unseen.
This was getting old. Lyra made a sigh of irritance as the body in her hand thumped to the ground, throat slit and bleeding all over the floor. And something that she didn’t want to have been seeing.
Such was an insult to her own pride, having been constantly caught by unforeseen circumstances of people intruding into her territory whilst she was carrying out some assassin work or killing.
It was either that they were very unlucky or lucky—or that Lyra was simply slipping up a tad too much in her various killing exploits, a notion that Lyra herself hated to consider. It would mean that she was imperfect in her art of assassination, and utterly embarrassing for the other members of Hydrus, especially the other hitmen to know that she was constantly intruded upon whilst committing her killing crimes.
“Would it do good to all of you not to keep following me around like pesky flies? I no longer believe that people running into me whilst making my killings is something that of a coincidence and more of a purposely done meeting that everyone has decided to take two glances of. Does killing people intrigue all of you so much?” Lyra was furious that everyone had been bugging her over something that she refused to believe was of her own. “Like I said, I’m not whoever ya’ll think I am. Or whatever you think—oh.” The annoyance receded slightly into something akin to awkwardness at the sight of the driver from Hydrus standing at the doors. “Well. Thank you for waiting and fetching me, but as you can see–I’m not really done yet though.” She muttered under her breath moodily about people repeatedly charging into her killings as though they were some kind of strange phenomenon—bah, Lyra refused to believe that those incidences were coincidences. A struggling tap on her leg alerts her to glance down at the man struggling to breath, blood pouring from his wound at his throat in splatters as he gurgled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot all about you. Painful, isn’t it?” She smiles innocently at the struggling male, before deftly taking an army knife and slashing his throat once more in a smooth stroke from the left to the right.
