“Yes,” the girl nods, though even after all these years she isn’t sure if the voice can see her or not. “But I think that’s because we were a princess, not because I’m insane. People gave us stuff then. We learned to just ask for things, not to pay. It matters to an impressionable young mind.” 

We, princess? Was it "we", when gods would come to beg me mercy? When you slept in a bed?

“She was a princess,” the girl corrects quickly, glances swiftly about like a wounded sparrow sheltering beneath a leaf. “She slept in a bed. We’re different now.” 

I am not your dark conscience, girl. I am not a part of you, and you should remember that. But I am better to have as an ally than an enemy, and I know more tricks than currency. Remember that too.

This is not the first time it has tried such tactics, only… sometimes she has so much trouble getting along…

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “Sure. Doesn’t matter. ‘S long as sis’ isn’t disappointed. What do you want?” 

We do this my way. Faith is a thing worth defiling, ruined child. One night is little, but it can be enough. Such a night will be remembered...

“Fine,” she shrugs. “Sure. I don’t care. As long as sister is happy. And afterwards, candied chestnuts.”

Of course. As many as your fractured heart desires.

“Many,” she confirms. 

The girl stops in front of one of the lavish north side apartments. Its lower level is given over to a clothing boutique, but entirely too many armed and armored guards stand discreetly about in the shop’s various nooks and crannies. Are they cultists too, or merely hired mercenaries? Doesn’t matter. Sister said a necessary bloodbath… probably… that seems right at least? 

Yesss... But not just blood, moronic child. It is time to play!

“Right,” the girl agrees. The guards don’t notice her. “First we play. So what’s the plan?” 

“They’re not going to notice me,” the girl says. “I have my cloak.”

They notice what they are looking for. But they are paid guards, they are looking for trespassers.

“Nah,” she strides through the crowded store, bare feet dancing to avoid the boots and stiletto heels of the patrons. 

Idiot child. I have seen the function of your particular Anonymity Cloak. It will not permit you through a guarded door without comment.

“Got me out of the priest man’s manor,” she retorts petulantly. 

Yes. The guards there were looking for their master, not for an intruder. They did not expect to see someone coming the other way, so the cloak sufficed to ensure they didn't. The distinction is obvious.

“Well?” The girl shrugs even though the voice might not be able to see. “What do you suggest then? Lock the door and stab them all?” She loosens her ancient sword in the new leather of its sheath. “I can do stabbing, but I thought you wanted subtly?”

There are degrees of subtlety, foolish one. Your mind is as tiny as it is broken.

“Broken,” she confirms, but hesitates. 

You are a delivery girl, here on an errand, but scared, and directed to the back room for a terrible fate. Breathe in the truth, breathe out the lie.

“Fine,” she shrugs again. “Chestnuts.” 

The girl makes her way towards the back room. 

A heavy oaken door set back between two racks of satin dresses and flanked by a pair of tall scarred men, arming swords and cudgels at their hips and padded gambesons at their chests. Her goal, she assumes. She tries to push through, but… 

“What are you doing?” One of the men demands. “Off limits to customers.” His eyes can’t seem to focus on her face, on the sword at her hip, at the blood on her sleeves or the gauntlets on her petite hands.