Train to Paris. Departs in one minute. Dagger hidden by black stockings. It was going to be a long night. 

Normally, anybody with a brain would be panicked about the lack of time before their train would leave them behind. But not Morana. She was calm and determined to blend in. She had to be. Otherwise, her fury might shine through, and her cover would be blown. 

She had slipped her train ticket from a lonely man passing by her on the platform. As the best pick pocket around, it wasn’t a challenge. Her next objective was making it to the tracks on time. Everybody and their mothers were out on the platform. Morana had an easy solution to this as well. She began to push through the crowd while coughing violently. Like magic, the crowd parted like water around her. Nobody wanted to get sick during the harsh winter. 

As Morana got closer to her train, she could see the conductor stepping into the gangway and waving his hand out at the engineer. The train horn bellowed and heavy smoke rose from the smokestack. Her steps became shorter as she hurried to grab the railing of the train before it took off. She swung her body into the gangway, prompting a gasp from the conductor.

“Mon Dieu!” the conductor exclaimed.

“Désolé monsieur,”  Morana replied calmly as she handed him her ticket. The train lurched forward and crawled slowly on the tracks.

The conductor sighed and slid the sleeper train car door open for her. “Merci.”

Morana nodded before stepping inside. 

The inside of the train car smelled like fresh printed paper and leather luggage. It was a refreshing scent compared to the stench of cigarette smoke and diesel fumes. Her platform heels clunked against the brown and tan carpet of the hallway as she got her footing. The car was elegant and sleek, fit for Paris standards. The walls around her were a shiny auburn color. She reached down and pulled her black scarf up and around her neck to cover her mouth. To her left, rows of sleeper rooms lined the walls. The doors were a dark peach and looked like they slid to the side. The third door is where she needed to go. Inside, she would be reacquainted with her target. Her old friend turned sworn enemy. The lady in blue.

Aveline. Aveline Leroy.

Morana clenched her teeth just at the thought of her. Aveline. She was the worst person in all of the east. The lady in blue had stabbed Morana in the torso while she had been slumbering, and stole her mothers rhodium and diamond necklace from around her neck. Aveline left her soaked in red, and fled in the night.

Morana had learned where Aveline planned on selling the necklace from encrypted phone logs in Manhattan, New York. An underground jeweler in the heart of Paris. Morana had to intercept her. 

She slowly slinked down the hallway, past a room full of a family of four, and past another room with a business man reading the morning paper. She stopped with her back against the wall of the third room, her hand hovering beside the sliding doors handle. She turned her head to gaze through the blinds on the doors window. 

Aveline Leroy was wearing her signature color in a pencil skirt and shoulder padded suit jacket. She had a peacock feather sticking out of the besom pocket on her coat, and the lapels were ironed and crisp with starch. Her skirt fit tight to her legs and barely covered her knees. Her clean golden blonde hair was tied up in a high bun, with baby hairs and fly aways framing her face. Her dark blue Bayonetta glasses made her eyes look like a siren’s. 

And there it was. Around her slender neck was Morana’s beloved rhodium necklace. She narrowed her eyes unconsciously. Morana couldn’t stand the sight of Aveline wearing it like she owned it. 

Aveline was staring down at the newspaper, probably too caught up in The Swingin’ Eye fashion section to notice what was going on around her. The train was at too fast a pace now to back out.

Morana slid the door open quietly. Aveline sighed in annoyance at the sound, choosing not to look up from her article.

“This car is full madam,” Aveline said.

Morana cocked her head to the side with a pout. “Aw.. don’t you have room for one more?”

Aveline practically flinched at the sound of such a familiar voice. The newspaper crinkled as it was slowly lowered away from her face.

“Bonjour, Aveline,” Morana greeted with a glare in her eyes.

“Morana. How do you feel?” Aveline said condescendingly after a long moment.

Morana took a slow seat across from her. “Fantastic my darling. After all, you only stabbed me once.” A long moment of silence followed her words. Without looking away from Aveline, Morana slipped the dagger from her stocking.

“Paris, hm? We’ve got a long way to go.” She set the dagger down deliberately slowly on the leather cushion beside her and leaned back. “Why don’t we have a good ol’ chat?”