Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Shadow Words ❯ The Lovelorn Shadow ( One-Shot )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
Shadow Words
The Lovelorn Shadow

Shadows hung thick in the late autumn’s eve, ensnaring a lone figure standing amongst the fallen leaves and powder dusting of snow in a dreary quiet. His solemn eyes could not penetrate far in the murk, even with the faint haze of moon coursing its way through wind-blown snow. Numb even to the sharp flakes lashing at his face, deaf to everything but the sounds that would betray his target, he stood, waiting for what he already knew would come. He’d been waiting an hour and would wait another hour if he must – this dispute would end this night, hidden in shadows and masked by storm.

The sudden crunch of frozen leaves behind him didn’t startle him; it was, after all, the sound he expected to give his opponent away. His enemy’s eyes were weaker than his and the punch thrown missed by inches. The second punch he caught; the third he dodged. Then he tossed his adversary effortlessly to the cold-hardened ground, hearing through straining winds a bone break and the broken wheeze. The opposition did not rise, and he wondered briefly what had been broken. Wary, he approached. Glazed open eyes stared at his feet as they froze, and dark bruising on the neck, where he had not touched his foe, alerted him to what had snapped.
A smirk graced the killer’s face as he spoke, “Never stood a chance.”


"Why can't shadows talk? One, more masculine in shape, dark but outlined bybright light of an internal fire, and one, unidentifiable in shape, only separated from other shadows by a blue glow from the winter mornings? Are the languages they speak so different that they cannot understand one another?"

He had to admit, there was never a dull moment when his anonymous stalker left something like that for him to find. A few years earlier he would have found her out and snapped her neck as he had his enemy in the snow. Of course, that was assuming his newfound stalker was even a female. Didn’t matter. Although, the thing that really got his curiosity peaked was the strange ink and paper used. The paper itself was black, and the spidery scrawl adorning it was pale silver that faded into the dark background. Perhaps he should be more wary of this unknown follower; could be whoever it was was involved in the occult or other dark worship.

“Humph.” The sound attracted his fiancé’s gaze as he closed the door on which the note was found.

“Another one? Do I need to start offering poisoned water to whoever stops by?” At that he offered a chuckle. His fiancé closed the scant four feet between them.

“Now, now. Let’s not go overboard.”

“Who’s going overboard? You’re mine. No one else’s.”

He smiled as she gripped his shoulders and pulled him down for a rough, passionate kiss, thinking all the while how he wished they were already wed and he could subdue his arousal by making love to her. As it was, they were not and, for now, a cold wash would be his only option to banish the all too eager friend growing in his pants.

“We should have marked a closer day to marry.” he said as the kiss ended, before laying a far gentler kiss on the top of his lover’s head. It amazed the back corner of his mind that he could find simple pleasure in the simple action as his female’s soft, red locks against his lips became an unexpected caress.

“We don’t have enough money to make it happen sooner. I have to wait just as long as you.”

His eyes met hers and he smirked back at her own simple grin, feeling he only really belonged there with her. Playfully, his dear lover pushed him away, turning to go get ready for her day. She stopped in the doorway leading from the room into another and glanced over her shoulder back at him.

“Should I ever find out who this lovelorn “shadow” is, I will poison her.”

“If you must. But we are engaged and you are the only one who will have me. Besides, this cowardly shadow seems to be asking more for a chance to speak than anything else. I don’t see her as any true threat, and I don’t believe you should either.” he responded, smirking at her protectiveness. It was kind of cute. Endearing even.

She smiled at him again, then hurried off about her business. Managing his little “friend” back into submissiveness, he took his own leave, stepping out into the cobblestone street. It was just after dawn’s light had broken day, and the grayness of the night to day transition lingered. It was a sobering view, and he regretfully folded his love-induced thoughts into a pocket of his mind so as to focus on his task. Realizing the note on black paper was still in his hand, he put it in his pocket.

His boots beat a rhythmic pattern against the hard stones as he made his way to the tavern. His target would not be there for at least a few more hours, but that gave him time enough to ask about and find the best way to take the drunkard down without endangering himself any more than needed. He would enjoy being in one piece when he was wed, rather than not.

There were already three men and a cloaked woman drinking in each of the four corners of the building when he showed up. Disgusted, he wondered how anyone could drink liquor at this time of day. Another glance at the female, who could easily be arrested for drinking when it was illegal for her sex, proved him wrong; she merely drank water. It was better, but the thought that a woman would be drinking water in a bar when there didn’t appear to be anyone she was waiting for still unnerved him. He kept a wary eye on her as he sat down at the bar and ordered a pint. He didn’t feel the need to drink, but it would be odd if he didn’t. Very much like the female.

He didn’t get much information from the bar keeper, who needed to see the target before he could really say much. He got a possible three names, none of which matched the man he was hunting down. The more he asked of his hit, the more restless the cloaked female became, fidgeting on her seat. The bar tender paid her no notice, but he really just found it annoying. What was wrong with this woman?

He’d been there for three hours nursing his pint when the target finally ambled in. Motioning to him, the bar tender’s eyes gleamed.

“That one?”

“Yes.” he said in a whisper.

“Ah. About time someone else hired to kill him. He’s a ruffian, and he’s damaged my tavern more times than I’d like to count.”

“Then why still allow him in?” ‘And what do you mean by someone else?’

“They say he’s cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s said he raped and killed a young girl, who turned out to be a widowed witch. There are even rumors he’s the one who even widowed her. Guess she placed a spell on him to be constantly attacked. You aren‘t the first to try taking him down, but I can‘t say if you will or will not be the last. I figured I‘d put up with the damage to my bar here in hopes that I‘d get to live to see that bastard‘s killer in action.”

“That so?” he cast a glance at his target. He had no idea who his employer was, but he began wondering if it was the girl’s mother or another victim’s husband. Taking out his order, written in plain text on equally plain paper, he scanned the writing once more. The signature looked feminine, he realized. He normally didn’t care who hired him, so long as he was paid after the kill. The thought of a female wealthy enough to hire him made him pause.

“Look.” the bar tender said quietly, nodding over towards the female.

The target was ambling over to her, reaching out to grab her while she was unawares. The moment his hands clasped her shoulders, the killer for hire knew what he was planning.

‘Guess habits die hard for this guy.’ he thought, rising to stop the bastard.

By the time he got across the room, the female was down, pinned on her back by the aggressor. He had clapped a hand over her mouth and pinned her with his knee, leaving his other hand to disrobe her. The only reason she was still fully clothed was that she wore crude chains like a pair of suspenders.

“The fuck is this?” the target asked, pulling at the chains in vain. Even the hired killer had to pause, again wondering what was wrong with this female. Pushing his questions away, he reached out and grabbed his target by his short hair, pulling him relatively easy from the strange woman. She rose, her cloak still in place. He wondered what was hidden under the hood of the tattered grey cloak: was she young or old, scarred or unmarred, sane or crazy?

His thoughts cost him, he realized, as his target grabbed his shirt front and flung him over his shoulder, until he crashed on the floor at his feet. The target was lean, and he certainly hadn’t expected much.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Does it really matter? You’ll be dead before you can remember it.” he said, rising to his feet stiffly. He didn’t notice the female had gotten up, and struck out as she tried pulling him up. She dodged, barely, and her hood fell back.

She was far from beautiful, but could maybe pass off as cute or something, except for a long scar along her left cheek and a brand at the base of her neck. She was a bit heavyset for his liking, and she was definitely a rebel in the way she dressed for one her age as the cloak fluttered open with her movements. Under the chain suspenders she wore male clothing and as she pulled him away from the advancing attacker, he noticed she even walked like a male. She couldn’t be more than twenty-seven, yet grey was already breaking through the brown hair.

‘This girl just keeps getting stranger.’ he thought, before stepping in front of her.

“Look, you need to leave miss.”

“Look, sir, you need to watch your opponent.” she said, nodding at his target, whose punch almost made contact with his face. He felt her shift away, but whether she ran or not, he couldn’t tell.

This foe was quicker than his last few, and maybe even a bit stronger. For once, the killer actually felt challenged, finding himself dodging more than he was used to. The opponent got in a few punches, but it wasn’t long before his neck was snapped, a move the killer had adopted after his fight in the snow. His enemy fell hard, knocking a table over in the process.

There were now ten people in the bar, all silent except for the gawking bar keeper, who was trying to say thank you but could only manage an “I finally saw the bastard beat down”. A glance around showed the female gone. Instead, where she’d sat, was a black piece of paper, silver scrawl adorning it.

“Two shadows with different words spoke. They weren’t the words the more feminine of the two had wanted, but they were words spoken nonetheless. Maybe there will be another chance, but the shadow of winter mornings does not dare to hope, for hope can be destroyed. The shadow that burns with inner fire - he has a light to follow home.”

Underneath it, on the stool, he found the reward money for the kill in a simple pouch. In it, there was enough to push his wedding date to only a month away. A small picture was also in the bag. On the back, in red ink:

“He killed my husband and he tried doing the same to me.”

The picture was of the girl and, he assumed, her husband. She didn’t have the scar or brand in the picture.

“Well, I guess I know my employer now. And my stalker. Never thought they’d be one in the same.” he whispered, tossing the picture into the flames of the stove.

“Free rum on the house!” the bar keeper shouted, suddenly behind him clapping his shoulder.