If there was anything Ariadna Vikander hated most, it was the weekly procession of the Sisters of Atimae, on their way from their precious convent to the tremendous temple in the city centre.

     The virgin priestesses, in all their youth and untouchable beauty, walked with an air of superior confidence in their fine white silks and slippers. Veils flecked with gold covered their faces, and they were secured by wreaths of leaves and red berries atop their holy heads. The women did not even share a glance between the adoring spectators, who watched them as they returned from their weekly visit to the temple. For the most part, the girls remained behind the safety of their Convent walls and did not do more than pray in silence. You would have thought such pious figures would be eager to go out in the city and care for the poorest of the poor, but no. That was not the case. A priestess was expected to be pure, pious, and therefore believed to be precious. Any girl sent to a convent of their parents choosing could not indulge in alcohol or sexual pleasures, treasures and materialistic items, not even luxurious food. Nor could they face society alone and without a veil over their heads – then again, travelling to and from the city temple was far from interacting with any of the city folk. Should a priestess be stripped of her virginity in any way, it was she who would pay with her life, unless solid evidence could prove the fault did not lie with her.

     Ariadna remained within the shadows of the multiple buildings overcrowding the city centre, among the chilling silence of the people as the priestesses continued to move like a river past the spectators. Ari brushed her way through the crowds; her body no more than a whisper against the people’s arms as she moved undetected. This is not you anymore, she thought to herself. You are no longer Sister Shiyla of the Convent of Aphur. You are Ariadna Vikander. Trained assassin, liberated woman. Ariadna stopped a breath away from the procession, her eyes burning beneath the heavy hood covering her face. Her beautiful features were cast in a shadow, along with the hideous scowl that now stretched across her face. Bitches, she thought. Arrogant, intolerable bitches. The assassin ran a gloved thumb over the pommel of her sword, which swung in her sheathe on her left hip. Ariadna looked like nothing more than a common sell sword. Already, her mind was being filled with poisonous thoughts of how delightful it would be to see those perfect white robes stained red.

     This is not you anymore!

     But it once had been. Ariadna didn’t need reminding of the treachery of her father against her. How her father, furious and no longer bothered with his seven-year-old daughter, had packed her off like she was a trinket and sold her to the Convent of Aphur. He had even stripped her of the name she had been given at birth, allowing the sisters he sold her to, to give her a new name, one which did not suggest any connection to him. Cruel man! From then on, Ariadna had no longer woken up to the luxurious satin tapestries of her canopy bed, back at her father’s manor house. Instead, she awoke to a dull grey ceiling and the sound of three other girls giggling as they helped each other into those stupid, stupid robes they had been forced to wear. Ah enough, she told herself.

     As though hearing Ariadna’s insults loud and clear, one of the priestesses dared to glance her way. For a brief, icy moment, her gaze met Ariadna’s. But only for a second. The girl gave her eyes an almost lazy shift back to the road ahead, before she and the other women turned a corner and were out of sight.

     The streets came to life in a split second, and all sorts of commotion broke out once the people were free to let out a breath and go about their business again. There came the sound of wagon wheels creaking against cobblestoned pavements and the mindless chatter of stall owners to their customers.

     Ariadna felt ready to uncurl her fists, the leather of her gloves squeaking as she did, but she kept them to her side and turned for the shadows again. Why she even bothered to taunt herself with watching the procession each week, she did not know. Perhaps, despite her attempts to forget about what had happened in the past, a part of Ari did not yet feel comfortable letting it all go. Not quite. Soon enough, she would.

     The gods had given Arin Vikander two daughters, of which he only truly loved one. Jooney was his golden child, the eldest and the lovelier of the two, and it surprised no one who met Jooney that her father loved her best.

     Jooney was beautiful, likely even lovelier after having been married off and starting a family of her own. Five years older than Ariadna, Jooney had never been kind to her younger sister, and had joined in with her father’s jeering. They thought of Ariadna as a moody, violent girl who was too intrigued by the world’s brutality than the things she was expected to excel in.

     But Ariadna had thought smacking tree trunks with wooden sticks was better at relieving anger than pushing a piece of thread through a needle. Her father had not liked that, and when he had received comments like ‘Your Ari is a beautiful girl, Sir, but she is not marriage material’ he had sent her off once her use to him had worn off.

     Ariadna stalked her way back towards the same crowded buildings, and down the skinny alleyway running in between them.

     “Your anger makes you careless sometimes.” a deep voice called out from behind her.

     Ariadna did not even have to turn to find out who had been stupid enough to follow her.

     Vinn Maurith was perhaps one of the few men in the city who was not afraid to get close to Ariadna. As the Head of The Anari – an institute made up of the deadliest assassins and craftiest thieves – Vinn had the luxury of glancing upon her loveliness daily.

     Ariadna had a different kind of beauty. Her hair was a thick rush of silver, crawling down to her waist - if not up in her usual high ponytail, and her pale skin and blue eyes made her look like an icy goddess of some sort. If eyes really were a gateway into a person’s soul, then Ari’s cold eyes were all that were needed to describe her character. It was a shame that her beauty only stretched so far as her exterior. Deep inside, she was still the same girl from the convent, carrying the same burning hate and anger buried inside her after all these years. She was plagued with anger and bitterness, which either she refused to let go of or could not. She was not too sure which one it was.

     “A fine assassin, you are. Yet you still make the stupid mistake of letting your emotions get in the way. I’d thought I’d broken you enough to not have those kinds of feelings anymore?” Vinn asked her. His question was said all too casually, but it was not enough to get Ari to look at him, even when he fell into step beside her.

     “I admit something tempted me to slit one of their pretty throats and just be done with it.” she replied.

     Vinn smoothed his dark hair back and shrugged. “What would you have done then? All out in the open, the blood of a holy woman on your hands?”

     Ariadna turned on him and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Do not! There is nothing holy about being a priestess. You pray in silence and then pray some more, to faceless gods who don’t even exist. I have my personal vendetta with the convents in every single city there is and with good reason.”

     He watched her stalk off for a moment, and then he jogged after her. “You still have your list, don’t you?” he asked her.

     “It’s not a list if there are only two people on it, how many times do I have to tell you? But yes, I suppose I do. You know I do, Vinn. Why even bother asking me? Is it just so you can tease me more about potentially giving me the opportunity to carry it out? You’ve been putting my names off for too long, I need to sort my business out and soon. I’m tired of waiting.” she snapped.

     Vinn was used to such a tone from Ari, in fact he did not expect any less, or else he would be worried about where the real Ariadna had gone. He took hold of her by the arm and forced her to look at him whilst he spoke. “All I’m reminding you of is that you did not train hard for five years, under my roof, to throw your talents away so carelessly.”

     Ariadna turned her attention to the busy street behind them as she thought through the most sensible thing to say in response. She decided upon rolling her eyes and replying, “You think I don’t know that?” pulling her arm out of his grasp, she jumped up the steps leading to the Institute and left the front door to swing open behind her as Vinn followed her inside.