She could feel it cutting the air, unspoken, hidden beneath the veneer of polite conversation and political civilisation. A hollow echo, an absence that none remember. An intention, whispered words offered up to the heavens. There it was again a broken string. A shadow lying beneath their lilting, birdsong voices.
The crowd entwined, now mingling, now dispersed. A Gordian knot, and here she stood, caught without a blade. A circus, a carousel. A nest of vipers. She watched them dance, followed the ebb and flow of the ballroom.
She saw her victim, the culprit.
Silence enveloped him beneath her swiftly moving shawl – his death was unpleasant. Surgical brutality.
The assassin smiled.
Just a short little drabble, a descriptive piece to get back up to speed. Written for this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge word Intention but I missed the deadline (as usual.) The story also features the InMon prompts Broken String and None Remember. Comments and criticism always welcome!