This is a trio of fiction I've written to describe major parts of Willow's past. They tend to be the source of Willow's traumatic flashes, and range from different ages and different experiences.
(My favorite is part three, and part two is most crappy. Also, these tend to be a bit.... mature in places, so be wary. The third is the most questionable in content.)
Enjoy.
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Part One: Growing Up with the Wrath of the Tree
Spoiler: show
Growing up in the Foggy Swamp Tribe was simple if you could easily accept what they believed. This included the spirit of the Great Banyon-Grove Tree, the center of the entire swamp. It brought all of them life, but it could also take it away. There was never really a reason as to why this happened, and that was often what confused people. How could a spirit be both merciful, yet villainous at the same time?
This is what a father was explaining to his daughter as they made their way home after a day’s worth of fishing.
It was dark under the canopy of the trees as the sun set slowly upon the horizon, and the pair jumped along the maze of tree roots towards where their village resided. The father would catch the young girl any time she slipped on the mossy floor, and they would laugh together in a wave of harmonious sound as they would press on. They were very similar in appearance; even their laugh was similar.
They both had thick, dark hair tinted with a slight shade of green, common amongst the members of the Foggy Swamp Tribe. Their skin was light for those who bent the element of water, but this was common amongst their tribe as well. Even their green eyes were considered common within their own people. Their clothes of green meshed with the leaves adorning their attire, and this gave them excellent camouflage within their homeland.
They spoke as they went, the father still trying to explain to his daughter the importance of the Great Tree.
“Ya see, Willow… it kinda guides us though our lives. All tha’ time tha’ Great Tree watches us as we go about our days, knowin’ ev’rythin’ an’ anythin’ it needs ta know. It gives us good luck when we fish, an’ good aim when we hunt. It helps us get bett’ur when we’re sick, an’ keeps us safe durin’ hard times like last summ’ur durin’ tha’ drought.”
“But Daddy, wha’ does tha’ have ta do with it bein’ mean, too?”
He chuckled at his daughter’s response and ruffled her hair. “Tha’ tree ain’t mean, Willow. It jus’ knows when it’s time f’ur one of us ta go and when it’s time f’ur one of us ta have a bad day. Nuthin’ more to it.”
After that, the two walked in silence, the young girl obviously accepting her father’s words. He made it all seem so simple, and she smiled at the thought of her father’s wisdom. She only hoped she could grow up one day and be as thoughtful and wise as he was. She looked up to him as a role model, and didn’t know what she’d do if he ever left her.
This, however, came all too soon. Maybe the Great Tree was in a bad mood that day; Willow didn’t know. What she did know was what happened next would scar her for live, both physically and mentally.
It was all so sudden. Her foot had stepped on the wrong section of a root, and she slipped and fell down towards the watery depths below her. When her face was a mere foot away from the surface of the murky water, a swift vine managed its way around her ankle, holding her within the air. He father shouted down to her, telling her that everything would be alright. Tears formed in her young eyes as she felt the vine slowly begin to pull her up, but her screams filled the air as a catgater suddenly sprang out of the water and bit at her face with its strong jaws. She quickly jerked her head up away from the creature, but not without suffering two gashes along her left cheek. Blood began to leak from her wounds as she dangled helplessly from the vine. She had hardly noticed a splash from behind her when she had screamed.
During the sudden panic, Willow’s father had slipped on the damp moss and fell through the gaps in the roots. However, he didn’t have anyone to catch him. He plummeted into the shadowy depths of the swamp water, and the catgater followed him below the ripples.
Willow saw as he father’s hands crested from the waves now forming in the water, grasping for anything he could reach, but there was nothing. Crying for her father and shouting endless calls of ‘Daddy,’ her eyes witnessed as the once green muck below her slowly morphed into shades of red. Her father’s own blood was mixed with the very element she had been raised to control.
This is what a father was explaining to his daughter as they made their way home after a day’s worth of fishing.
It was dark under the canopy of the trees as the sun set slowly upon the horizon, and the pair jumped along the maze of tree roots towards where their village resided. The father would catch the young girl any time she slipped on the mossy floor, and they would laugh together in a wave of harmonious sound as they would press on. They were very similar in appearance; even their laugh was similar.
They both had thick, dark hair tinted with a slight shade of green, common amongst the members of the Foggy Swamp Tribe. Their skin was light for those who bent the element of water, but this was common amongst their tribe as well. Even their green eyes were considered common within their own people. Their clothes of green meshed with the leaves adorning their attire, and this gave them excellent camouflage within their homeland.
They spoke as they went, the father still trying to explain to his daughter the importance of the Great Tree.
“Ya see, Willow… it kinda guides us though our lives. All tha’ time tha’ Great Tree watches us as we go about our days, knowin’ ev’rythin’ an’ anythin’ it needs ta know. It gives us good luck when we fish, an’ good aim when we hunt. It helps us get bett’ur when we’re sick, an’ keeps us safe durin’ hard times like last summ’ur durin’ tha’ drought.”
“But Daddy, wha’ does tha’ have ta do with it bein’ mean, too?”
He chuckled at his daughter’s response and ruffled her hair. “Tha’ tree ain’t mean, Willow. It jus’ knows when it’s time f’ur one of us ta go and when it’s time f’ur one of us ta have a bad day. Nuthin’ more to it.”
After that, the two walked in silence, the young girl obviously accepting her father’s words. He made it all seem so simple, and she smiled at the thought of her father’s wisdom. She only hoped she could grow up one day and be as thoughtful and wise as he was. She looked up to him as a role model, and didn’t know what she’d do if he ever left her.
This, however, came all too soon. Maybe the Great Tree was in a bad mood that day; Willow didn’t know. What she did know was what happened next would scar her for live, both physically and mentally.
It was all so sudden. Her foot had stepped on the wrong section of a root, and she slipped and fell down towards the watery depths below her. When her face was a mere foot away from the surface of the murky water, a swift vine managed its way around her ankle, holding her within the air. He father shouted down to her, telling her that everything would be alright. Tears formed in her young eyes as she felt the vine slowly begin to pull her up, but her screams filled the air as a catgater suddenly sprang out of the water and bit at her face with its strong jaws. She quickly jerked her head up away from the creature, but not without suffering two gashes along her left cheek. Blood began to leak from her wounds as she dangled helplessly from the vine. She had hardly noticed a splash from behind her when she had screamed.
During the sudden panic, Willow’s father had slipped on the damp moss and fell through the gaps in the roots. However, he didn’t have anyone to catch him. He plummeted into the shadowy depths of the swamp water, and the catgater followed him below the ripples.
Willow saw as he father’s hands crested from the waves now forming in the water, grasping for anything he could reach, but there was nothing. Crying for her father and shouting endless calls of ‘Daddy,’ her eyes witnessed as the once green muck below her slowly morphed into shades of red. Her father’s own blood was mixed with the very element she had been raised to control.
Part Two: The Realization of a Lifetime
Spoiler: show
Rays of sunlight shone on the face of a young, yet strikingly beautiful girl. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up from her hammock and yawned. She had been awake half the night helping her mother sort through shipping orders and closing costs, causing her to sleep late into the morning.
Willow’s mother and father had started working within the trading business in the swamp tribe before her father had died, and after him being gone for five years, she and her mother felt it was time to step down. It was hard work doing everything by themselves, and they had spent the last few weeks tying up loose ends.
She made her way towards the front end of the hut she lived in and found her mother sitting cross-legged on the floor, once again sorting through scrolls.
“Momma, we were up all nigh’ lookin’ though them things. Can’t ya just take a break or somethin’?” Willow asked. She went and sat next to her mother and poked some of the scrolls spread out across the floor. Eyeing them, she noticed most of them were final shipping orders, but there was one wrapped in a dark blue ribbon that caught her eye. Picking it up and unfurling it, her eyes darted along the page as she read.
“Momma! This is a new company transfer request! I though’ we wer’n’t takin’ any more’a these,” she scolded.
“I know, I know,” her mother sighed in reply, “But it’s just a one-time shipment, an’ we can use all the money we can get if we’re gonna shut this thing down. We gotta prioritize ourselves, Willow.”
“But it’s due ta’ come in tuh’night! We don’t have time ta worry ‘bout this.”
They sat in silence for a moment as they looked at each other in pleading ways. Finally, her mother wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t worry, Willow. We’ll work it out. ‘Sides, it’s not y’ur job ta worry. It’s mine.”
That night, Willow and her mother stood on the wooden dock along the canal, waiting for the ship to arrive. It was customary for the two of them to greet their customers, and though this arrangement was set to take place later than most, they were more than willing to oblige. It wasn’t long until a large shadow appeared on the water ahead, and Willow recognized the shape to be a large cargo ship.
It didn’t take long for the ship to make port with the village’s small dock, and the captain of the vessel made his way down the gangplank and met up with the two women on the pier.
“Well, hello,” the young captain said, “You must be the owners of the company set to help us make our way to the Southern Water Tribe.”
He looked back and forth between the two of them, but then opted to speak only to Willow’s mother, who was obviously her elder. Nodding, her mother replied, “Yes’sir. Indeed we are. Would ya like to come inside f’ur a moment? Get y’urself s’umthin’ ta drink?”
“Thank you, madam,” the captain graciously spoke. He followed Willow’s mother inside, leaving her on the dock. With nothing else to do, Willow boarded the ship.
Instantly, Willow’s arm was roughly grabbed and she was pulled backwards into a large veil of shadows. However, from growing up in the swamp, she had grown accustomed to such lighting and could see a small group of men surrounding her.
“What are ya doing here, little lady?” the man holding her arm asked.
“I-I was just looking aboard the ship. Really!” she stuttered in reply.
The men collectively laughed at her fear, but their chuckles were drowned out by a sudden scream. Eyes widening, Willow recognized the scream to be her mother’s.
Thinking quickly, Willow stomped one of her feet and pushed her free arm in front of her, causing water from the river below to flow up and crash into her captor’s face. Shouting, he released her arm and she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her until she reached her home and found the captain calmly stepping out of it. He simply smiled at her and moved past her towards his vessel, leaving her staring at the entrance. She was transfixed, terrified to open the flap. She was afraid of what rested on the other side, but she had no other choice.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat when she saw her mother on the floor, her lifeless eyes looking straight at Willow. Blood pooled all around her body and stained her clothes. Rushing forward, Willow pulled her mother into her arms and simply sobbed.
Her mother was dead.
Willow’s mother and father had started working within the trading business in the swamp tribe before her father had died, and after him being gone for five years, she and her mother felt it was time to step down. It was hard work doing everything by themselves, and they had spent the last few weeks tying up loose ends.
She made her way towards the front end of the hut she lived in and found her mother sitting cross-legged on the floor, once again sorting through scrolls.
“Momma, we were up all nigh’ lookin’ though them things. Can’t ya just take a break or somethin’?” Willow asked. She went and sat next to her mother and poked some of the scrolls spread out across the floor. Eyeing them, she noticed most of them were final shipping orders, but there was one wrapped in a dark blue ribbon that caught her eye. Picking it up and unfurling it, her eyes darted along the page as she read.
“Momma! This is a new company transfer request! I though’ we wer’n’t takin’ any more’a these,” she scolded.
“I know, I know,” her mother sighed in reply, “But it’s just a one-time shipment, an’ we can use all the money we can get if we’re gonna shut this thing down. We gotta prioritize ourselves, Willow.”
“But it’s due ta’ come in tuh’night! We don’t have time ta worry ‘bout this.”
They sat in silence for a moment as they looked at each other in pleading ways. Finally, her mother wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t worry, Willow. We’ll work it out. ‘Sides, it’s not y’ur job ta worry. It’s mine.”
That night, Willow and her mother stood on the wooden dock along the canal, waiting for the ship to arrive. It was customary for the two of them to greet their customers, and though this arrangement was set to take place later than most, they were more than willing to oblige. It wasn’t long until a large shadow appeared on the water ahead, and Willow recognized the shape to be a large cargo ship.
It didn’t take long for the ship to make port with the village’s small dock, and the captain of the vessel made his way down the gangplank and met up with the two women on the pier.
“Well, hello,” the young captain said, “You must be the owners of the company set to help us make our way to the Southern Water Tribe.”
He looked back and forth between the two of them, but then opted to speak only to Willow’s mother, who was obviously her elder. Nodding, her mother replied, “Yes’sir. Indeed we are. Would ya like to come inside f’ur a moment? Get y’urself s’umthin’ ta drink?”
“Thank you, madam,” the captain graciously spoke. He followed Willow’s mother inside, leaving her on the dock. With nothing else to do, Willow boarded the ship.
Instantly, Willow’s arm was roughly grabbed and she was pulled backwards into a large veil of shadows. However, from growing up in the swamp, she had grown accustomed to such lighting and could see a small group of men surrounding her.
“What are ya doing here, little lady?” the man holding her arm asked.
“I-I was just looking aboard the ship. Really!” she stuttered in reply.
The men collectively laughed at her fear, but their chuckles were drowned out by a sudden scream. Eyes widening, Willow recognized the scream to be her mother’s.
Thinking quickly, Willow stomped one of her feet and pushed her free arm in front of her, causing water from the river below to flow up and crash into her captor’s face. Shouting, he released her arm and she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her until she reached her home and found the captain calmly stepping out of it. He simply smiled at her and moved past her towards his vessel, leaving her staring at the entrance. She was transfixed, terrified to open the flap. She was afraid of what rested on the other side, but she had no other choice.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat when she saw her mother on the floor, her lifeless eyes looking straight at Willow. Blood pooled all around her body and stained her clothes. Rushing forward, Willow pulled her mother into her arms and simply sobbed.
Her mother was dead.
Part Three: The Stain of Murder
Spoiler: show
The loud bustle of the dock filled Willow's ears as she tied off one of the ship's main sails, using her foot against the siding as leverage. Now at the ripe age of twenty-three, she had grown into her life as a pirate. She still dressed as a proud Foggy Swamp Tribeswoman, but put her own spin on the attire. During her time with the ship, the crew had robbed a nobleman's carriage and had managed to snag a large trunk of clothing. She had found a skirt that fit her now defined waistline, but the formal design along the hem made her skin crawl. She simply ripped it and wore the article of clothing to about her knees, the ragged ends fraying by the day. She had found her tied off, green halter allowed for easy movement when she worked alongside the crew. To maintain her Foggy Swamp heritage, she had sewn three large leaves to the front of her skirt, and fashioned herself a necklace out of small pebbles and a pretty leaf she had found.
The ship had arrived at the dock earlier that morning and they were not due to set sail till the end of the week, unless, of course, different circumstances came around. Willow had opted to stay on board, watching the occasional customer come along with one of her fellow crewmen so they could rip them off. She had been for a few days and hadn’t felt up to attracting potential business.
The cause of the distraction was a memory that refused to lie in peace in the back of her mind. It would flash before her whenever she was relaxed, so she had been sure to remain busy. This was proving to be difficult.
The death of her mother would not stop haunting her, and the face of the backstabbing businessman was forever present in her mind. ’Damn,’ she thought to herself, ’I need t’ah get this guy out of mah head. He’s all I think of any more.’
Leaning against the railing of the ship, Willow looked among the faces of those passing by and she absentmindedly fiddled with the small vine wrapped around her wrist. Her crewmen said a ‘swampie’ such as herself on the ship attracted extra customers in this area, simply for the novelty of seeing her, or better, meeting her. Her people were known for staying in the Swamp, and were seldom seen outside of their sanctuary. Typically she was met with ridicule and prejudiced assumptions, but apparently this port had a different point of view.
Though she had requested not working with the public for a few days, she had agreed to at least remain seen.
However, her train of thought was interrupted by the sudden burst of blue clothing amongst all the greens and browns. Looking about the dock, Willow couldn’t see their endless chasers, the Watchdogs, but she still remained wary. It was strange to see Northern or Southern Watertribesmen at this dock; they always managed to transfer goods through the swamp or international ports. Her curiosity was peaked, and because of this, she decided to pursue them. Telling some of her crewmen that she was going to wander the dock for a break, she ran down the boarding ramp and tried to meld with the crowds.
There were thousands of shouts from various venders, attempting to sell their products.
“Fresh fish! Caught this morning!”
“Newly sewn clothes! Get them for a good deal!”
“Would the lady like a necklace? A pretty necklace for a pretty lady!”
Willow simply marched her way along, ignoring the feeble selling attempts. Seeing a mess of brown hair and the flash of a blue collar, she quickened her pace and followed the group around a corner until they finally arrived at the local travel tavern. They rambunctiously made their way inside, eager for the taste of alcohol, and Willow rolled her eyes. Any good seaman, or woman, knew that fire whiskey was best only after a long days work or during an energetic rendition of the Levaithan’s music night, though she may have just been biased. Fire whiskey was her favorite.
She entered the tavern, and though many eyes were on her, she deftly made her way to a table in the corner and took a seat. A worker came over and asked if she would like anything, so she ordered a small shot of fire whiskey to tide her over. She didn’t want the establishment to think she was there to simply loiter.
As the man walked to the bar to fulfill her order, Willow saw the group she had followed. Many of them were young and foolish, and they all seemed to gather around a single man, apparently their leader. Leaning over a bit to get a better look at him, Willow’s breath caught in her throat.
It was the man who plagued her thoughts and dreams.
The man she couldn’t stop thinking about.
The man who killed her mother.
She would have easily stood from her table and marched over to him if it weren’t for her waiter returning with her drink. Clutching at the glass, she glared in the Water Tribesman’s direction, willing him to look her way. He never did.
For the rest of the day she followed him, ignoring the fact that she had to return to her ship and crew. She had found her mother’s murderer at long last, and she had only dreamed of this day. Countless times she imagined what she would do if she ever found him on her travels, but never could she decide a worthy punishment for his crime…. other than death.
This was her problem. Willow did not believe in killing others for personal gain or otherwise. Never had she felt the rush received when seeing the life of another’s eyes leave at her own hand. She had never witnessed the overwhelming feeling of another’s blood running through her fingers. She could never comprehend why anyone would enjoy such a feeling, knowing that they had taken the life of another, and that was her dilemma; she didn’t want to know what it was like. She was afraid of what might happen to her if she tried, and was determined to never find out. However, this was her mother’s killer and he deserved punishment; her mother deserved justice. Fearing the obvious conclusion, she knew that she had no choice. This man needed to die.
She quietly planned the murder as she followed the man while he made his way throughout the port, visiting vendors and shops. Obviously, her plan needed to be executed during the cover of darkness, and that night was to be a full moon. Her bending would be at its strongest, and she planned to use this to her advantage.
Her finished plan was to be easily executed, but Willow was unsure of herself. She would have to rid herself of all honor and sense as she worked, and it would have to begin the second the plan was set into motion.
As expected, the man returned to the tavern that night, eager for a drink and feminine companionship. The moment he took his seat, her plan moved into action.
She had donned a tight fitted bodice of dark and elegant green and a thin, flowing skirt that fell to her calves. Her hair, typically loose and hanging down her back, was held tightly behind her head by a lotus comb. She’d even gone so far as to practice hiding her obvious accent, as she knew it would give her origin away.
She was the epitome of pleasurable company.
Walking behind him and tapping him on the shoulder, she spoke carefully. “You seem awfully lonely tonight. Care if I sit down?”
Phase one was a success the second he stuttered an affirmative. They then spent the rest of the night chatting idly with each other as he become infinitely more drunk. She avoided all types of alcohol, knowing that the second she took a sip, any resolve over her voice would be forgotten. He carelessly flirted, and she dutifully responded, silently encouraging him to press further.
Phase two was a success the second he asked her to come to his room. They made their way slowly up the stairs towards his rented room, his eyes constantly roaming her. Under normal circumstances she would have felt uncomfortable, but she was being someone else, and this someone enjoyed the feeling. It was not yet time to cast away her role.
Phase three was a success the second he closed the door and slammed her against it. His lips roughly crashed onto her own, and she obliged to his desire. He clumsily pulled her to the bed as his hands ran over areas of her body that no one else would ever dare go. He loosened her hair and it fell elegantly over her shoulder as he scrambled with the knots of her bodice.
Phase four was a success the second his hand slid under her skirt and he felt the small water skin tied around her thigh. His eyes widened a bit in surprise as his fingers deftly loosened it. Tugging on it, it came free, and he held it close to their faces. “What’s this supposed to be?” he panted, and she smirked in response. The whore she was playing was gone, and Willow had returned.
“The weapon that kills you,” she whispered into his ear. He never had the chance to scream.
The next morning a cleaning woman knocked on the water tribesman’s door, asking for permission to enter. Upon the response of silence, she pulled out her set of master keys and unlocked the door. Her eyes were met with a half-naked man lying on the bed, blood splattered everywhere. The red stains covered the sheets, the floor, and the wall. Rushing over to him, she found the man dead, his eyes open in shock.
Word of the man’s death spread throughout the port like wildfire, and even the crew of the Leviathan couldn’t help but gossip about it. Willow refused to take part in such chatter, and opted to stay below deck till the ship left the docks.
The ship had arrived at the dock earlier that morning and they were not due to set sail till the end of the week, unless, of course, different circumstances came around. Willow had opted to stay on board, watching the occasional customer come along with one of her fellow crewmen so they could rip them off. She had been for a few days and hadn’t felt up to attracting potential business.
The cause of the distraction was a memory that refused to lie in peace in the back of her mind. It would flash before her whenever she was relaxed, so she had been sure to remain busy. This was proving to be difficult.
The death of her mother would not stop haunting her, and the face of the backstabbing businessman was forever present in her mind. ’Damn,’ she thought to herself, ’I need t’ah get this guy out of mah head. He’s all I think of any more.’
Leaning against the railing of the ship, Willow looked among the faces of those passing by and she absentmindedly fiddled with the small vine wrapped around her wrist. Her crewmen said a ‘swampie’ such as herself on the ship attracted extra customers in this area, simply for the novelty of seeing her, or better, meeting her. Her people were known for staying in the Swamp, and were seldom seen outside of their sanctuary. Typically she was met with ridicule and prejudiced assumptions, but apparently this port had a different point of view.
Though she had requested not working with the public for a few days, she had agreed to at least remain seen.
However, her train of thought was interrupted by the sudden burst of blue clothing amongst all the greens and browns. Looking about the dock, Willow couldn’t see their endless chasers, the Watchdogs, but she still remained wary. It was strange to see Northern or Southern Watertribesmen at this dock; they always managed to transfer goods through the swamp or international ports. Her curiosity was peaked, and because of this, she decided to pursue them. Telling some of her crewmen that she was going to wander the dock for a break, she ran down the boarding ramp and tried to meld with the crowds.
There were thousands of shouts from various venders, attempting to sell their products.
“Fresh fish! Caught this morning!”
“Newly sewn clothes! Get them for a good deal!”
“Would the lady like a necklace? A pretty necklace for a pretty lady!”
Willow simply marched her way along, ignoring the feeble selling attempts. Seeing a mess of brown hair and the flash of a blue collar, she quickened her pace and followed the group around a corner until they finally arrived at the local travel tavern. They rambunctiously made their way inside, eager for the taste of alcohol, and Willow rolled her eyes. Any good seaman, or woman, knew that fire whiskey was best only after a long days work or during an energetic rendition of the Levaithan’s music night, though she may have just been biased. Fire whiskey was her favorite.
She entered the tavern, and though many eyes were on her, she deftly made her way to a table in the corner and took a seat. A worker came over and asked if she would like anything, so she ordered a small shot of fire whiskey to tide her over. She didn’t want the establishment to think she was there to simply loiter.
As the man walked to the bar to fulfill her order, Willow saw the group she had followed. Many of them were young and foolish, and they all seemed to gather around a single man, apparently their leader. Leaning over a bit to get a better look at him, Willow’s breath caught in her throat.
It was the man who plagued her thoughts and dreams.
The man she couldn’t stop thinking about.
The man who killed her mother.
She would have easily stood from her table and marched over to him if it weren’t for her waiter returning with her drink. Clutching at the glass, she glared in the Water Tribesman’s direction, willing him to look her way. He never did.
For the rest of the day she followed him, ignoring the fact that she had to return to her ship and crew. She had found her mother’s murderer at long last, and she had only dreamed of this day. Countless times she imagined what she would do if she ever found him on her travels, but never could she decide a worthy punishment for his crime…. other than death.
This was her problem. Willow did not believe in killing others for personal gain or otherwise. Never had she felt the rush received when seeing the life of another’s eyes leave at her own hand. She had never witnessed the overwhelming feeling of another’s blood running through her fingers. She could never comprehend why anyone would enjoy such a feeling, knowing that they had taken the life of another, and that was her dilemma; she didn’t want to know what it was like. She was afraid of what might happen to her if she tried, and was determined to never find out. However, this was her mother’s killer and he deserved punishment; her mother deserved justice. Fearing the obvious conclusion, she knew that she had no choice. This man needed to die.
She quietly planned the murder as she followed the man while he made his way throughout the port, visiting vendors and shops. Obviously, her plan needed to be executed during the cover of darkness, and that night was to be a full moon. Her bending would be at its strongest, and she planned to use this to her advantage.
Her finished plan was to be easily executed, but Willow was unsure of herself. She would have to rid herself of all honor and sense as she worked, and it would have to begin the second the plan was set into motion.
As expected, the man returned to the tavern that night, eager for a drink and feminine companionship. The moment he took his seat, her plan moved into action.
She had donned a tight fitted bodice of dark and elegant green and a thin, flowing skirt that fell to her calves. Her hair, typically loose and hanging down her back, was held tightly behind her head by a lotus comb. She’d even gone so far as to practice hiding her obvious accent, as she knew it would give her origin away.
She was the epitome of pleasurable company.
Walking behind him and tapping him on the shoulder, she spoke carefully. “You seem awfully lonely tonight. Care if I sit down?”
Phase one was a success the second he stuttered an affirmative. They then spent the rest of the night chatting idly with each other as he become infinitely more drunk. She avoided all types of alcohol, knowing that the second she took a sip, any resolve over her voice would be forgotten. He carelessly flirted, and she dutifully responded, silently encouraging him to press further.
Phase two was a success the second he asked her to come to his room. They made their way slowly up the stairs towards his rented room, his eyes constantly roaming her. Under normal circumstances she would have felt uncomfortable, but she was being someone else, and this someone enjoyed the feeling. It was not yet time to cast away her role.
Phase three was a success the second he closed the door and slammed her against it. His lips roughly crashed onto her own, and she obliged to his desire. He clumsily pulled her to the bed as his hands ran over areas of her body that no one else would ever dare go. He loosened her hair and it fell elegantly over her shoulder as he scrambled with the knots of her bodice.
Phase four was a success the second his hand slid under her skirt and he felt the small water skin tied around her thigh. His eyes widened a bit in surprise as his fingers deftly loosened it. Tugging on it, it came free, and he held it close to their faces. “What’s this supposed to be?” he panted, and she smirked in response. The whore she was playing was gone, and Willow had returned.
“The weapon that kills you,” she whispered into his ear. He never had the chance to scream.
The next morning a cleaning woman knocked on the water tribesman’s door, asking for permission to enter. Upon the response of silence, she pulled out her set of master keys and unlocked the door. Her eyes were met with a half-naked man lying on the bed, blood splattered everywhere. The red stains covered the sheets, the floor, and the wall. Rushing over to him, she found the man dead, his eyes open in shock.
Word of the man’s death spread throughout the port like wildfire, and even the crew of the Leviathan couldn’t help but gossip about it. Willow refused to take part in such chatter, and opted to stay below deck till the ship left the docks.
