"The most cold, hard souls we will ever meet, were all once as soft and pure as water.
That is the tragedy of living."

The body hit the posh wooden floor with a dull 'thud'. Grey eyes surveyed the room passively, committing the last details of the job to memory. She made sure she had the documents her order needed and proceeded to arrange the body as desired by the contractor. Assured that everything was in order, she hastily snuck out of the estate before more of the paid guards would have to be incapacitated. Though the guards accepted the payment from the slaver and served him faithfully, it was neither them buying the slaves in the first place, nor was it them, who was to receive the gift. Thus, causing as little harm and alert as possible was the ideal.

Cloaked by the shadows, she easily made her way out of the expansive estate. From the back of the house, she quietly made her way to the canals, a soft breeze blowing in the parts of her hair, which was not braided to her crown. The hot sun was slowly setting, casting long shadows across the cobblestone path. No One ran her hand smoothly across the front of her face, the fair, golden features she had used to gain entrance to the estate being replaced with her first appearance. Golden locks and tanned skin, gave way to her own brown in black lock, accompanied by snow-white skin.

Normally, No One would wait to change back to her own appearance till she got back to the House, but since the streets were empty most often than not in this part of town, it hardly mattered. In the end, it would probably be wiser to change to her own face before heading home. One never knew what could happen in the worse parts of the city, were no faceless around.

Starting down the street, she walked with a gait most citizens of the city would either find enticing or terrifying. The latter being the more likely option, given the scar. She hastily obtained her rapier from the safe house, where she left it before embarking on her mission. Here she changed to her black and white robes from the gaudy dress she sported during her infiltration of the manner.

No One released a contented sigh once she was finally rid of the garment. For long, beautiful pieces of silk, they truly are awful things… she mused. Though she did not enjoy such garments of finery after all she had been through, such was the life of faceless men. The kindly man's words coming back to her: "Every disguise is a self-portrait. Thus, a changing of the self is required, to make the painting more refined. Such is the art of the faceless." And an art it certainly was...

After changing into her garb, she started down the path across the city.

She reached the market square after passing the long canal. At the market square, where the merchants chanting after costumers till ungodly hours of the night, she made her way towards the isle of gods. They all know their kind has coin filled purses. Though the faceless had slowly become unfavourable in the eyes of the common life-worshipper, not only were their services needed, but so too was their coin desired.

From the isle of the gods, No One started down the bridge which lead to their dichotomous house.

Upon entering the black and white doors marking their sanctum, No One's master greeted her.

"Valar morghulis." He offered in his kindly voice.

"Valar dohaeris." Came the sly reply.

He looked her up and down. Remembering herself, No One retrieved the documents from within her robe and delivered them to her old master.

"You certainly have become proficient, since your arrival here." He offered.

A compliment.

She smirked. "Well given your patience, such would be the eventuality."

A smirk was returned. "You were a man's worst nightmare, when you first arrived, along with many others'" He taunted.

"Twice the labour, double profit." She retorted.

Even though her original cruelty still subsided within her being, it was severely quelled, along with the rest of her former self. But while her original self, was locked away in a tight cage, never to be released until bid to do so, her cruelty merely lay dormant, satiated. Drunk on death.

"I will leave you to make what you will of the information."

"Just so."

She need not fret that she would not be informed of new developments. Was there information, which required her attention, she – along with the other masters – would be informed of such. Her former self would have ranted and raved, demanding to know what knowledge resided within the documents. The defiance, as well as the urgency, had been divided into ever-tinier pieces, and scattered to the wind. Death tempered her.

She bowed before her master, "Valar morghulis, elder." The same sly voice, but with the air of deference which was expected of a ghoul at her age.

"Valar dohaeris, dear prodigy."