World Cup: assassin

Character Appreciation: hero

Book Club, Peter Pan: mud, map, choosing between two people

Showtime, Schuyler Sisters: sisters

Buttons: "I should have known."

Sophie's Shelf, vault 11: sacrifice

Word Count: 1027

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Charis asks, her dark eyes shifting nervously.

Her father acknowledges her with a curt nod, quickly clearing away what looks like a map. "I have your new assignment."

Charis smiles at that. As a member of the Black family, she has followed her family's business. By now, she is one of the most ruthless assassins the world has ever known. From what she's been told, only her great-aunt Elladora surpasses her skill.

"This is a job of special importance," her father adds before dropping the thick folder onto the desk.

Charis nods and grabs the folder. The second she notices the name, her heart sinks. "Who ordered the hit?" she asks, her voice on the verge of breaking.

His dark eyes meet hers, and there is no warmth or compassion there. His thin lips curl into a sneer. "You know the rules, little girl," he spits.

Charis winces. She can handle any insult but that. Something about those words make her feel so small, so weak. Her father is the only man who can break her down like that.

"Never question a job," she says automatically. "It is not our place."

"What is our job?" he prompts.

"To kill."

"Very good. I want the job done by tomorrow night."

Charis' jaw drops. A job on such short notice is virtually unheard of. She shakes her head, pushing a hand through her dark curls. Though she wants to ask, she swallows the question down, afraid to earn his disappointment. "It will be done."

"It better be. You're dismissed."

…

Charis paces the length of her room, her stomach twisting into knots. This isn't the first time she's had to kill someone close to her. Her late husband had displeased a very powerful man, and Charis had taken the job. Money and power are always more important than other people's lives.

But this… For the first time in her life, Charis doesn't know if she can go through with a job.

Her eyes flicker to the folder. Cedrella's bright, cheerful smile greets her.

Her sister means nothing. Cedrella has made her choice, preferring to sacrifice the power and prestige of the family business in order to marry some ridiculous farmer. Killing her should be easy.

But her heart sinks at the very thought of it.

…

Charis has always been bold. Most assassins rely on the cover of night to aid their stealth. Charis, on the other hand, likes to commit her wicked deeds by the light of day.

She stands in the cozy little kitchen, leaving a trail of mud behind her as she looks around. Though it is much smaller than the grand kitchen of their childhood home, the little place is warm and inviting, painted a bright yellow with pictures lining the walls. It looks like Cedrella has lead a happy life.

Acidic guilt burns her insides. In that moment, she realizes she can't go through with this. Even if her family hates her sister, she doesn't. She can't kill Cedrella and take her away from this life. Swallowing, she makes her choice; she chooses her sister over the others, and she prepares to leave. Maybe she isn't a hero, but she can at least have one less death on her conscience.

As she turns to leave, she hears footsteps behind her. Turning, she finds herself face to face with her beloved sister. Cedrella's lips quirk slightly. "I should have known," she sighs, tugging a her braided dirty blonde hair. "I'm only surprised it took so long for them to send you."

Charis swallows dryly and shakes her head. She wants to explain to Cedrella that she's changed her mind, that she can't bring herself to do it. Tears wrong her eyes, and her throat seems to tighten. "Drell…"

"Sit, dear. I'll make some tea."

…

"I want to get out of this life," Charis admits as her sister pours the steaming water into the cups.

"Why? You're so good at it."

A dry, bitter laugh escapes her lips. Charis leans back, staring at the ceiling. Killing people isn't exactly the sort of skill she should brag about. But God, she has for so long. She still would if not for the task they've given her, the epiphany she's had.

"I want out."

"He'll kill you."

Charis doesn't have to ask who; she already knows Cedrella means their father, the leader of the business since their grandfather's retirement. She shrugs. "He'll have to find me first."

"You found me."

She shakes her head. "I don't want to kill you."

Cedrella doesn't answer. She sets a cup in front of Charis with a sweet smile. "Milk, two sugars," she says. "Unless you've changed it up. It has been a while."

"Some things don't change." Charis smiles at her before lifting her cup to her lips and sipping. "Thank you."

Cedrella sits across from her. For several seconds, all she does is stare at Charis. Neither speak.

Charis doesn't know how much time passes before the silence becomes too much. "What?" she asks, touching her fingers to her chin. "Have I got something on my face?"

Her older sister shakes her head. "No. It's just funny, don't you think?"

"Funny?"

Cedrella chuckles. "He must really want me dead if he sent you," she muses.

"I don't know who ordered the hit," Charis says, placing her cup in the saucer. She rubs the sides of her head, wincing.

"Don't be stupid. You know exactly who it was, but you're the good daughter. You would never question him. Headache, dear?"

Charis nods, groaning. She opens her mouth to speak, but her throat seems to tighten.

"They forgot I was just as good as you," Cedrella continues, still smiling that angelic smile. Now, Charis sees the coldness in her eyes. "If I hadn't met Septimus and retired, I might have even been better. They underestimate me."

"What—?" Charis' tongue seems to stick to the roof of her mouth. She slumps forward, collapsing against the table. "What… done?"

Though her vision is blurry, she can still make out her sister's smile. "Sending a message. Farewell, sister."