It's the shortest chapter yet. I know. Well just started school, and I've been rather busy with that and tired! so here's a little bit before the next chapter comes along. That one will be quite long, I will warn you right now. But, enjoy! Thanks!

Elizabetha drummed the tips of her once soft fingers along the side of a high brick wall. Her shoes brushed against the dew-covered grass quietly and her black robes created an eerie atmosphere as she moved along cat-like. Her large hood framed her face and only looked like a black abyss. Her eyes narrowed cautiously, her breath silently steaming. She approached an opening, a tall pointed black gate that protected the wealthy house behind it from the outside world. She whispered a soft enchantment and the gate slowly creaked open. It was too easy. She smirked casually. She was too powerful.

She seemed to glide along the Belgian block pathway and up to a large wooden door with stained glass windows. Her robes billowed soothingly but still produced an eerie aura. She sensed no one was present in the downstairs vicinity but on the second floor a man was sleeping in his snug bed, utterly unaware of his surroundings. The door inaudibly unlocked and swiftly opened. Her heartbeat accelerated.

Stepping inside on the white marble floor, her eyes motioned to the spiral staircase that appeared so alone in the night. She moved over to it, watching her steps. Her footsteps were almost too quiet and even she believed she wasn't even moving. Her feet hiked the steps in a casual manner but her eyes laid sight on all her surroundings and her mind focused on the man that lay in the bed. Her lips snarled slightly.

Elizabetha reached the top of the staircase and glided to a door on the left, engraved with botanical carvings. A simple wave of her hand, and the door unlocked. Another slight wave and it unlocked once more, and steadily eased open. There stood before her was that grand bed with the peaceful man sleeping in it, tangled up in its wealthy sheets. She walked forward delicately, her eyes transfixed on the man that lay before her. Her right hand slipped into her robes, and she drew out a long steel dagger. She positioned it carefully and hung over him. She gripped tightly. She bit her lip. She plunged. The dagger went straight into his chest, missing his heart purposely. He woke with a scream of agony.

He attempted to sit up to get a better glance at his attacker, but failed when all her weight fell on him as she held him down. He cursed in a thick English accent as she twirled the dagger in its place. She removed it; the silver blade now tinged red. Blood poured from his chest freely as he gasped and held his chest. She gripped tightly again and plunged again. This time to the right of his heart. He screamed and cursed and struggled. She made no sign of fear. She twirled the dagger, and removed it, once more. Then she plunged again. It was the centre of the two previous wounds, and it was also his heart. He screamed, and she grabbed a goose-feathered pillow and shoved it into his mouth. His scream stifled. They were dying away slowly. He became unresponsive, no longer struggling nor making a sound, and no longer breathing. His beating heart had died, and the blood flowed profusely. She removed her prized dagger and she cleaned the blade on his bed robes. She smirked, once more, casually.

It was the third murder she committed that night.