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A TREMOR PLAGUES HER HANDS, knuckles white from clutching the hard leather of her dagger's handle. Her green eyes flit over the seemingly normal large home, heart thumping loudly at every small noise. He was here, in the home—she could sense him, feel his smugness and victory. It was bone-chilling.
The living room was large, a L-shaped white couch fitted comfortably in the center of the room on the expensive white fur carpet. In front of the couch, a large table held up a broad and thin television. It was well decorated, with small trinkets of achievements and memories of an unknown person. There were two exits to the living room, one was the large arch that was placed next to the front door, and the other was a smaller arch that led to the butler area.
Her shoes quietly moved across the carpet, cringing as she stepped on a creaking wood plank. The heavy silence in the room was filled with a heart-stopping chuckle. It echoed as if it were some sort of narrator laughing down at her foolish mistake. She froze in place not wanting the wood plank that her foot had settled on to creak again when stepping off of it.
