Midnight’s Strike

Minimalism.

The black of her dress spills out onto the white marble floor, her hair curled in small ringlets that flowed down her back. She eyes the other women in the room, garbed in sophisticated furs and gold that shimmered under the silver light, and she smirks to herself. She bears no other jewelry save the ruby pendant that rests above her breasts.

She smiles to herself, as she raises her hand to push back the strands of hair that fell in front of her face. The room was wide, and becomes even more expansive from the placement of the mirrors and white paint. The tiles are a distinct white marble, lined with black that creates a grid-like pattern on the floor. She moves her way across dancing couples, carefully marking her path towards a small sculpture that stands at the corner of the room.

The person in the middle of the room stands tall, playing the violin. His deft fingers move quickly on the fret board, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy eyeing the black bow that rests snugly at the base of his neck, black and pristine against the white of his dress shirt.

She turns back and resumes her journey to the sculpture, a small statue depicting another Greek goddess. It was rather simple – just a sleek figurine of Aphrodite. She traces a finger along Aphrodite’s face, the marble cold to the touch. She waits, counting down the time until the wine gets served.

She’s also waiting for the clock to strike seven, when the puzzle actually begins to start.

A couple waiters pass by her, offering her a wine or two, but she shakes her head politely, a smirk pulling at her lips every time. They’re not the people she was waiting for. She closes her eyes for a while, tipping her head back as the violinist performs another vibrato. Her watch ticks faster, a bit erratic, reminding her of the time. She doesn’t have to wait much longer, as a man walks towards her.

He’s dressed in a sleek suit, dark and mysterious and everything elegant at the exact same time. His eyes shine brightly under the silver lighting, and she can’t help but admire how his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass.

She purses her lips, then straightens her back as she waits for the man to come closer to her. They stand side by side, the statue of Aphrodite in between of them. The man playing violin changes his piece to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and she tilts her head in wonder as the man beside her starts tapping his fingers along with the melody of the piece.

“Arden,” The man starts, his tapping ceasing to slow touches on his dark trousers. “Why’d you ask for me?”

She simply smiles.

Simple. And he knows what he has to do. He moves away from her, getting a glass of wine and brings it back to Arden.

“Is it time?” He asks, holding the glass of wine gently and slightly shaking the liquid inside. It reflects the light and its color shine a deep red, much like her lips that were painted a bold scarlet. She grinned as the people dancing started swaying faster, in time to the quickening tempo of the piano and violin.

“Yes, yes. Start from the nobles, Charles. It wouldn’t do if you recruit the useless ones,” She says, almost nonchalantly.

She slips a hand inside her black purse, finding the lipstick that gleamed ruby red. She took it out and uncapped it, a silver knife that glinted in the darkness of the corner. It was a short blade, really, but sharp to the touch and easily wielded by someone with agile and deft fingers. She ran a tentative finger over the edge, grinning to herself when a line of blood formed on her delicate skin.

Charles leans over to her, “I’ll meet you back here in an hour.” It was confirmation until the second phase of the puzzle finally began. She nods to him, and watched as he slowly stalked away towards the east of the vast ballroom.

She finally moves away from the statue of Aphrodite, her clutch tight around the lipstick bottle as she weaves her way towards the edges of the dancing couples. She finds her targets quick enough, within seconds of starting her journey anew. Slowly and inconspicuously at the same time, she twists a finger tauntingly and seductively at the man in front of her, teeth sinking in the luscious red of her lips.

She closes in to him, like a predator to its prey. She’s closer than a hair’s breadths, and she inhales the sweet burn of his expensive perfume. It’s a shame, she thinks, his scent would soon be tainted by sin and lust.

“Hello, Sir Leon Pennington,” She murmurs, almost like a whisper that leaves his pulse thumping faster. Her green eyes glint darkly from underneath her lashes, and Arden just grins with delight when his pupils start to dilate. She’s pressed flush against his chest, her hand falling right above his chest, a finger playing with the dark necktie that was wrapped against his neck snugly.

The man is speechless against her hold. But what else can he do?

She slowly uncaps her lipstick, and pressing her lips to his pulse point, she quickly draws a line from a point on his neck to its antipode. The man gapes at her, and the blood rushes quickly from the wound and taints the pristine white of his dress shirt.

With a sly smirk, she pushes her lips on his, silencing him from any complaints of pain. She wasn’t that heartless to leave him with a bleeding wound that stung like hell. She felt the weakening pulse quickly, and she removes her kiss on him once she knew his heart was no longer breathing. A grin of success on her face, she carves a small letter on his right wrist, and kisses the nape of his neck, leaving her own mark.

Her red lipstick had unknowingly become black, as dark as her soul and the intentions behind her eyes. She leaves the man slumped on the side of the wall, knowing that in exactly half a minute a waiter would cross him and think of him as a man who got wasted even before midnight passed.

Inwardly, she crosses his name of the list of her targets, and she scans the room for the next possible ones. She narrows her eyes on a woman that was garbed in a deep blue silk, and waits for the next song to start. The tempo of the violin was considerably slower, and in a slow fashion she again dances her way through the crown, until she spots the woman leaning against a small table. The woman is fanning herself, red hair falling down her face in a cascading curtain.

Arden easily smiles at her, and strikes up a conversation about the terrible weather and thick clouds that seemed to cover the moon. Underneath the table, her fingers grip the sharp metal.