her for being a 'bad' wife-for letting his attention wander to other women, for being the distraction that made him lose bets when he gambled, or being his punching bag when he'd lose his temper and hit her until he felt better. Everything was her fault.
No.
It was never her fault.
It was his. Always.
She was standing tall, chin up, and wearing her finest clothes. Hair pinned and braided into a bun, revealing the faint traces of now faded bruises. Still, she wore everything that made her feel beautiful, because she was. Because no matter what horrible atrocities he has committed against her in the past, no matter what sins of his own he blamed her for, he could not take away her beauty. In body or spirit. She would not give him that power over her. Tonight she was celebrating her liberation from her tyrant.
He will not see her as the scared wife he controlled for years. He will see her as the woman she always was-a woman who rises from the ashes and rebuilds herself anew. Strong. A woman that cannot be broken. A woman who does not sit idly by and lets others hurt her. Not anymore.
"Do you still recognize me, behind all the bruises? It's your handiwork." She clicked open her purse and pulled out the only item she needed tonight within it. A knife. She gripped it tightly until her knuckles were white.
He stared at his wife, at the knife, then back at her. Tears welled up in his eyes, pleading, "oh baby-"
A knife plunged deep into his throat. Making him gargle on his own blood.
"I'm sick of hearing you talk."
For once in his life, Eliot was speechless.
For once in her life, Rinah found peace.
The good thing about diners is that they're open past midnight.
"Here," Psyche placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Rinah. It was hard for the woman to hold the cup without it shaking in her hands. Psyche asked if she wanted milk. Rinah shook her head. Psyche then asked if she wanted sugar. Rinah shook her head again. The woman stared blankly into the dark liquid, watching her reflection who was blankly watching her in return. No doubt, the woman was replaying the memory of tonight's events in her head.
Rinah looked up, briefly. The woman blinked her eyes, confused. She saw Psyche pull out a canister of heavy cream out of her jacket and shake it up vigorously. Her voice was soft and wobbly. "Did you have that with you this entire time?"
Without losing a beat, Psyche spurted the canister while looking at Rinah, "Jealous?"
Rinah stifled a laugh. Holding her hand over her mouth. "Sorry."
Psyche smiled. She applied a more than generous amount to her coffee and stirred. Licking the tip of her thumb where a spot of cream was left. "Don't be, I actually swiped it from the front counter. I thought you might have needed a laugh."
"Thank you."
Psyche reached into her jacket again.
"You have another!"
"Even better." Psyche pulled out straws, and napkins. "This I actually did bring myself."
Rinah was laughing now.
Psyche ripped the paper wrapper off the straw with her teeth and stuck it in the coffee cup. She wasn't a fan of her lips touching rims no doubt hundreds have touched before her. She also didn't want a hundred indirect kisses either.
Rinah pursed her lips, then swallowed. "You're very young for a…" the woman lowered her voice and looked around them, eyeing the other customers sitting at their booths eating late night suppers of Salisbury steaks coated in caramelized onions and mushrooms basking in a decadent beef sauce; or midnight breakfasts, some scarfing down stacks of golden, buttery waffles drenched in maple syrup, layered with bacon.
Psyche's mouth watered from the beautiful sight. There was genius and ingenuity all around her. This diner was going places.
"I might order that later." Psyche gulped, mumbling to herself. Her attention snapped back to Rinah. Oh, right. Assassination. "Yes. I am the youngest one in my family."
"Family? Your family approve of your career?" A touch of skepticism, and motherly concern, laced the woman's voice.
"They'd better. They're the ones who trained me while I was still in my crib." She saw how shocked Rinah looked. "Oh, it's a family business, we all start young. It's normal...for us." Psyche shrugged, as if it was not a tantamount facet of her life. Rinah's shock did not fade.
"This was my first time hiring someone…"
"Like me."
Rinah nodded. "I never thought anyone would allow me to participate myself. There were other people I contacted before you, who had other plans in mind. Yes, they made promises that I knew they would carry through without a hitch, but I wanted to do it myself. It had to be me. That, I was sure of."
Psyche leaned back, stretching. "Everyone in the trade handles things differently. Even within my own family, we all have our own ways of doing things. I can't say my family agrees with the way I handle my job-and I may not agree with theirs- but I work hard and they don't complain. Of course, I will say that my methods are unorthodox in regards to the community as a whole, however I cater to the needs of my clients and above all that is my main priority. As it should be. I either carry out the job myself, or I set the stage for my clients. Whichever they want." Psyche smiled and lightly bounced her palms out in front of her. "It's all personalized."
That, and Psyche was picky when she chose her clients. They had to meet certain...criteria. She dared not reveal what that criteria was to anyone, but people catch up over time. And the ones that do flock to her.
"You helped me, in more ways than one can ask for." Rinah smiled, faintly. "So many people were telling me to stay quiet or reassuring me that every marriage is hard no matter who I married." So many people saw her pain, yet did nothing, said nothing. Rinah was trapped in the kingdom of the blind. "He was nice and kind and loving in the beginning.."
"They always are."
"But then everything changed. He changed. It started gradually, but so slowly." She shook her head. "No, he was always like that, but I was blind or maybe I saw everything and didn't want to believe the man I fell in love with wasn't the man I married. I didn't realize I was riding a downhill slope, ready any day to crash." The fractured skull and wired jaw were the crash. In a way, she was thankful for it. She'll always despise him for putting her through so much pain, but that was her wake up call. The dim lights finally burned to full intensity, illuminating everything. Banishing the blind. "He would have killed me. I know it. He always told me his previous wife's death was an accident. I began to have my doubts when he began to.." She gripped her cup tight, almost as if she was strangling Eliot for the second time. "Anyway, a woman doesn't receive that many broken bones from falling down a flight of stairs. He tried to convince me she had brittle bone disease. Before giving up my career to marry him, I was a licensed nurse, I know what brittle bone disease looks like. I treated people with brittle bone, I studied the pathology of brittle bone, and she did not have brittle bone."
"Now he's the one with brittle bones." Psyche raised her cup to her lips, nodding. Listening to her clients talk about their lives wasn't part of the job description. But every word they'd say and every story they'd tell, no matter how different, rattled her all the way to her core. The good kind of rattling, the kind that clears away the debris left by the wake of a storm; revealing the home, the heart beneath the rubble. She wanted to listen to them.
"The gifts, the doting, the attention he'd given me when we were dating or how he'd put on an act, the loving husband, in front of friends...sometimes I wonder if he ever loved me at all." Rinah forced out a choked laugh. "You know, I wanted children, I wanted so badly to be a mother, but he told me I wasn't well enough, stable enough, or just...good enough to be one. Nothing was ever good enough for him."
Psyche took a long sip of her coffee. Nodding her head in solemn agreement. Rinah wouldn't believe just how many other women told Psyche the same thing. If these women all formed a single-file line, it would stretch a quarter around the world-and those are for the women who were able to reach out to her, not including the ones who could never have the means to. She supposed those women could circumnavigate the world. In the beginning, these men are gentlemen and treat their women like queens. But then after a while, they take away her crown, then her throne, and instead of telling their women how perfect they are, they pull out magnifying glasses, scrutinizing and exaggerating all the cracks in their armor, casting blame and shame and doubt, widening them and creating cassums. These men control women with love and then fear. In the end, all these women say the same thing: they were lied to, abused and used. "People like him don't change. He was good at hiding who he really was and when he got what he wanted from you, marriage and so on, he didn't have to hide anymore."
Rinah nodded. "I tell myself that whenever I think of him. It was never real." Tears swelled in Rinah's eyes. All the years she'd given to him, offering every last piece of herself to him. Believing he still loved her. Believing in a lie.
Psyche pulled napkins from her jacket and handed them to Rinah. "None of this is your fault. None of it."
Rinah took them, dabbing her eyes. Laughing strained laughs between tears. "Forgive me, I must be a sight."
"A beautiful one."
Rinah blew her nose. Then folded the napkin into a ball. Her eyes were red, but the tears were slowly drying up. "You're sweet."
Psyche believed it was because of all the sugar she ate.
"I don't mean to pry, but I was wondering if I may ask you a question?"
"Pry away."
"Do you enjoy your work?" Rinah quickly shook her head, shutting her eyes. "Oh wait, I didn't mean to ask it like that. Can one find joy in your occupation? I still don't think I'm asking this right."
Psyche chuckled, lightly. Assassins rarely get interviewed. "No, it's alright. Like I've said before, people in the trade do things differently and they are done for different reasons. It took me a while, but I found my reason." And in this trade, it was necessary to have a reason. It didn't matter what your reason was, you just needed to have one. And believe it. Because that was your life line, and without a line you sink.
"So, the rumors are true. You really are an angel of death."
Psyche couldn't hold in her laughter now. She was a harbinger of death, but no angel.
"It's true!" Rinah leaned forward, mouth agape. "My life has been consumed with fear for so long, I forgot what it was like not to look over my shoulder wherever I went. I may have been lucky to escape, but the girls before him…." Her gaze hardened, malice brewed within her. "He got what he deserved. If only every girl was born to be as brave as you."
Psyche looked down. She didn't believe herself to be brave. Suddenly, her phone chimed in her pocket. The transaction must have gone through. She whipped her head up, "But this is too much! And this tip!"
"When I tip, I tip." Rinah winked.
Psyche fell forward on the countertop. "God bless you." She was going to treat herself generously after this. Perhaps to the bookstore?
Rinah looked out the window of the diner and saw her sister's car pull up. She put her arms through the sleeves of her coat, "I better get going."
"I have a question for you." Psyche tipped her head towards the driveway. A smile lingered on her lips. "What does she think about all of this?"
"She would have done it herself if I hadn't paid you to."
The smile on her lips stayed.
Rinah placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, "Thank you."
The door bells chimed when she left and Psyche watched them drive away, disappearing into the night. Another satisfied client, and a job well done.
Psyche browsed through her phone, the smile on her lips fading. Angel of Death. The words ricocheted in her head to no end. She knew what she was called in the outside world. She tossed her phone onto the plush bench and sat there in silence. She was no angel. Angel implies goodness and salvation, no matter how satisfied Rinah or anyone else are with her work, her killings never fully heal her clients. She never tried to delude herself that they do. They weren't a magical remedy or a permanent fix. If the killings bring her clients a sense of peace to live in a world without fear then that's the most she can ask for. But the pain all these people feel runs deeper than the surface. All Psyche does is smooths it down, making it a less hazardous terrain to walk. One less fear to fret over.
Majority of her clients that commission her have one thing in common: fear. There was an insidious nature to fear. It's a powerful emotion that keeps us alive and out of danger, but it also makes us think the unimaginable and do the unspeakable. Fear is primal and raw and wild and unpredictable.
And profitable.
Fear governs an assassin's life.
Fear is her life's work. Fear is her currency. Fear is her bread and butter.
Psyche has her own fears. A fear, that when left alone for her mind to wait and wander, would gorge itself and metamorphosize into terror. Clawing up her throat, slashing her tongue, prying open her mouth for her to scream out to the world.
She kept her jaw shut.
She pulled out her book, but she stared mindlessly at the words. She didn't feel like reading. Tossing the book back into her bag, she rubbed her hands over her face, exhaustion weighing her down. She forced herself to think of different things. From this job and the last she has more than enough money than she knows how to spend. Ha, it's all blood money. Her back account is all stained red. No, no, no. She grabbed her wrists, pinching her skin. Nails pressing into her flesh. Float. Float. Float away. Her mind needs to float away. Money, spending, shopping! What was she going to buy? Yes, that's the question!
Nothing came to mind.
She looked down at her wrists and loosened her grip. Her nails left red crescent moons on her skin.
She wants to treat herself….she just doesn't know what to treat herself on. What was there to buy for a girl who has everything? Oh, the devastating reality of being disgustingly rich from dead people's money.
Before she could drown in her thoughts, her phone buzzed.
She looked once at the screen and a rush of cold wind swirled within her stomach. Fear spiked up again.
It buzzed.
It kept buzzing.
It wouldn't stop.
It continued buzzing even when she was leaving the diner.
Finally, anger simmered then erupted into a full throttle boil. Damn decorum, this is a Denny's parking lot.
She softly screamed into her phone, a feat only she could accomplish.
"Anomie. WHAT?!"
"Why weren't you picking up your phone?" The devil (her older sister) asked, coldly.
"I'm busy."
"Clearly not."
Psyche slowly turned around and saw her older sister sitting on a Denny's parking lot bench. They stared at each other. There was no greater pain than trying to out win her sister in a staring contest. She broke their stare and gazed into the empty parking lot. "I'm hanging up now."
Anomie did the same. She rolled around her wrist in the cold, night air. "You choose Denny's. Denny's."
"It's a highly respectable establishment."
"This bench is disgusting and when we go home I'm going to burn my pants."
"Then stand!" Psyche shouted.
Anomie's brow creased, vexed. "Absolutely not. This is the first time I've sat down all day."
"Oh, how was work?"
"No complaints. But I need better shoes."
"I wonder how Chaotica does everything in heels."
"There are alot of things I wonder about Chaotica. Her style of footwear is the least of them."
Psyche chuckled. "Footwear."
"Psyche." Anomie's voice was wry, her mouth drawn into a lopsided smile. "It's nice to hear you laugh again."
The sound of clicking heels resonated throughout the barely packed parking lot, interrupting the two sisters and their conversation of footwear. "I heard my name. And laughter. Denny's parking lot is going to bear witness to another casualty tonight."
"Hello Chaotica." Chaotica, the middle sister. Anomie twirled her blonde hair between her finger tips. Twirling her hair isn't a habit of hers, she just doesn't want her hair touching the back of the bench. "You're late."
"It's better to arrive late than to arrive ugly." Chaotica twirled, showing off her new dress. The dress, a deep red, breathed like fire underneath the lamppost lights.
"Sorry, you should have taken your time then."
"You." Chaotica pointed her manicured finger at Anomie. "Right here, right now."
Anomie's smile flattened into a thin line, unamused. "We'll fight to the death at another time, thank you."
"I never said to the death."
"This is Denny's. Go big or go home."
Chaotica feigned dread. "Oh, so scary."
Anomie quirked up an eyebrow.
Chaotica's laughter came to an abrupt halt. "Ok, I get it!"
"Do you?"
"Staaaaahhhuuuup." Stop, Chaotica probably meant. It was hard to tell.
"What? What is that? I'm hearing gibberish. Use REAL words for once." Anomie said, deadpanned.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Don't tell me to don't tell you what I should or shouldn't tell you what to or not to do."
"Oh my god, you ASS."
"Just saying."
Chaotica screamed in frustration.
Anomie laughed silently.
Psyche looked confused, stepping further away from them. She chimed in, briefly. "I think I'm going to leave now. Bye."
"Not so fast." Anomie stood. Hands in her pocket, nonchalant. "We'll go home together."
Chaotica trailed nearer. Both sisters closing in on the youngest. Two foxes circling a hare. A hare with a broken leg.
Fear prickled down Psyche's spine. The shadows beneath her feet began to shift and grow beyond her own.
The smile on Chaotica's lips broadened into wild amusement. She tilted her head and strands of black hair fell out of place. Staring at the ground beneath Psyche's feet. "Psyche's shadows are coming out to play. It's so cute when she gets skittish. Isn't it, Ann?"
Psyche knew something wasn't right. Anomie and Chaotica weren't here just to say hello. They for the most part ignore her at home, so why would they go out of their way to visit her at Denny's?
Anomie stepped closer. Psyche's shadows grew larger. The outline of a beast began to unfurl on the concrete.
Anomie stopped, eyes narrowing. And so did the shadows. "Chaotica, would you stop it."
Chaotica whipped her arms in the air. "I'm not doing anything to her!"
"You're giving me a headache."
"Fine."
Chaotica crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks.
Anomie continued. "Mom wanted us to come get you."
"I can manage by myself. Thanks."
"I know you can." Anomie said, without losing a beat. "But you know how mom is, she's just worried for you. We all are. Though, it's not like you're going to run away."
Psyche gripped her fists into balls. Nails digging into her skin.
Anomie's stare did not waver. A shadow cast down on her face. "Right?"
Psyche breathed. The shadows beneath her began to recede. Her voice was soft, barely audible. "Right."
"Very good, now enough dawdling. We have to get home and prepare for tomorrow, baby sister is getting married."
Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! I hope it was okay and feedback is encouraged :D
So Pysche is an assassin (and helps people get revenge :D), along with her two older sisters, Anomie and Chaotica (both have their own reasons too.) I'll dive deeper into the Moiraio family and their association with the zoldyck family in the next chapter, this chapter was kind of like 'a day in the life of an assassin' via Psyche. I'm kind of going for an enemies to lovers romance, some sexy bits too hehe, but in due time! I hope you'll stick around and see where this story goes with me. Thank you for reading!