Morgana the sorceress was ancient and powerful, having laid waste to entire armies single-handedly in days of yore, or at least that's what the legends told. Adrielle prayed these legends weren't all true, because this was the woman she was meant to kill tonight.
As the twilight faded away, Adrielle Tanner silently scaled the rough stone walls of the ancient keep. She was dressed head to foot in dark, form-fitting clothing: nothing to rustle or impede her movement. Her boots were soft, well-worn leather that wouldn't creak as she moved or sound her footsteps as she walked. Everything she wore was laced. There was no buttons or metal buckles to clink or reflect the light of a torch. The one metal item she had brought was her dagger, safely holstered in its leather sheath at her right thigh.
She carefully moved one hand at a time, making sure her grip was perfect before she moved another limb. It was a good thing this unnamed ruin of a castle was in such disrepair. The broken rocks and occasional vine gave her just enough to grab ahold of.
Though it might have made her climb easier and much less deadly, she was afraid that tossing a grappling hook up to the ledge might make too much noise. The fifty foot drop below was a surely a lesser danger compared to her target inside. Surprise was her best and only advantage over this monster. If Morgana was alerted to her presence, even Adrielle's poisoned blade and lightning speed might not be enough to save her.
Finally, after a few minutes that had seemed hours, she was in reach of the window. Her hands were starting to tremble, but she didn't allow herself to climb up just yet. She stopped and listened. She could hear the soft wind rushing by the castle, rustling the leaves in the trees below her. At that moment, her breath sounded as loud as a hurricane to her in the dead silence of the night. But there was nothing else to hear. The room on the other side of the window was completely silent.
She closed her eyes and said a brief prayer, then slowly raised her head above the stone ledge. There was a dimly lit doorway on the far wall that seemed to lead deeper inside, but the room just inside was lit only by starlight. She silently climbed over the ledge and at last rested her feet on solid ground.
She found herself inside a long, narrow room with a row of large windows overlooking the forest. It seemed to serve as a balcony of sorts which would let the residents enjoy the weather on a nice day, and double as a palisade if the castle fell under attack.
She was still breathing heavily from her climb, so she decided to rest for a few minutes until her breathing had quieted. She rested her forearms against the sill of the large window she had climbed through. Down below her she could barely see the remains of an ancient village in the moonlight. Though the forest had mostly reclaimed this land for itself, she could still make out a few hints of civilization once having thrived there. There were foundations of buildings and the remains of roads that had passed between them. She hadn't noticed this on her way to the castle, her mind having been preoccupied with making sure she stayed behind cover to hide her approach. Who had lived here when this village had flourished, she wondered, and what had become of them? It was probably old history, and certainly not relevant at this moment.
She slid her fingers over the pommel of the dagger. Its blade was coated in a deadly poison, the extract of castor beans. One scratch with this vile poison would doom any mortal to a certain death within two or three days, though she was hopeful that it wouldn't even come to the poison. If she was quick, she could pierce her heart or slit her throat, and kill her quickly enough that she could escape alive.
Could Morgana even be killed by a blade? The folk tales varied so widely that it was hard to know anything about her for certain: where she was from or what she looked like. The tales only agreed on a few basic things. She was old; older than any human could ever live naturally, and she was extremely powerful. They said she could make things happen, impossible and horrifying things, just by thinking about them. She tried not to think of the untold death and torture the sorceress could inflict on her with a single glance. Yes, best to remain unnoticed.
The only other commonality between the tales was that she was wicked. In some, Morgana was violent and sadistic, killing hundreds just for pleasure. In others, she was more subtle, causing plagues or crop failures, or seeking to slowly corrupt good, God-fearing Christians quietly, behind the scenes. But in none of the countless tales had she ever done anything benevolent with her untold power. Not a thing.
Was Morgana even in this ruin, though? There was that dim light through the doorway, but that could have been any traveler taking advantage of unoccupied shelter. Count Bastian was convinced enough she lived here. So very few people had ever claimed to have seen her in person, so who could say for sure? Old wives' tales spoke of people, usually young women, going missing in these woods. What more, several travelers had claimed to have seen a strange woman about these ruins.
But old wives' tales weren't why she was here. Ten days ago Count Bastian's daughter, Gwendolyn, had gone missing. He said she had been talking about the legends of Morgana lately and wondering if that deserted castle miles outside of town was her dwelling. In fact, she had seemed rather obsessed with the idea, enough that he suspected she might have left to explore these rumors for herself. A few witnesses claimed to have seen a young woman of her description headed that direction around the time of her disappearance, which added tremendous weight to his fears. So Adrielle had been hired to infiltrate the ruin where the sorceress was rumored to live, kill her, and rescue the young Lady Gwendolyn.
Adrielle's breathing had returned to normal. She had rested long enough. She got up from the window sill and thought of which way to go. It was still dead silent. In the middle of the inner wall to this room was a heavy, wooden door. Its clear purpose was to keep intruders that made it into this solar, as she just had, from penetrating deeper into the castle. That door, however, had been left ajar. She crept to the one to her right and put her hands on the iron ring hanging from it. The iron was in surprisingly good condition, despite the age of the outside of the castle. It had been replaced recently. Her hopes that the count had been wrong about this castle were starting to vanish. She held her breath and pulled carefully on the ring.
There was a slight creak. Her heart skipped a beat, however it wasn't loud. She forced herself to calm down, and she pulled the door open just wide enough for her to squeeze through.
Inside there was just enough light for her to see. Some torches were lit just down the hallway. She could barely believe what she saw! The interior looked new! The stones were cut perfectly smooth with no sign of erosion, and the decorations, though scant for the inside of a castle, were in perfect condition. She could barely believe something like this could exist in this isolated ghost town so many miles from any populated settlement. The ruins on the exterior were just a disguise!
Slowly and calmly, Adrielle made her way deeper into the castle. She explored several dimly lit hallways until she saw a brighter light coming from an open doorway. She approached stealthily. As she neared it, she could hear noises. She heard labored breathing, and as she got closer, rustling, like fabric or bed sheets. Somebody was most certainly in that room.
Her soft-soled leather boots made hardly a sound as she tiptoed to the doorway. She stopped just before the doorframe, her back against the wall, and drew her dagger.
Her heart rate increased as she crouched down and let her eyes move past the doorframe. It was a bedchamber. The furnishings were notably more luxurious than the ones in the hallway: carved mahogany dressers and chairs, large mirrors, and intricate tapestries. There was a large bed with expensive spreads and a silk canopy. It looked like the chamber of a queen!
On top of that bed was a woman. She was beautiful, with long, silky black hair that draped over the pillows, large breasts, a slender waist and such wonderfully wide, feminine hips. She was completely nude, with the covers thrown back. Her left hand held her breast while her right worked itself up and down between her thighs, running her fingers purposefully along her womanhood. Her hips rocked up and down in gracious acceptance of this attention.
Masturbating! What a shameful way to die! Adrielle smiled, making sure not to snicker. This was too perfect! This was almost better than if she had been asleep. The woman's head was reeling back, staring up and backwards, if she was looking at anything at all. Her heavy breathing would serve as the perfect background noise. She could slide that knife across her throat before she knew there was anyone else in the room with her.
It didn't sound like she was quite near orgasm, so Adrielle figured she had some time for caution. She disappeared back behind the doorframe to consider her options. Should she wait for the woman to go to sleep? No, she didn't know that the sorceress would go to bed right after she was done with her business. What if she left the bedroom after she was done? This was a good enough opportunity for Adrielle.
But was this woman really Morgana, though? She had to be certain before she took her life. She certainly wasn't the count's daughter. But what if she was somebody else, just some innocent hermit living in an abandoned castle?
No, that didn't make any sense! Here was a beautiful, young woman living a life of luxury by herself, miles and miles from any civilization. Who had carted all these furnishings here? No wagon large enough to carry some of the items in here could possibly have made it through the dense woods that surrounded this castle, and there was nobody who could have built them within fifty miles. What did this woman eat, where did the fuel for that lamp come from? Something was definitely not right about this.
Adrielle was certain enough. She took one deep breath as she prepared to act out her plan. Staying low, she crept out from behind the doorframe. The woman continued to pleasure herself, completely unaware of the assassin. Closer and closer she crept. If the woman looked up and saw her, she would charge at her. If not, then she would creep closer till she could slit her throat silently.
