Venice Craven

He reached for my hip with his left hand, drawing me against him whilst his right lifted to encircle my throat. Offended, I brought my palm up sharp across his right cheek and he recoiled, my 'attack' apparently unexpected (what had my parents told him?). With just half a foot between us now, enough for him to send two sharp slaps in return across each of my cheeks. His much harder than my own feeble attempts had been.

I was stunned, and after that there was no further pretence of politeness. This time the hand that came up to wrap around the base of my throat held firm, forcing my head to the side whilst his right lifted up to my shoulder, the sleeve of my gown having fallen aside leaving the skin exposed. Fearing for a moment for my modesty I grabbed for the front of my dress, but soon realised that I had far bigger issue than whether the light silk remained in place.

Rather than the soft pads of his finger tips against my shoulder, instead it was the sharp cut of a knife-like implement slicing into the side of my neck. The hand around my throat tightened, anticipating my cries and cutting off my air. Now fearing for my life (for surely this was some sort of deranged murderer) I struggled as best I could. My palms hitting his chest first (to no avail) before reaching back behind me to the side board, searching for something I could use as a weapon.

Melchoir and the rest of the gods must of been smiling down upon me that day as my fingers wrapped around the hilt of a small knife. But not just any old knife but rather one that my grandmother had given to me on the eve of my birthday. Neither of my parents had been impressed and it had been promptly removed it from my possession. Though why they had left it there... perhaps to show it off to the Noble Mao.. after all, it had been crafted from the elusive and much sort after sky-stone.