I admit, it hurts my pride to put this down on parchment, but I know it is only human to make mistakes.  Maybe this will help you to understand me better.

      I was proud when the Queen gave me my first assignment.  Although I was but ten years old, I had been trained within an inch of my life.  I was confident and cocky, although the pit of my stomach was boiling with nerves.

      My target was a man named Grollo.  I will not go into great detail, but his country had been at war with one of our greatest allies for years.  Grollo was one of the Battle Commanders.  The Queen told me he was to be assassinated immediately.

        I was so excited, that I don't remember much of the trip; but I do remember my arrival.  Grollo's house was more of a mansion than anything.  Slaves and servants scurried about silently, and dozens of hunting hounds played in the yard.  I went through the servant's door, and was escorted to the kitchen.  I wore the plain dress of a poor girl, with an apron and cap.  As a new kitchen girl, I was set right to work peeling potatoes.  The head cook gave brisk orders, and the rest of the staff just went about their business as if I'd always been there.

      My job was to wait a few days, and then slip poison into Grollo's food.  (By waiting, the suspision would not fall on me right away.)  I call it Quiet Poison.  It takes several hours to work its way through the body.  If given at dinnertime, the victim usually dies painlessly in his sleep.  Most doctors simply proclaim it a heart attack, and no one knows of murder.

     I worked in the kitchen for three days as ordered, watching closely to learn where I should put my poison.  On the fourth night, as I was adding bread to each plate, I put Quiet Poison in Grollo's soup.

     My heart jumped at every little thing as I took my place at the wall of the dining hall, waiting to serve.  I kept my face stony, staring straight ahead.  Soon, I told myself, soon it will be finished!  After a few minutes, I couldn't help myself.  I peeked at Grollo; and almost shouted aloud at what I saw.

     Grollo had no soup.  He had given it to his young daughter, Allia.