She was nothing more than a shadow on the museum walls. She was a quick-moving creature built of air and mist, darting in and out amongst the assorted artifacts and ancient accoutrements, slinking her svelte form around the assembled heirlooms of antiquity. She was a ghost.
Growing up, she showed a natural talent for stealth. Her father used to joke that she was as quiet as a mouse.
Mice squeaked. She, most decidedly, did not.
She slid into a room and listened as the security guard was loudly making his rounds. She waited, catching her breath behind her teeth, quietly daring herself to go through with her plan. As the guard neared her hiding place, she stepped out and deftly unzipped her top.
He paused. Eyes transfixed, mouth agape. She leaned forward, and kissed him. He practically melted in her arms. He grew limp and slumped with a sickening crack to the concrete floor. She pulled the syringe out of his arm and continued on, a slight skip of exuberance in her step.
The next room held her trophy.
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