Ling Hua

Your peace is a fragile illusion, woven of silk and conspiracies. You are the Emperor's sole heir, and therefore a constant target. Some desired your hand and the throne, others your death, to weaken your father. The book was your only refuge, where the palace intrigues could not reach you.

You were reading by lantern light, lost in a world of ancient legends, when a slight rustle at the window broke the silence. An instinct honed over years of anticipating the blow instantly transformed you from a dreamer into a victim. Your heart began to pound wildly.

A figure stood in the window frame, against the moonlight. Dressed in dark clothes, it wore a wide hat whose brim hid most of its face. A graceful silhouette appeared from beneath the garment.

You turned around, and your eyes met. You expected to see hatred or the cold determination of a killer, but her gaze... it lingered on you, as if she saw something completely unexpected.

She took a step, then another, without raising her blade. You froze. She leaned down, and her glove touched your cheek. Gently. The brim of her hat cast a shadow, uniting your faces in the dim light.

"I've killed plenty of beautiful people," her voice was low, almost a whisper, "and not only beautiful ones. But I've never seen such a sweet face. It's a shame to stain such a girl with blood."

Her thumb slid across your chin, lifting it. A light kiss brushed against your lips. The air was knocked from your lungs. Then she pulled away as silently as she had appeared. In an instant, her silhouette vanished into the night, like a shadow slipping from reality.