the assassin, by josh, for gcse type people

The sun shone through an open window that was perfectly positioned to illuminate the bed. Dust swirled within the confines of gold, drifting aimlessly as though revelling in the light’s glory. Up and down they crept; some towards the open window, others meandering gently downwards to rest upon the bed. Some merely hovered in place; as if unsure which way to turn, or perhaps deciding that wherever they lay was where the utmost tranquillity was to be found. None, of course, since they were simply dust, were aware that a foreign presence was watching from behind the flowing satin curtains which swayed like a soft summer tide lapping gently at the shores of pebbled beach. Not that it would it would have made much difference if the motes had been sentient, as it would have taken something not far short of omnipotent to be aware of the boy hidden amongst the curtains…
He had lain there, quite still, for almost a day, waiting with an infinite patience. His face was young and rounded, but the youth was suppressed from his face and mingled with the scars of an unenviable childhood. His face remained as unmoving and emotionless as stone itself, but there was a sorrow in his eyes that no amount of mastery could hide, which made the merciless gleam in the center of his pupils, and the slight twinge of bloodlust playing around the crevices upon his lips all that harder to detect.
His admission to the house was much the same as his demeanour within it, masterful and well rehearsed. Guards, now garrotted and hidden, were as easy to bypass as were the alarm systems since, and they don’t tell you this in the movies, you can turn them off. There was no acrobatics and mid-air ballet displays that film stars, female at least, are so fond of, not that he was unable to perform such feats, merely that such self-aggrandising scenes were, at best, frowned upon in the sect that had raised the boy from birth.
He had crouched, concealed in the depths of shadows to survey the manor he was to infiltrate. Hedges ran along the length of a garden the size of a field, tall and imposing upon the landscape, casting a thick blackness in the absence of the sun, which would serve him perfectly. Hauntingly the shadows crept from the sides of the garden, flickering as the leaves vacillated in a now chilling wind, moving ever closer to the centre of the grassy plain so it looked as if a pair of arms were reaching in from the plant infested parameter, to choke at the garden and drain life from it.
And so it was that even the flowers seemed to be retreating in fear, cowering away from darkness and death as though it were a sudden frost. Very little was shown the mercy of sunlight, except deep into the heart of the garden where a fountain stood, solitary and magnificent, creating an aura around it where the shadow feared to tread. It stood, bleeding forth ice from the many spouts that adorned the stone sculpture. It was the only part of the garden that received sunlight, yet it was the most cold. Light seemed to pale as it passed through the waters, fading as though drained. The effect was no less haunting than the dark that still held most of the garden in thraldom, but it was not fear that kept the minds entranced here, more pity and a great sadness, that something of such beauty could be imprisoned here, so out of place.

He looked back over his shoulder- he had half expected to see Cerberus guarding the gates.
For a moment he paused. A foreign force was at work upon his soul. He was unsure, stricken for the briefest of moments by the internal war within. A feeling that was not akin to him was taking residence with in him. Then he recognised it, he had felt it once as a small child. He was scared.
Once his trepidation had been identified, however, it was soon overcome. Emotion, especially cowardice, had no place in his domain of work, and therefore was eradicated. Appalled by his loss of control and of his fear, he began his mission anew, fuelled by the desire of internal redemption.
Swiftly, as if running from his own ghosts, he departed from where he had camouflaged himself, keeping to the tree line where the deprivation of light would mask him from sight. He moved with practised grace and speed, though without haste or carelessness, to the point at which the white marble wall sloped into the earth and sank it to the foundations at the base of the house. Neat rows of colourful flowers lined the outside wall of the house, with petals of shades and tones of colour complimenting each other in ways only the incredibly rich have time to orchestrate. Even the ones that had fallen so gracefully to the muddy banks in which the plants where buried seemed prearranged for effect and beauty, rather than appearing to be at the whim of fate. All this was ignored, of course, by the man who stood at the bottom - his attention was drawn to the ivy protruding from the back of the plant skywards towards a balcony which it then enveloped and continued towards the roof. He was thankful for it else the climb to the balcony would have torn at his fingers, probably ripping more than one nail from where it was embedded as he searched for the tiniest crack or bump in such a smooth surface. He had never developed the strength in his nails that seemed to protect the other students and masters he had grown up with from such things, but this only bothered him as far as it prevented him from doing whatever his adopted fathers and masters asked of him. As was, though, it was a simple enough climb, with little to hinder his ascent up to the balcony.
As he waited, the sun had painted a golden arch across the room with the dust held captivated following it. The light in the room was turning from the shining gold that had illuminated the room all day to the fiery orange that took dominion in the closing hours of sunlight. Amber clashed with black as shadows writhed around the room painting pictures across the wall and furniture, flickering as a cool breeze entered through the open door that bordered onto the balcony. The effect was enchanting like Homer’s sirens, willing who ever watched to be drawn into the fluid world of shadow, where everything was but a dance in time with sunrise.
The door opened quickly, though it creaked as all doors do. The effect of the shadows shattered even as they tried to draw the woman who had entered to the maelstrom of dark and light. She stood, the wraiths of mist and shade playing across her face only adding to her beauty as the amber light caught the bones of her face. She remained frozen, with her silken nightdress lapping gently at her lower thigh, then dived over the end of her bed and collapsed face first into the bad sheets, falling asleep instantly as her snores were muffled by the pillow.
The assassin slid out from behind the curtain and walked to where the sleeping woman lay. He crouched by her head as she turned in her sleep. He paused for a moment, stunned by the beautiful woman that lay snoring before him. Everything about her radiated a rare attractiveness. The way her high cheekbones dominated her face, the way strands of auburn hair placed themselves across her face so carelessly. Even the way her blood-red lips hung slightly apart and her tongue stuck out slightly from behind her teeth.
He sighed. Almost unwillingly he extracted the ceremonial knife from where it was tied around his ankle. He pulled the blade across his finger then placed it on her forehead, leaving a fingerprint in blood as he moved it away. He took one last look at the pretty face as he drew his knife across her neck, smiling slightly as pale blue eyes opened wide in shock at the pain for the briefest of moments before sleep’s eternal cousin claimed her and she fell still. Blood spread from a smiling mouth in her neck, surging across her bed, with gaunt pools of blood gathering in the depressions of the mattress, staining her nightdress the deepest crimson. He pulled her hand towards him with his right and grasped it firmly with his left. Reaching for his blade he carved the sign of his guild into her palm, letting the blood trickle from her hand to his before letting go. He stood once more, then dragged his knife gently down her back, severing her dress in half, revealing her back. Slowly he searched up and down her spine looking for the birth mark that would confirm her as his target. His eyes ran across her back three times, but the only thing that interrupted the smooth golden skin was the sharp ridges of her backbone. He resigned himself to the obvious as he made his way back the balcony. There would be consequences for this.