You were an assassin of Rome, in 170 A.D. Your king, entrusted in you a hit, King Midas. You accepted without a thought, Midas had plenty of enemies, and rumors of his golden touch made him a valuable kill.

It was the middle of the night, the castles of Phrygia were quiet, it was peaceful, only broken by your quiet steps, with you being barefoot to minimize being heard, and you wearing a cloak with the hood up to avoid being seen.

You walk through the marble halls, seeing the strands of gold infect the marble walls, a result of Midas’ curse. You examine through the vases, cabinets, chests, and the like to see any other valuables before attempting at your job.

Yet a sound captures your attention: an infants crying. Curious, you head to the source, seeing Midas in his room tending to his infant daughter, Jules. He mumbles some words of praise to her, lulling her off to sleep. After setting his daughter in her crib, he walked off to one of his kitchens to make himself some tea.

You quietly follow, not making a sound. You may be an assassin, but you are no monster wanting to end a child’s life. You still had some morals, even if they were nonexistent. As he grinds up some herbs to boil in water, he hears the unsheathing sound of a dagger, which is from you. He turns to see your hooded form, your dagger in hand.

He huffs, stopping on his cooking, his hand going to the hilt of his golden rapier.

“Another one, of course..”