[Sara POV] Year 2, Day 325 (After Null gifted ancient horror a dress)

  Sara flew high above the desert.

  Below, that Null monster maid stood with something vast and terrible. Pulled a maid uniform from storage. Offered it.

  [IT gets gifted a dress. Why does nobody gift Sara a dress?]

  Sara felt something twist in her chest. Sharp. Painful. Familiar.

  IT got a dress. Sara wasn't even sure how to name it.

  That cosmic horror. That thing that shouldn't exist. That creature of pure nightmare.

  And Null offered it a uniform. Invited it to belong. To have purpose. To be family.

  [Even THAT gets accepted. Even THAT gets a dress. But not Sara.]

  Envy.

  Pure, burning envy that made her wings falter mid-flight for just a moment.

  IT got a dress. A symbol of belonging. Of being part of something. Of having a place where she fit.

  Sara wanted that. Wanted it so badly it hurt worse than any weapon ever had.

  [Sara wants a dress too. Sara wants to belong somewhere. Wear a uniform. Be useful to someone who actually wants her there.]

  But what could Sara do? She was a monster. A nightmare. The Painting Lunatic. Nobody would gift her a dress. Nobody would want her as their maid. Nobody would—

  Wait.

  An idea.

  A wonderful, terrible, desperate idea.

  [What if Sara gets her own dress? Just like they have?]

  Sara knew who made those dresses. She'd investigated everything about this compound. Every supplier. Every contractor. Every detail. Sara knew the seamstress's name.

  But Sara couldn't just go commission one. Merchants ran when they saw her. Crafters screamed. Normal people couldn't handle her presence.

  [Only one place accepts monsters as clients. Assassin Guild. They don't care what you look like if gold is good.]

  That seamstress made clothes for people through normal channels. But for Sara? She needed the Guild as middleman. They'd facilitate anything if the price was right. Information. Contracts. Services. Even dress commissions for nightmares.

  [Sara has gold. Sara has the Guild. Sara can get a dress.]

  The thought made her heart race. Actually race. Sara couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this kind of excitement.

  She needed to move. Now. Fast. Before she lost her nerve.

  Sara angled her wings. Pointed toward the Republic. Toward Central—the capital city where the biggest Assassin Guild sat.

  And she flew.

  Faster than she'd ever flown before.

  The world blurred beneath her.

  Sara pushed herself. Wind screaming past her feathers. Air tearing at her wings. Speed that would kill lesser fliers.

  [Faster. Need to get there fast. Before Sara changes her mind. Before the wanting stops.]

  She went ballistic. Literally. Arcing up into the thin air where breathing became impossible for normal creatures. Then diving. Streaking across the Republic sky like a missile.

  Something hit her mid-flight.

  A flying monster. Some kind of wind elemental maybe. Sara barely registered the impact. Didn't slow down. Didn't care. The creature tumbled away in her wake—probably dead or dying. Irrelevant.

  [Dress. Sara needs dress. Nothing else matters.]

  Central appeared on the horizon. Massive city. Republic's heart. Dense. Crowded. Full of people who would run screaming if they saw her coming.

  Sara calculated her approach. Ballistic descent would be loud. Sonic boom. Impact. Everyone would hear.

  She gathered wind magic. Not her strength—Sara was terrible at magic—but enough to muffle sound. Create a bubble of silence around her entry.

  The building came into view. Assassin Guild headquarters. Small and hard to notice unless you knew what to look for—just an old house outside the city a bit.

  Sara dove. Straight down. Building rushing up to meet her.

  She broke her descent at the last possible second. Wings snapping open. Wind magic absorbing the boom. Talons hitting stone just inside the guild entrance.

  For a moment—just half a second—she was halfway through the building's entrance, momentum still carrying her forward before she managed to stop completely.

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  Then stillness.

  Sara stood in the Assassin Guild. Not even breathing hard despite flying faster than she'd ever flown in her life.

  The guild hall was exactly what Sara expected. Dark. Professional. Quiet.

  About a dozen people present. All turned to look at her entrance for exactly two seconds.

  Then looked away.

  Rule of the Assassin Guild: never look at others. Especially not faces. Everyone here understood. Everyone followed protocol.

  Sara did the same. Quick glance. Assessment. Then eyes forward.

  The walls were covered with contract postings. Jobs. Bounties. Requests. Hundreds of them layered on bulletin boards.

  Sara ignored them all. Not here for work.

  Three desks. Three clerks behind them.

  Two men. One woman.

  One male clerk had a client. Sara didn't look long enough to see details. Not her business.

  The woman though...

  Sara recognized the type immediately. Dressed like a high-class courtesan. Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect presentation.

  But Sara knew better. [Poisoner. Professional. Nobody with working brain touches anything from those hands.]

  Perfect for what Sara needed. Poisoners dealt with the Merchant Guild. With crafters. With networks that required delicate negotiations.

  Sara walked to the woman's desk. Her talons clicking against stone. Each step leaving small gouges despite her care.

  The woman looked up. Didn't flinch. Professional.

  "How may the Guild assist you today?"

  Sara reached into her Item Box. Pulled out several sheets of parchment. Carefully drawn sketches she'd made while watching from above. The black dresses. The white trim. The details. And written clearly at the bottom: the seamstress's name.

  "Sara needs dress. Like these."

  The woman took the sketches. Examined them carefully. Her expression neutral. Professional.

  "These are... maid uniforms?" Slight confusion in her tone. Not judgment. Just trying to understand the request.

  "Yes. Sara wants one. From this seamstress." Sara pointed at the name.

  The woman's eyes widened slightly. Recognition. "This seamstress is... known. Very exclusive. High-end work."

  Sara nodded. Good. Didn't need to explain more.

  She reached into her Item Box again. Pulled out a massive bag. And dropped it on the desk.

  The impact made the desk groan. Wood cracking under sudden weight.

  Gold. Diamonds. Platinum. Centuries of accumulated wealth—useless to Sara—just... dumped on a desk.

  The entire guild hall went silent.

  Everyone measuring. Calculating. Could they take it? Was the target worth dying for?

  Sara felt the attention. The greed. The violence hanging in the air.

  Then... nothing. Everyone made their choice. Life was worth more than gold.

  The woman behind the desk had eyes full of greed. Pupils dilated. Breathing faster. But she stayed professional. Controlled.

  "This is... substantial payment." Her voice carefully neutral.

  "For seamstress. Payment."

  The woman nodded slowly. "Some in our Guild have equipment made by this seamstress. But... different payment required for her work."

  Sara understood immediately. [Favors. Service. Things gold can't buy.]

  The problem was clear. Nobody here knew who Sara was. Just some scary harpy. To earn reputation for offering favors, Sara would need to take contracts. Prove herself. Maybe twenty or thirty of the hardest jobs. Complete them in record time. Build up enough standing to offer her services as payment.

  But that would take time. Weeks. Maybe months. And by then... [The wanting might fade. The courage might break. Sara might lose chance.]

  With heavy heart—literally heavy, chest aching with the weight of the decision—Sara reached into her Item Box one more time.

  She pulled out parchment. Started writing what people called CV. Sara never made one before—never needed to. But she'd seen enough of them. Knew the template.

  It took both sides of the page. Dense text. Cramped writing. A complete professional history as the Painting Lunatic.

  At the end, Sara pulled out a gold coin. Old one. Still had dried blood on it from decades ago. She pressed it onto the paper. Her signature. Proof.

  She slid it across the desk to the woman.

  "Will this do? And..." Sara hesitated. "Can you keep it hidden? Don't want entire continent knowing Sara is here now."

  The woman took the paper. Started reading.

  Sara felt fear emanating from her as she progressed through the list. Real fear. The kind that came from understanding exactly how dangerous someone was.

  The reading took minutes. Careful examination. Cross-referencing with memory maybe. Checking for lies.

  Finally: "If this is true—and we will need to verify, which requires time as we must check far, far away—it should be sufficient." She pulled out a small crystal. "Blink crystal. Paired. When one breaks, other breaks. We'll contact you when we have updates."

  Sara took it carefully. Tucked it safely into her Item Box.

  She pointed at the bag of valuables. "Seamstress can take all. Extra payment. Or use it for expensive materials. Rare fabrics. Sara knows craftsmen like making special things."

  The woman nodded. Understanding. "I'll convey your preferences."

  Then she paused. Looked at the bag. At Sara.

  "Please... stay a moment."

  Sara understood immediately. [She's worried. If Sara leaves, others might kill her for the bag.]

  They stood there. Not talking. Just waiting.

  Awkward. Professional. Careful.

  The only interruption came from the occupied desk.

  The client there finished his business. Stood. Turned to leave.

  And walked wrong.

  The way he moved... Sara recognized it immediately. [Trained servant. Noble house movement. Perfectly controlled steps.]

  A soft snort of laughter escaped Sara's beak. She heard similar sounds from others in the hall. Puffs of amusement. Barely suppressed chuckles.

  The man froze. Realized his mistake. Left in a hurry.

  Two people immediately followed him out. Casual. Unhurried. Professional.

  Sara understood perfectly. [They'll track him. Find where he lives. Who his master is. If master is rich and weak... new contract on the wall soon. All information has value. Can be sold.]

  The man's master had made a mistake. Sent a house servant to the Assassin Guild instead of hiring proper intermediary. Now that servant had exposed himself—and by extension, exposed his master—to every professional in this room.

  [Bad operational security. Master will regret it.]

  Fifteen minutes passed.

  Then the door opened. A large group entered. Armed. Dangerous-looking. Professional security.

  Several magical beasts with them. Transport animals. Guard creatures.

  They walked straight to the desk. One of them—Sara noticed the Banking Guild insignia on his coat—nodded to the poisoner woman.

  They took the bag. Left without a word.

  Sara almost laughed. [Assassin Guild just called Banking Guild's valuable transport service. So interconnected. So professional.]

  She knew exactly what would happen. By the time that bag arrived at the bank, it would just be "valuable deposit for seamstress account—if she agrees to commission."

  No questions. No records. Clean transaction.

  The woman behind the desk relaxed visibly. Danger passed.

  "Thank you for your patience. The Guild appreciates your business."

  Sara reached into her Item Box one last time. Pulled out a platinum plate. Single coin worth a million gold.

  Placed it on the desk as tip.

  The woman's eyes went wide. She snatched it. Tucked it away. Expression transforming. Pure joy barely contained behind professional mask.

  "The Guild will handle this with utmost priority and discretion. We look forward to completing this commission."

  Sara nodded. Turned. Walked toward the exit.

  [Can't wait. Dress. Sara's dress. Sara will have uniform. Sara will belong somewhere.]

  She stepped outside. Spread her wings.

  And flew away. Faster than when she'd arrived.

  Happy-happy for the first time in decades.