[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
He was colloquially known as the “Prince of Thieves,” though he had never stolen a thing with his own hand. His close friends called him the “King of Daggers,” knowing full well that his hands remained as white as ivory and as soft as a newborn’s skin.
I knew all of this when I was ushered into the Grenaldi’s chamber at the end of the gambling hall. It wasn’t until I actually saw the Grenaldi, the leader of the Digladio syndicate, that I realized my breadth of knowledge still wasn’t up to par.
Sitting in the lavish wooden chair, upholstered with velvet or silk most likely, sat a small figure with hair as bright and golden as the sun. This skin truly was ivory white, just like the rumors said. And those large eyes of his were like the sea; blue and constantly dancing in the low light of the back chamber.
Even as words were churning in my mind, struggling to find a decent string in which to convey my message while not offending either party, I was struck dumb by the fact that the Grenaldi was somehow only a boy of nine or ten years of age.