Eyes of Azure | Assassination Classroom

:: Attempt 13 | A Beautiful Lie ::

:: Attempt 13 | A Beautiful Lie  ::

"Like a paper boat, you will sail far away
Like a paper crane, you will fly far away
You can let go, you can let go
You can never come back
To the place you once cherished the most.

[...]

"Like a paper boat, you will sail far away
But you can never forget the shore where you're once anchored
You've let go, but someone's still holding on
And that makes it so much harder."
- "Of Paper Boats and Paper Cranes," poem quoted from "Exaltation" by FayeeeM

x + x

It's strange. In exchange for power, maybe I lost something vital to human beings?

I look down at my hands, at the burgundy liquid smeared across the pale flesh, dripping from the razor-sharp edge of the dagger within my grip. It's over; even if I pause to reconsider my actions, it won't do any good. My target is dead, along with his so-called 'bodyguards'—who were, as funnily morbid as it may look in my eyes, pathetically trained weaklings. I merely have to escape, as I have done countless times before.

Track down my current target. Kill. Escape before anyone bears witness to the crime.

It's all utterly normal now that I've been doing the exact same thing for five years. Five years of crime, of murders, of blood I wash from my hands, yet still remain deeply ingrained into my memory.

I must be the epitome of obedience, I think sardonically as I kneel upon the blood-drenched, hardwood floor, stabbing its surface with the blade in my hands. I kill because I am ordered to—by my own father. He is the one behind this morbid orchestra; he is the puppet master controlling us, his assassins—his marionettes.

I do as I am told for I am ordered to. I am expected to become a machine worthy of its accursed epithet. It is logical to think that I may turn out to be emptier than I am now. It is my only choice; I can never defy my own father, as he is the one who sired me, even if I must kill my own kin. Thus, reminiscing of my past—even what scarcely remains of it in my mind—is posing a tremendous amount of danger to myself.

But why? Why am I still holding on to who I was? It's useless, bordering upon a ridiculous foolishness, yet still I hold on.

I never knew it's this difficult to just let go.

"'Venatrix'." His voice calls, and I look up from the blood, from the fallen bodies prostrated upon the floor in haphazard positions, and meet his eyes. They are filled with an evident weariness, of an age far greater than what his exterior looks may show.

"Let's go. We're done here." He reaches out a hand as he braces himself with his other appendage holding onto his knee. I take his offer, the blood coating my fingertips leaving a smudge upon his own skin as I pull myself up.

"Mission: Assassinate the Government Official, complete." He whispers as he leads me outside of the hotel room, breaking into a dead sprint as soon as we clear the first stretch of the dimly lit hallway.