The Last Sin

The dog’s howls echoed through the narrow alleyways—the meat must be close.

Kirk gripped the dog's chains tighter as they guided us through the shadows of the Lower District. How many days had we spent prowling the arteries of the Lower District? Arteries? Yes, these passageways were like veins clogged with society's filth—beggars, cripples and orphans, pitiful in their current state, but not for long.

Soon, I would free them from their suffering. I would give them purpose. I would kill them and let their soul's quintessence soak into my family's land. Was there ever a more perfect union?

Kirk turned to me, his big, blue eyes gleaming above his crooked sneer. He was enjoying the hunt more than me.

"Over here, my Lord."

He pointed his torch to an alleyway.

Why was it familiar?

Kirk raised his torch to the alley’s edge, letting the flames flicker against the walls; there was only darkness ahead.

"Send the dogs first."

"My Lord?"

"You heard me."

Kirk let the chains go, letting the hunting dogs bolt into the darkness. The jingling of metal chains rattling against the cobblestone followed behind them.

A moment later, the rattling stopped. Howls of hunting turned to pain, whimpering and then… silence.

"I didn't want to kill a noble tonight."

Slow footsteps echoed out of the alleyway. Sin's red-veiled face emerged from the darkness, her forward-bent knife in her left hand.

"Lord?! What do we do?"

I turned to Kirk as her knife flashed through the air and severed his neck with a sickening slice. His head tumbled to Sin's feet, eyes still wide with shock. She took another slow step, pressing down on his head until his eyes bulged and his skull cracked open. My stomach lurched, making bitter bile flood into my mouth and soak into the black bandana around my face.

The knife boomeranged back into her left hand.

"Wait. Wait! Please... Please stop."

Sin cocked her head, her left-hand fidgeting.

"No... Not this time."

Before I could say another word, she raised her knife hand and sliced my throat.

I woke up gasping, clawing at the burning hot wound across my neck.

"Hey. Hey!"

Cynthia grabbed my wrists, pushing my hands against my chest.

A dream. Only a dream…

The morning light shining through the curtains bathed the room red—the world as Sin saw it. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Breathe. Breathe damn it! Breathe...

I opened my eyes. Cynthia was looking at me, the concern written on her face. She sighed, resting her forehead on my chest.

"You weren't kidding about the bad dreams. Are they always this bad?"

"No... It's never been like that."

I fell back into my pillow, catching my breath.

"It's a sign."

"Of what?"

"To leave. How long have we been stuck in this mansion? Ten years for you? Eleven for me. It's like a prison."

I laughed.

"And what do know about prisons?"

"Alright. You got me there."

Cynthia pulled away from me and rolled onto her back. A moment later, I realized we were naked under the covers. Her shift was discarded at the foot of the bed, torn down the middle.

"It's more like a fancy inn. Nice for a while, but eventually, you want to move on." Cynthia said, putting her hands behind her head.

I shook my head.

"I can't leave yet."

"That's what you said yesterday, last week, and the week before that."

"I'm so close..."

"To what?"

I turned away from her, rolling onto my right side. She rolled over, pressing herself against my back.

"Think about it... nothing but the open road ahead of us..."

And bandits waiting in ambush.

"...crowded market squares..."

With pickpockets cutting our purse strings.

"...bustling taverns..."

Bar fights waiting to break out.

"I'll think about it," I said.

"Good."

She kissed me behind the ear.

"Oh, yeah! Do you want to hear something crazy?"

"Sure."

"Yesterday, Cindra found me at lunch and handed me a small fortune in gold coins. She said it was to help with our trip. I've been saving for years but have nowhere near as much as her. Where did she get it all from?"

I shrugged under the bed covers.

"You and Cindra rarely see eye to eye, but she cares about you."

She rested her chin on my shoulder.

"I know. When our parents got sick, she looked out for me before Mr. Reeves adopted us and brought us here.”

She giggled.

“I swear she let herself get caught by Mr. Reeves. She used to be such a good pickpocket. I don't know what happened to her."

"She got rusty," I lied.

"Hmm... I think I'll go to the market and get her something nice with some of her money."

"She'd like that."

My bedroom door burst open. Mrs. Dulldrey stood in the door frame with a leather belt dangling from her right hand.

"You no-good, freeloading hussy!"

The bed covers slid off my body as Cynthia stood up and covered herself. Mrs. Dulldrey met Cynthia at the foot of my bed, swinging her belt in wide arcs. Cynthia faked left and sidestepped to the right, throwing my bed covers over the old woman's head. She grabbed her torn shift, turned to me and smiled before dashing out of the room.

Spirits below, I love that woman.

After calming down Mrs. Dulldrey, I knocked on Mr. Reeves's door. The man cracked it open, wearing a bed robe and a warm smile.

"My, quite the commotion this morning."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

I walked in and fell into the chair at the foot of his bed.

"Busy morning, my Lord?"

"Just another day at the mansion. Here, I wanted to give this back."

I lifted a thick blue tome with yellowed pages.

"Ah, yes. My compendium on the Luskaine Dahlgesh war. What did you think?"

"I like Gren's war stories more. He was an officer before... you know." I said, pointing at my left wrist.

"Yes, it's easy to forget he has a sharp tactical mind beneath all that bad humour."

He shook his head.

"So many of us lived other lives before we came to this mansion. I was a failed writer."

"And I was an orphan."

Mr. Reeves nodded his head.

"Like Cynthia and Cindra."

"What was Mrs. Dulldrey before she came to the mansion?”

"Oh, I think she was born with a broom in her hands. I heard her shouting... What happened?"

My face flushed.

"She found Cynthia in my bed."

"Oh... Were you two-"

I nodded.

Mr. Reeves sighed and chuckled to himself.

"I guess that's to be expected at your age. Let me talk to her."

"Thanks. It's only a matter of time until Mrs. Dulldrey hunts Cynthia down."

"Mrs. Dulldrey is a stickler for these types of things. I also need you to do something for me."

He turned to his dresser by his bed and shuffled through the nearest drawer. He pulled out a silver chain intertwined with two plain gold rings.

I stiffened in my chair.

"Are those..."

Mr. Reeves nodded, a knowing smile on his face.

"My late husband gave me this. He was a writer too—much better than me," he said with a smile.

I had seen the jewelry around the old man's neck many times, and now I knew why. He dropped it into my hands; the rings were heavy and warm.

"Now, what did he say again? Ah, yes. These rings were forged in a fire hot enough to survive our love. Romantic, don't you think?"

I squirmed in my chair.

"Yeah... romantic. I-I think should go."

"Jacob..."

“Yeah.”

"You shouldn't wait for happiness."

I left without another word, pacing down the corridors to the second floor. The rings burned in my hand. My neck itched where Sin tore into my throat.

No, that was a dream... right?

I was a child again, running from the question that had hounded me for ten, long years.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Nestling?"

I barged my way into the room. Sin was leaning back in her chair, feet on the table and her forward-bent knife tucked in her lap.

"What are you-"

"That night... ten years ago... why were you in the Lower District?"

She cocked her head, running her thumb along her knife's crooked blade.

"You said weren't there to kill a noble. Who were you there to kill?"

Her left hand twitched. My eyes widened. My breathing quickened into short bursts.

What am I doing?

"W-Were you there to kill me?"

Silence fell over the room as Sin slipped her feet off the table. The door behind me creaked shut, pushed by a gentle gust of wind. The sound sent a shiver up my spine, but I stood firm.

I am the hunter, not the hunted.

Sin turned to face me, placing the knife on the table, its’ sharp edge forward.

"Yes… I was."