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Emily P. Sylvan
Tanya walked down the corridors of the palace. Her brother Shuro
strolled next to her, radiating calm authority. The building seemed
abandoned. Nothing spoiled the stifling silence but the muffled tread
of boots on carpet and the soft swish of Tanya's chestnut braid as the
duo rounded a corner.
“You know the way?” Shuro asked quietly.
“You asked that five minutes ago, the answer's still yes.” Tanya
hissed. She shot a glare at her younger brother, annoyed that he didn't
trust her to lead them to their target. But she grudgingly admitted to
herself that Shuro had some right to ask. She had, after all, gotten
them lost on their last mission. Shuro resisted the urge to question his sister again and settled for tugging with
annoyance at his gloves. The uniforms they had “borrowed” from a supply
closet were fussy things covered in extraneous buttons and finished off
with small white gloves, which didn't fit no matter what size you
found, and they itched horribly. The uniforms did, however, blend in
with the muted opulence of their surroundings. Thick carpets covered
the floor, old paintings and dusty drapery obscured the walls. The
ceiling was encrusted with peeling gilt curlicues. The whole ensemble
exuded a feeling of rich decay, as if time lingered a little longer in
these halls than it perhaps should. The pair started up a spiral staircase. Tanya didn't stop her measured
footsteps, but she stretched out a gloved hand and gently pressed a
message in a coded sign language into Shuro's arm. Next hall 3rd door expect 8 guards
[BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS, CLASS OF 2007 EDITION]
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