A bind of cookies and pistol
December 7, 2025 – a cold and chilly season wrapping the air.
Sweet as cinnamon, the smell warmed Ciara’s breath.
She noticed—it was the scent of her favorite cookies on the street.
But work called, so she sighed,
“My pretty delicious cookies… wait for mama sweet tooth and tummy.”
Ciara walked into the alley, dark and dangerous,
murderous eyes seeming to watch from every corner.
She reached a door and smirked at the guard,
“Handsome and tall raven of all.”
That was the password. He bowed and opened the way.
She strode up the stairs and knocked hard.
“Nicolas Raven! Open the fucking door before I break it.”
Silence.
So, she slipped off her heels and kicked the door down—half, after all.
Her Louboutins back on, she walked to the sofa,
elegant as always.
Nicholas—blonde hair, emerald-green eyes—
looked at her like she was a spell.
“I knew it, Cia. You’re just the kind of woman I ever wanted.”
Ciara smirked, biting her lip as she poured him wine.
“I dare you to say another word,
and let’s see what I take from yours to mine.”
Nicholas chuckled, his glass cracking in his hand.
“Ha! Cia, you’re such a woman.”
But then his gaze sharpened, serious now.
“So—what do you need? Information, or me?” wink.
Ciara lit a cigarette, exhaled smoke like a queen.
“I want you to get me the royal sapphire crystal.
I’ll give anything. Just get it done.”
She pulled out her pistol,
aimed at the window—click, boom—
a warning shot, clean through glass.
Then she left, walking like only a goddess could.
Nicholas laughed to himself.
“A kind of lady I love.”
He snapped his fingers. “Ken!”
The servant appeared.
“Clean the body, and check the two spies outside.”
Ken frowned. “How did she notice the assassin?”
Nicholas’s emerald eyes gleamed with pride.
“Ciara is no joke. Now get moving.”
---
(Ciara’s POV)
Work was done. Time for cookies.
She hurried to the stall—but instead of cookies,
there were only candies and noodles.
“What the—where’s the cookies?”
Heartbroken, she grabbed the noodles.
“I guess no cookies for me.
Just noodles. Tragic.”
---
Across the street, through the black rusted car,
a pair of eyes followed her.
He smiled, eating a cinnamon cookie—her cookie—
watching as though she was his favorite show.
“Now the plot begins,” he whispered,
before driving off into the night.
