Some people pray before a war.
While I write letters.
They may be cleaner and less bloody on the surface. However, with each dip of the quill into the ink bottle, once, then twice, before dragging it across the fine parchment, was a deadly pattern.
It was me exercising patience while slowly preparing to attack.
I scribbled the final line of the letter which was addressed (To Duchess Belv)
"....and I await the information you said you'd gather concerning the magic guild. Also, I need the location of those 'children'."
Then I folded the letter carefully, sealed it with wax, and pressed my ring against it, my mark. Not just a signature, but a threat that if she tried to toy with me, I'd play the final move.
Checkmate.
And her son Ronald would be done for.
I stood, brushing a loose curl behind my ear, and turned to the tall mirror beside my desk. Perfect red lips. Lined eyes. An elegant and cold smile.
Could the villainess of any other novel be more perfect?
