• The wind howls incessantly beside my window, and I dread the thought of trudging through the weather outside.
    But I must, for the will of the people shall wither if I don't.
    I believe not that tonight shall be a good one for stealing brother’s clothes (to be a "man" for the meeting), for he shall be wide awake and terrified, and may even sound the alarm throughout the house were I to sneak into his room, though any other time I would die to see such an idiotic look upon his face.
    Myriad would have to take over tonight, and I would have to keep my sash from earlier in the day around my shoulders. The more lady-like I seem, I suppose, the more convincing I am to not be the assassin they recognized me as. My eyes search around the room, and I barely notice Vivian, my maidservant, watching me, amused, in the corner. I realize her gaze being directed at me after a moment, glaring at her amused smile.
    “Get ready, Vivian," I hiss, "Or, should I say, ‘Myriad?’” I silently chuckle as confusion dawns upon her face.
    “You’re going to have to take over the meeting tonight, you know.” That immediately sweeps the crude smirk from her face and is replaced by a grim nod of understanding. She removes herself from the chair and lets her long, black hair cascade down her shoulders. She equips her under-Armour along with a dress for our meeting tonight, and I dress as a sweet, young woman.
    She is a well respected village member of the small town circling the nobles’ house, and a well respected spy as well. Her under-Armour is for pure protection only, because of the enemies surrounding Myriad de Bertrand, the spy of the people, and, unfortunately, the armour has had to save her life many a time.
    When she first told me of the organization against the nobles and royals earlier that year, I was, sad to say, immediately appalled, but came to an understanding as she passionately explained it.
    "Emelyn," she had said one evening before I drifted into sleep, "Do you ever dream of a world without any class? Where everyone was equal, no matter their wealth?" I had turned with a bewildered look upon my face to who I had known my whole life as Vivian, the quiet, sweet young woman who was said to not be able to speak. He voice was soft and comforting, so I nodded my head as a response, even though I had not. That which she was telling me are thought of as demon words, things a young lady nor young man should ever say, especially to superiors.
    "Well," she sighed, looking longingly toward the window where the rain pitter, pattered outside, " There is a place you can go where everyone believes this... It's called a name that I cannot tell you, for fear of your blabbering habits toward your parents." She giggled and turned toward me with an adorable look upon her face, and I couldn't help but giggle as well along with her, for, but of course, it was nowhere close to true.
    Vivian stopped her giggling after a moment, and sighed with a smile upon her face, a pleasant smile that made you want to smile as well, as if I shared a cute little secret with her.
    "Well, what if I told you that we could make it so more than royalty could reign? That even I, a peasant woman, could rule all of England?"
    At this the pleasantness ended, and an awkward silence of disgust descended upon my part, and a hopeful silence upon her's.
    She must have suddenly noticed my radiation of disgust, and slowly described it in a way that I understood, changing all my thoughts and opinions of the intelligence of the villagers.
    Here I am today, the co-leader of the organization she spoke of. The lead assassin, known to most as ghost eyes, is unknown to anyone other than Myriad by the name of Emelyn Alexander.
    I hear Morgan's soft footsteps pattering down the hall, and usher Myriad to hide beneath my bed, her last strand of hair disappearing beneath just as a sliver of light pours into the room.
    "Eme," he calls in his soft, haunting voice, "I have come to aid you in your quest."
    My confusion must have shown upon my face, for humor momentarily flashes in his eyes. Words fly from my mouth before I even realize they were there, lingering in the air before I notice them.
    "W-what quest?" I curse my stammering and cringe slightly at his closing the door and walking past me toward the window.
    "Your quest into the organization," he looks directly past me, and I turn to see Myriad saluting him. He chuckles at my stunned expression and explains his role in my strange new world.
    "I, you see," he explains, gesturing around the room, "am of a greater importance (according to my parents) than anything in this house, including the oldest and greatest noble in all of England. As you can probably tell, I am not from here, and you were most likely told I was Norwegian, or Swedish, but truthfully, I cannot tell you who I am lest I give away my secret, the only one I keep and the only one anyone ever wants to know about me," He smiles and turns his head toward my stunned face.
    I always knew he was strange... Remembering my manners, I swiftly bow before my superior and ask him to forgive me for my unladylike behavior, and feel a soft tug on my body, lifting me out of a bow.
    "Well, It's not like I meant anything by that, you know. Fake superiority opinions of adults are of no matter to me, I just meant I'm in this together with you, that you don't have to feel alone as the only noble in this slaughterhouse." He smiles and releases me to dress further, while he waits patiently outside my door.
    Myriad got a very strict talk in his absence, and some of the things I said would have deserved a slap in polite company, or even a trip to the Maiden. She listened without a word, as always, and politely nodded when called for.
    I just barely calmed down before a knock erupts upon the door, and I call in my sweet tone of a young lady,"Who is it?"
    "Who do you think, my dearest friend?"
    The voice makes me stop in my tracks, and I gulp, ushering Myriad beneath the bed for the second time that evening. The only reason I don't run at that very moment is the slight possibility that she may just be asking to borrow a dress for a ball, though I know that it is but in vain to think these thoughts.
    The door bursts open and there stands Josephine, the girl I used to consider a sister before the organization. Behind her looms my parents and Morgan, the latter in manacles and leaning against the wall, pinned down by father. Their eyes are cold and merciless, with a grin plastered upon Josephine's soulless face.
    I do the only thing I could, and I hope no one thinks less of me for this. I run. I grab Myriad, brake my father's arm to save Morgan, and leap out my window, down from my two story window to drop into a hole where the gardener had been planting a tree before he silently passed away in a deep sleep the night before.
    My room is searched in my absence, my sword and assassin gear most likely removed. I am probably found guilty of murder of 5 nobles and 1 royal family member, no doubt countless others they do not realize.
    I can not linger here much longer with the guilt of murder and being hunted by my own family. The meeting is not scheduled for another 10 minutes, but I don't care. It would be too late if I wait any longer.
    I burst open the door to the old shack, and already a few members are there chatting softly and sternly, silenced as they saw my state as I held my friends.
    Melody, the mother of Myriad, rushes to her side and sings her a sweet lullaby, Morgan being carried away by gruff hands. I collapse upon the floor, exhausted from running the entire way to the shack while carrying my friends in my arms.
    I awaken to the sound of Myriad upon the stage, and I peek open my eyes to one of the villagers staring at my straight in the eyes. She asks me a few questions, like who I was, why Myriad and Morgan had been limp in my arms, and I answer as much as I can before I fall into an unwelcome slumber yet again.
    My rest is dreamless and without disturbance, with faintly remembered awakenings every now and then to being carried on and off stage to tell the story, and eventually fall into a very long slumber from the pain of my fractured leg.
    Eventually, the sound of a mockingbird wakes me up, and I find myself feeling dead upon an uncomfortable bed. My first thoughts drift to Vivian, and panic once again settles in my heart. I realize I'm in her house, and once again I am content, until my soul feels hollow as I realize the betrayal of Josephine.
    My eyes probably look more lifeless than they did before, and I made the effort of rising from my sleeping position into one where I could successfully make a cry to announce my awakening.
    The gray mockingbird flies into the room, settling upon my shoulder before I cry out. Its beady, black eyes examine me, and I am careful to be still ans let it settle, and I realize that I had never seen a mockingbird before.
    It has a soft, gray coat of the darkest gray thunderclouds, with graceful, light gray lines etched upon its back.
    I move my hand to touch it, trying careful not to startle it, but only succeeding in scaring it away. Within those about three or four minutes, Vivian has entered from the opposite side of the small hut and sat beside me without my realization of such, and it takes me still a few minutes to realize she had been there and watched the bird fly away.
    I blush at my foolishness of being captivated by a bird and thank her profusely for taking care of me. She is silent for a few moments, then nods and looks out the window the bird had flew away from.
    "You know," I sigh, looking out the window along with her, "I think that birds can tell when they are in the presence of a sinner," I felt tears blur my sight, and blinked them away.
    "Well," Vivian smiled softly, "If they can, they must run immediately from the sinners, and I think they would not rest on one's shoulder." I turned to her and smiled, grateful she was with me in this huge mess, and I wasn't the only one that made the mistakes.
    I embrace my old friend, and drag my legs to the edge of the bed. Grimacing at the sight of my disfigured foot, I look pleadingly at Vivian, a silent message of help being communicated. She takes my arm, helping lift the side disfigured by the fall into the hole, and I tell her I need to face the people and tell them who I was.
    I am stared at fearfully from all around as I limp across the yard, where a small crowd gathers around me and follows into the old shed, where a meeting is called and I am seated in a ragged chair upon the stage.
    "Well," I sigh as the last members come into the shed, "Most of you would look at me now and see just another member, correct?" A murmur of agreement echoes across the crowd, and they stop after a few moments and wait silently for what the point was.
    "My name," I called and chuckled slightly, "well, most of you would know me more likely as 'Ghost eyes,'" The crowd becomes deathly silent and a couple people call out that I'm a liar.
    "She's telling the truth," Vivian, dressed as her real self, Myriad, calls out to silence the crowd again.
    "But, of course, that isn't my real name. You will likely hang me for my treason, though. Because," I sigh, the final moment darkly descending swiftly and without any mercy, "My real name is Emelyn Alexander, the daughter of Margaret and Samuel Alexander, cousins of Queen Alexandrina Victoria," I close my eyes and wait for the knives they had no doubt thrown to reach my throat.