The Doctor had been there, left his mark. Legend told he’d once called rain like lightning and flame like avarice, all to stop a teensy little war, a trickster dancing in the dark. That he’d played that now famous violin (called Kaku Inko by the cult that rose around it – they claimed it gained sentience once it left his hands) more quickly and more fluidly than Abaddon himself, so much that the strings curled and burst into flame, then snapped completely off. Such a pity. There was a recording still floating around- of course the Assassin had bought that for his collection. The man really should have got more praise for his performance.
But oh well; the Assassin would soon fix that empty feeling. For a dagger to the hearts brought better tears of pleasure than any adoring smile, didn’t it?
It was a favour. He’d be doing him a favour.
Yes, a favour.
That girl, the one with white hair. Flamina. Her hair always made him think of his white lady.
But he hadn’t seen her since the party… since he’d escaped the Eye. And that had been the day he’d done it, too.