Entry for scasha's conest, flaws are fantastic
The Thief in the Night
"A diamond with a flaw is better than a pebble without."
The sky was clear and in the great expanse of dark sky above, the universe glimmered silently. He came, in the depth of the night, a vagrant, prowling through gloomy alleyways, invisible amongst shadowy shrubs. He strolled fluidly around the light pools of lamp posts, danced carelessly beneath the cloud cast shadow of the moon. He was lord of the dark, the nocturnal prince. He could have pranced naked through the gardens he visited, or wandered nude through the great mansions he stalked, for no one ever saw him, not that he minded, for that was the plan.
The cloak flowed behind him, like a hovering, rippling body of black liquid, permanently attached to the lithe frame. The soft black footwear displaced not even a rose petal as he padded silently through the flower bed. Comfortable black cotton garments covered every inch of flesh and a black woolen balaclava finished off the outfit. His senses were tuned to perfection; he was almost animalistic in his actions, nose and ears twitched as they strained to pick up the slightest scent or sound. Large, catlike pupils were locked upon his target as he made his way nimbly towards it. When he was near enough, he stopped and’ wrapping the great cloak around him, faded into the vegetation. Slowly, large dark eyes scanned the imposing building ahead. The elegant frontage of the gothic mansion arose like a cliff face. Gargoyles screamed a thousand, silent obscenities at him, perhaps, he thought, to warn him away. Too late now. Briefly he scanned the windows, not the tiniest ray of light shone from any of them. Suddenly he was up, bounding across the lawn, cloak a flutter. He reached the large oak door, a brass lion knocker roared at him to turn back; he ignored it in his usual arrogant way. He made short work of the door, then, after placing his kit back in the pouch and removing his shoes, he opened it. Wincing, as, to his highly tuned ears, the hinges shrieked terrifyingly loudly, although in reality it can’t have been more then a slight grating, he stepped through. The door clicked satisfactorily when he closed it behind him.
The thief found himself in a large lobby; twin staircases swept magnificently up either walls and met in the middle at a corridor that ran off in either direction.
He climbed the marble steps leisurely and when he reached the top, stopped and surveyed the gloomy corridor, a large portrait of a stern, mustached man eyed him disdainfully. He stuck his tongue out at it.
A door was slightly ajar at one end, he crept through. Immediately his eyes were drawn to a large pearl necklace that lay enticingly on top of a bedside table. He scanned the room, his eyes moved to the bed, and then stopped; he simply stared, hardly breathing. He viewed the soft white object on the bed, head cocked to one side, eyes dreamy in wonderment. He stood there for little more then a moment, and then it passed as he tore himself away from the sleeping beauty, carefully picked up the necklace and hurriedly left the room. He flittered through the rest of the house, not seeing anything, his mind was numb, he moved in a dream like state. His thoughts lingered on the pristine figure, wrapped in the white silk sheets.
Well disciplined hands picked up various shiny objects, which he placed carefully into his cloak which had know been transformed into a sort of sack. When it was full with an assortment of valuable items, it was time to leave, he wandered back down the hallway and again spotted that oh so slightly open door at the end of the corridor, he was drawn to it, he couldn’t help himself. His legs were but servants to the power of his feelings. He went and stood by the bed, she was like an art work, so perfect, so pale. In her slumber she seemed so… peaceful, he stopped, thinking about when he last thought about peace, it seemed so abject in the face of his tumultuous soul. When she stirred, to move a delicate little hand and rest it on a rosy cheek, the thief almost had a heart attack. Don’t wake up. He shuddered to think at what he would have to do if she did, it was forbidden for any human to see a midnight stalker, and as far as he knew, none of them ever had. God, she was so divine, he lingered, not wanting to leave. She was the prize jewel, he thought to himself; the treasures in his bag may as well have been coal in the face of such a faultless creation. Her benign existence contrasted so sharply with his flawed character. Suddenly all his misdeeds swirled about his mind, bringing back memories that were unexpectedly painful, the greed, gluttony, arrogance of his youth. He thought about his indefatigable ambition to climb to the top, the pride and vanity of being there, of being the best amongst his kind. It all paled into insignificance when faced with the simple beauty of the young woman who lay before him. Something made him glance out the window, to his horror; he realized that dawn was beginning to streak across the landscape, bathing the countryside in a fresh, pale glow. With uncharacteristic gentleness he laid the pearl necklace back on the bedside table, and with almost physical agony, wrenched himself away. Then he fled, the dark figure streaking away through virginal frost.
