Snippet #1519634

Sitting under the open window, Imogene was able to feel the fresh air on her skin. The smell was calming and she breathed it in deeply. With a twinge of guilt, she thought of the stories she’d heard about the quality of air in the Delta District where her daughter most likely lived now. She had heard that the living conditions were awful, and that the air was no better then a poison. Of course, Imogene had never been there herself, and the suffering of the occupants of District Delta was not a popular topic of conversation in the crowds she frequented--or use to. She decided to shut the window with a snap. Imogene was suddenly very angry with the fresh air.

When Seth didn’t enter immediately after she called for him to come in, she turned her head to the door expectantly. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard two voices outside her door: Seth’s and a stranger’s, however, she couldn’t make out what they were saying. After a moment, the door finally opened, and Seth walked in, closely followed by a man Imogene had never seen before.

Seth explained that this mysterious man was a guest who wished to discuss her husband. Imogene had to admit she was confused: by the man, by what he wanted. Not to mention that she knew immediately that he was no ordinary guest. His features were normal enough. Imogene scrutinized him. He had a pleasant enough face, but perhaps it was the scar above his lip that seemed menacing. No, that wasn’t it. The scar even seemed to add to the attractiveness of his face. The dark tone of his skin, his black hair, the way he stood: there was nothing out of the norm there. Ah, it was his eyes--rather, there was something mocking behind them. It was also his finely cut suit which seemed to be wearing him more than he was wearing it, as if it were not his usual form of attire. Overall, there was something about the way he carried himself-- the way he entered the room that made Imogene realize he was a man of whom she should be nervous. She looked in Seth’s direction. Her stepson certainly seemed as if he were.

Imogene didn’t know very much about assassins or their place in society. It was not something that noblemen’s wives in general need concern themselves with. There were many other things with which they were allowed to occupy their time, but the vagaries and workings of the assassin’s guild was not one of them. As far as she knew, she had never met one of their kind, yet even with her limited knowledge, she could guess who this man was, and the moment she did was the moment she began to feel anxious.

Ever the perfect hostess, Imogene could be nothing but cordial to him, despite who he was or what he was doing there. It was unthinkable for her to treat a guest of her household rudely. She smiled then, and put on the mask of hospitality.

“Forgive me,” she said to the man, “I did not think we would be entertaining anyone today or I would have prepared myself. Let me ring for tea, and please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” Imogene stood, walked to the wall and pressed the button which rang down to the kitchen. A servant answered immediately, as if his only job was to wait by the intercom to receive the Lady’s call. Imogene ordered the tea and sat herself down in the center of the room where six Victorian style chairs were facing each other across a wrought iron table with a glass top. She smiled congenially at the stranger.

“I don’t believe I have had the privilege of meeting you before. May I ask your name, and what business you have with my husband?”