The room was dark. It was always dark except for a few candles lit in her immediate space. A pale hand reached for the silver brush that rested on her dresser. Carefully, slowly, she moved the brush to her long, platinum blond hair and brought the bristles down. Pausing, she stared at herself in the mirror before her, gazing at the shell of a woman she once was. On occassion, memories of her former self would flash before her: her laughter, her smile, her faith in life.
But that was all gone now. Her warmth was now filled with a cold desire to destroy. As much as she tried to fight that sensation, it consumed her. Her daily sparring practice was not satisfying enough, and the random jobs she took on only did so much for her, but she persisted. She continued to cling on to the tiniest thread of hope: her sister Alexielle.
Naminnae caught a glimmer of light from the silver brush and she looked down at it. Who had given her that brush? She didn’t have it before, but she couldn’t remember who it was who had given her such a memory of her past. Nevertheless, she clung on to it, her cold hands gripping the equally cold handle. Her icy blue eyes turned back to the mirror and she stared once more at the dead monster in front of her. She was once a death knight who destroyed for the Lich King. Now she was just dead.
After giving her hair a few more strokes, she placed the brush on the dresser and she rose, adjusting her armor of leather, mail, and plate. She reached for her two weapons: a sickle shaped sword with a sturdy chain attached to it, and her runeblade. She walked toward the apartment door and touched her cello gently as it sat on its stand. She would play it when she returned. It was her therapy, after all.
Naminnae reached for her cloak hanging on the door and wrapped it around her, pulling the hood over her head. Another day, another job, another death. It would be done. She never failed at her jobs. She had been trained well to be a proper assassin.
And yet, when those memories snuck up on her, she longed for the warmth of an embrace, the comfort of a warm meal, and for love.
Above all, she craved love.
The undead woman walked out the door. Her client would not be kept waiting.
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