]| Killer |[

There once was a maiden. She would not call herself a maiden. She would not use the term "self". She wore coverings that hid every aspect of her humanity. She did not speak, unless there was need to object. There was never a need to object. Her orders were perfect. The machine was perfect. All would be as was envisioned by her Lord.


As she walked the world, she found one of the many targets. This man had been a general of armies, known for his skill and power. He had left the field of war and entered the field of politics some time ago. She felt something she did not understand. When she is older, she will call it pity. If the man had taken up cheese making, she would not have visited him.

He was old, but he was still a soldier. There was no formal challenge, there was no warning, there was only the mechanical motions of the kill.


To his credit, he determined that something was wrong and reached for a weapon just as the blow struck. Very few could speak of such alertness. The guards would find the body, and nary a trace of the maiden. They never did.

She continued on her journey. She had walked a thousand roads by that time. The next road would change everything.