Shadowblood

The effects of the emerald powder last for a few hours. This is the good kind, the only kind Sage sells. Sage. The name touches lightly on my tongue, and makes my thoughts so slightly fuzzy. Although that could just be the Daze. I sigh, my thoughts muddling until there are only a meaningless array of pictures, words, and color.

I open my eyes, not expecting to see much of anything through the pink and green haze. Everything seems to look infinitely more interesting, more beautiful, this way. That is why this is my drug of choice, aside from the adrenaline rush that killing brings.

My static-filled thoughts slip smoothly back to Sage. My drugged-up brain puts together images of him, of us, of things he's said to me, of places I naturally associate with him. The Alleys, his room, the forests just beyond the Alleys. The way he looks at me, how he is one of the very few not scared of me, but rather eager to see me again, to talk to me, to go places together.

My vision starts to clear, and my thoughts slowly unmuddle themselves. I sit up straighter, rub my eyes, push my hair from my face. I shake my head and get up.
I make a mental note to find a dress tomorrow.
Not quite ready for a good, long rest, I slip my favorite dagger from it's sheath and polish it.

Which reminds me I have to hunt again before the gala. No need to be massacring the mostly innocent guests, now, is there?

I put my knife away,and finger the delicate necklace hanging by the hollow of my throat. The stone is hard and cold, beautiful and old. Like it's first owner, and much like it's current one. The one material thing I have with me at all times. Even my dagger takes second place to this.

The only things in a higher place above this are the memories of the one who gave it to me.
My mother. The beautiful and deadly Lynette.