Life. So short. So fleeting. So futile.
And there for the taking.
Henry heard things. Things that no one else could hear. The singing as a blade cut through the air when wielded in the right way. The human heartbeat as it accelerated... and then stopped. The tiny click as the universe adjusted before the person died. Henry knew that people were prepared for death by cosmic forces without even realising it. And the death had to be as significant as the birth, did it not? This was a universe very much dependent on the fact that it was in balance. Henry fancied himself the servant of these cosmic forces. As women gave birth, he took men's lives. He was part of the darkness to counter other people's light.
He loved his life.
Right this second - because time was precious and every second that passed contained (or had the potential to contain) something amazing - he was standing at the doors to an academy. An academy for assassins.
Henry was generally freelance. He killed for fun and there was never a lack of victims. But why should he pass up this opportunity to do something different: see other forms of the art that was murder? After all, he could die without ever having tried it and that would be a crime. No. Worse than a crime. It would be spitting in the faces of the cosmic forces that he served. Life was short for a reason.
He knocked on the door, smiling his slight, chilling smile, wondering what entertainment this establishment would provide for him. He supposed he could always kill one of his classmates if it wasn't diverting enough...