The Angel of Death (18+)

Chapter 8: Old Habits

Thud, thud, thud.

I sit upright so quickly, I feel all of the blood rush to my face and head, or well, what's left of it in me. I see the dried and crusted blood on my arm that eventually leads to the floor, the pool of it almost big enough to imply a dead person.

But nope, I'm still alive. However, I definitely feel queasy and lightheaded. What an inconvenience.

"Yeah?" I shout to the man on the other side of the closed door.

"You have a job to get to! So get to it, it's already late!" I've never heard this before, but it must be one of the other workers here.

"I'll be right down!" I reply back.

I wince as I move my arm towards me, careful not to get any more blood on me. I step over the pool of blood and into the bathroom and turn on the faucet to the highest and hottest setting again. While I wait for the tub to fill up, I begin to make a bucket of clean water and a cloth, and kneel on my knees and begin to scrub the blood off of the floor.

I don't think it'll ever completely come up, but I can just cover it with a carpet for now. After I clean it the best I can, I walk into the bathroom again and remove my clothes. I see in the mirror, the bruises have faded the slightest bit from a nasty, purplish blue, into a yellowish green. I want to throw up just looking at them, they bring back the memories of what happened....

I try to shake off the memories, rushing into the scalding, hot water. Once I am fully submerged, I begin to scrub off the dried blood and watch it flake off into the water. I notice the actual cuts under the blood, can easily be covered with a long-sleeved shirt. I try not to stare at them too long and rush bathing myself, my hair now barely past my shoulders requires less time to clean thankfully.

I finish washing myself down and walk into the main room, and put on a long-sleeved tunic with a deep v-cut, and some basic pants. The boots are always the same, the one constant thing about me. With my entire outfit complete, I go back into the washroom and really look at myself in the mirror.

My body was covered by most of my clothing, but I knew that underneath I was a good build, I tried to take care of my body the best I could with what I had so it definitely was by no means perfect. I had an average height of about 5'7, with long legs and a short torso. I was thankful for my long legs, they gave me the ability to run faster and better than most. My new haircut made me look more... rough, life worn, like I had nothing else to lose. I looked straight into my own eyes, the color of the darkest brown, but when hit with the sunlight it revealed tones of honey and hazel. My eyes were one of my most favorites features of myself, besides the set of my mouth. Soft and full but unyielding.

Thud, thud, thud.

"HURRY UP OR YOU WON'T GET YOUR WAGES!"

On that cue, I quickly left the washroom and left my room. Once again, I pass the rooms that had a certain, eery presence about that.

I'll investigate later.

Better to be safe than sorry these days, whatever is in there, I can surely take on. I walk down the same steps I've done for the past 2 days in a row and notice nothing out of the usual when I exit at the bottom. So I begin my usual rounds of work for the rest of the day, and enter a sort of dazed, mechanical state.

——————————

After a long, groggy day of work passing out the ales and making tips from snobby, piggish men, I enter my room. I planned on how I was going to investigate the 2 rooms.

At first, I thought about knocking on the door as a lost patron and claiming I didn't know the way to my room. The I thought I could act as one of the barkeeps workers demanding they pay their due for the rooms. As I keep thinking it over and over, I'm leaning towards more the first option. Most would believe an attractive woman lost on her way to the room, rather than an attractive woman being an authoritative and demanding worker.

It's late into the night, where the sun is no longer visible and replaced by the bright white moon, with its stars flanking it creating constellations. I've always enjoyed the nights far more than the days. I put on what would appear to be a more, situation "appropriate" outfit, it consists of a much more low cut shirt, but with long sleeve. The pants were more tight fitting than I'd like for mobility, but as my luck has it, I have nothing better.

I put on my most charismatic and friendly mask, and I walk out of my door.

It isn't too many steps that connects me from my door to these two strange ones. I look around and spot no one, but just to be safe, I lean up against one of other doors down the hall just to wait a couple minutes to see if anyone exits or enters the room.

After a couple of minutes, I spot no one that has entered the room. Only the occasional drunk passerby on their way to their rooms.

Fuck it.

I walk up, slight unsteadily to portray being a bit drunk and knock on the door.

But it repels my hand away, not normal. Definitely not normal.

I've only felt this before once, and that was 11 years ago in the woods before I found my parents. But unlike back then, this... ward, I'd call it is much, much stronger. Whatever had done this, was not messing around. I don't know whether to be worried or impressed.

But, fuck it.

I push against the ward and I feel my power thrumming under my skin, as if harmonizing with whatever magic had created this.

I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this....

It then occurs to me, of course after I've messed with whatever this is, that whoever casted this is very powerful. With the state I'm in, it probably would not fare well for me. So I leave the magical door and go back up to my room.

I walk into my room and don't bother to change out of my ridiculous outfit and stare up at the ceiling, thought after thought enter and exit my mind in a rapid pace.

Who cast that ward?

What was magic doing here in this tavern?

Should I be worried about being in the same place as whoever did this?

Does someone know the truth about me... about what I really am?

These are the thoughts that continue to make root in my mind, but most of all, if someone really did know what I truly was, was I safe here? I've never told anyone about what I truly was, because in honestly it was a miracle I was never caught, maybe that's why my parents were murdered. They were the only ones who ever knew the truth, and they had never told anyone that I was aware of.

No one can ever discover my secret.

As I let the sleep come to claim me, but as I let my eyes blink their last blinks, I swear I see a tall, dark figure staring at me that seems so familiar to me in presence from the entrance of the washroom that was not there before....