The mansion was finally quiet, providing Sara the perfect environment to finish her work. The client had demanded a "Bloodbath," and Sara was nothing if not professional; one never slacked on a job. She had killed everyone and everything that lived here, from the humans and servants to the family cats and dogs. To her, this was simply the requirement of the contract, and it provided a rare canvas for her to follow the "message" the client wanted.
She pulled a worn scrapbook from her Item Box—a collection of paintings and sketches Sara had scavenged from across the world over the last five centuries. Sara loved to recreate these images, though it was difficult when your only available medium was red. Today, however, she had gotten lucky. In the mansion’s stables, she had found several magical beasts with vibrant green blood.
<
She spent the next few hours meticulously decorating the mansion with more than a hundred "paintings" made of mixed red and green remains. On each one, she placed a single gold coin—her signature. She knew the world called her the "Painting Lunatic" because of this, but Sara didn't mind; names were better than silence.
As she worked, she used her psychokinesis to move things with her mind. Sara wasn't very useful with it—she could only move a few tons—but it was handy for looting. She systematically swept all the valuables she found into her Item Box. Sara didn't like to waste things. She had heard some people say Item Box management was hard or complicated, but she didn't understand the issue. She had been tossing things into her near-infinite space for centuries and nothing had ever gone wrong.
She looked down at the floor, sighing at the deep gouges her feet had left behind. The wood and stone stood no chance; her talons had once sliced clean through a legendary-grade shield.
Sara hated her body. It ruined everything.
Sara remembered being a young girl in the harpy colony, playing with her sisters. Her older sisters had lied to her, telling her she needed to work hard to get strong. Sara had worked harder than anyone, but the strength hadn't brought her closer to them. Instead, everyone became terrified of her. Eventually, Sara was forced to leave because everyone avoided her anyway.
She had traveled for years, but everyone avoided her or attacked her. Only the Assassin Guild had accepted her, but it was a bad guild where nobody really talked. They mostly just left messages in hidden places. Sara would have loved to join the Merchant’s Guild—they talked all the time—but every time she approached them, they ran away in terror.
Stuck in the Assassin Guild, Sara finished her last painting and checked her Item Box one more time. With a single powerful beat of her wings that cracked the masonry, she took to the sky, flying away from her signature gold coins.
Home was a hole carved into the side of a jagged mountain peak. It was cold, empty, and silent, but it was the only place where Sara didn't have to worry about the world's fear.
As she landed, she let her wings stretch to their full, massive span. They were perhaps the only part of her body Sara actually liked; every harpy in the colony had always said that a harpy should be proud of her wings. They were magnificent, powerful enough to outfly even dragons. In the air, Sara wasn't a monster; she was just fast. Faster than anything else in the sky.
She reached into her Item Box and began to prepare for sleep. She didn't use a bed—any proper furniture was useless to her. If she didn't accidentally shred the mattress with her talons, her raw strength would eventually snap the frame just by her turning over in her sleep. Instead, she tilted her Item Box and let a mountain of gold, platinum, and diamonds pour onto the stone floor. She had earned or taken these valuables from centuries of jobs, never bothering to count a single coin. To her, they were only useful as a mattress that could actually survive her presence.
Before laying down, she pulled a heavy slave collar from her collection and locked it around her neck. Sara liked the feeling of being weak—or at least, what passed for weakness when you could crush everything she ever met. It was the only way Sara could simulate a normal life.
In her dreams, she was always a slave girl working in a quiet kitchen, performing minor menial tasks like washing dishes. People would actually talk to her, asking her for things or giving her directions. The dream always ended the same way: someone would smile and give her a cookie. Sara always woke up happy after that.
Once awake, she reached up to remove the collar. As she used her brute force to pull it off, the device resisted. The anti-tamper charms activated, trying to shock her into submission or drive internal spikes into her neck to kill the "escaping" slave. The electricity just tickled her skin, and the spikes bent and snapped uselessly against her reinforced neck. The collar's magical compulsions—commands meant to paralyze or force obedience—washed over her mind and dissipated like mist. Nothing worked.
Sara sighed as the metal crumpled in her hands. Sara thought it was a nice collar, though; she'd have to ask a slaver for a more "professional" model next time she saw one. She tossed the scrap onto a massive pile of hundreds of other broken restraints. Sara always had a secret hope that one day she would find a collar she couldn't actually get off—then maybe someone would take her, or a wild animal would get her. But so far, no such luck.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
She carefully swept the mountain of gold back into her Item Box—Sara didn't waste anything—and prepared for the highlight of her week: visiting her favorite client.
Visiting the elven lord's mansion was the highlight of Sara's week. Sara liked the elven clients most; because they saw everyone as inferior, someone like Sara was treated with the same cold, distant protocol as everyone else. It was the only time Sara felt the world was balanced.
As she landed at the front gates, a group of servants approached to welcome her. She could feel the waves of terror rolling off them, though they tried to hide it behind practiced bows. As she walked, a sharp, acrid smell of urine hit her nose; it happened every time she visited. Someone nearby—usually several people—always lost control of their bladder in fear of her presence. Sara didn't understand it, but she had grown used to the scent.
Several servants ran ahead of her, frantically laying down metal plates on the floor. Sara made sure to only step on the plates, moving with careful, heavy deliberation. Sara didn't want to ruin the nice wood or stone; her talons were sharp enough to slice through a legendary shield, and Sara hated how her body ruined everything it touched. By stepping only where they told her, Sara felt a small sense of order.
Soon, the servants tried to guide her toward a side wing of the house. Sara knew this trick; they wanted to lead her to a small, isolated room where a clerk would simply hand her a bag of gold and send her away. They didn't want the "monster" anywhere near the master’s actual cabinet.
But Sara could feel the master’s presence. Her senses were too sharp to be fooled.
Every time the servants tried to nudge her toward the side hall, Sara simply stopped. She stood perfectly still, a mountain of feathers and steel, until the servants realized their redirection had failed. After a few moments of panicked whispering and more urine smells, they would correct their course and lead her back toward the main study.
Sara wasn't sure if the elf lord actually wanted to see her or if he was just as afraid of her as the servants were, but Sara didn't care. Sara would take any contract from this man, just for the few hours of "normalcy" his house provided.
They passed through the servant quarters, and Sara spotted a human girl chained near the laundry. The girl had visible whip marks on her back—signs of a failed escape. Sara looked at her and felt a flicker of annoyance. <
Finally, they reached the Lord’s heavy oak doors. The servants bowed one last time and practically fled as the doors opened, leaving Sara to face the one person who at least pretended she was a professional rather than a nightmare.
Inside the study, eight maids stood as still as statues along the walls. Sara found it comforting to be this close to other people, even if they were terrified of her. She knew the protocol: total submission. She checked the floor, looking for the clean spot the elves usually left for visitors to show respect. Finding it, she dropped to her knees and pressed her face against the wood, staying perfectly still.
The floor tasted of lemon. Sara wondered if they used a lemon-scented cleaner or if they actually flavored the wood for guests. Sara liked the taste of lemon.
The Elf Lord ignored her for over an hour, focusing on his paperwork. Sara didn't mind; Sara enjoyed the silence. She noticed one of the maids was trembling—the girl was about to "explode" from needing to use the restroom. Sara thought it was funny; the girl should have been more careful. But just before the breaking point, the Lord pointed a finger without looking up. The maid bowed and rushed out. Sara was amazed—had he seen a hidden signal, or was he just that attentive to his servants? He must be a very kind master to care like that.
During the second hour, the doors opened. Armed guards led in a heavily chained female catkin.
Sara felt her heart tighten with envy. It was a CAT—a rare, magic-born beastkin modified so all her mana flowed into her ears, making them hyper-sensitive to an elf’s touch. The CAT looked utterly dazed, lost in a permanent state of drug-like ecstasy as the Lord began to play with her ears. Sara watched them, thinking how wonderful it must be to be a CAT—loved, pampered, and "happy-happy" all the time. No worries, no stress, just a life taken care of to the extreme. Sara wished, more than anything, that she could be that cherished.
Finally, the Lord addressed her. "A thorough job, monster. I hear that even one of the city guard who investigated the site took his own life later; the scene was apparently too horrid for his mind to bear. Where do you get these ideas?"
Sara shrugged, her face still near the floor. "This lonely one just does as asked. If a bloodbath was needed, then a bloodbath was made. This lonely one lives to serve, nothing more."
When the bags of gold were brought out, Sara spoke up. "Can this lonely one ask, instead of gold this time, for something else?"
Panic swept the room. The Lord paused, his hand hovering over the CAT's ear. "What could a creature like you possibly want other than gold?"
"This lonely one wishes to use the Lord's library," Sara whispered into the floor.
The panic doubled. They clearly feared she would wreck the Lord's legendary collection with her talons. "This lonely one does not need to visit the actual library. Some dry room where books will not get damaged is enough."
The Lord looked at her for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. He signaled a gnome servant, who guided Sara to a tool room with a dirt floor. It was dry enough.
"What kind of books does Ms. Sara want?" the gnome asked, his voice trembling as he stood by the door.
"This lonely one wants books about far-away places. The more the merrier. Places where no one knows this lonely one's name."
The gnome nodded and soon returned, struggling under a massive pile of leather-bound volumes. Sara spent the next few days in that tool room, her massive wings tucked tight, reading about lands she had never seen or heard of. She finally settled on a name that felt right: the "Desert of Nothing."
After finishing the books, she stacked them neatly. She left a pile of gold next to them as a thank-you—Sara never wasted kindness—and stepped out into the courtyard to take flight.
As she ascended, her sharp ears caught the sound of a window opening above. She heard the Lord's voice, cold and relieved. "Finally—that monster has left."
Sara didn't mind the words. It was the answer Sara had expected: She looked back at the manor one last time. Sara just hoped he would survive. Sara had seen eleven different contracts put out on his name over the years. Sara had stopped every one of them—killing every assassin who accepted and every client who posted them. But Sara knew how the world worked. New contracts would pop up in time, and Sara wouldn't be here to tear them up anymore.
With a powerful beat of her wings, Sara turned toward the horizon. It was time to find a home where she could be something other than a nightmare.
Spoiler: The lemon taste on the floor was by design—the Elven master found it "rude" to make someone kiss the ground for two hours without making it taste pleasant.