I rode the carriage that night; long pathways lined with flowers and decorated with statues differentiated our living quarters from the servants and public halls.
My quarters were quite, quite far from the main gate; my leave-taking hardly meriting any notice at all.
The driver quietly nudged the horses without fanfare. And my face slackened as I slumped against the cushion inside. It still stung, mother's slap; her eyes bitter and cold as she realized father wasn't coming. That he'd never come at all. It was merely a fight with a concubine.
I rubbed my eyes. Truly, I had nowhere to be. But the ire of my mother took practice and effort to avoid.
I didn't want her to see me demoralized.
But I didn't know it then. How could I know? The desperation. The greed and despair.
The willingness to do anything. Give up anything…even people…even pride…
***
I had the driver stop at the night market. As Heir to the Kysan House, I had money to spare. In fact, money was the only thing father willingly shared.
Simply because his reputation was on the line.
I dallied amongst the jewelry stands and snack stalls; the wafting smells of cooked meat and warm, steaming bread pleasantly filling the air. I aimlessly wandered amongst people I knew nothing about at all.
"Kind sir, won't you take this lovely flower for your mother? I just know she'll love it!"
I ignored the pestering woman off to the right.
"Come, please have a taste! Fermented for over two hundred years, this divine wine…"
Passed the sweaty, bearded man cradling his wine.
"Sir, sir! This white fox's fur sells for over 2 silver on Perry Street. I'll sell it to you for 1.5! See the faint strip of red there? It's the sign of a divine beast, good sir! You can't miss it—!"
I hardly listened; my arms and feet pressed against other arms and feet; my shoulders grazing peasant blouses and stained white shirts as I walked.
Shopkeepers showcased their wares. Acrobats and entertainers enticed with flaming swords and tightrope walking; the fire spitting and martial prowess leaving many in awe.
And there, pickpockets abounded; snatching coins and purses and produce—
Of course, I didn't see much of that then. I rarely noticed anything at all.
The people off to my side broke away. And I walked on—
"Dillon!"
I flinched; my arm pulled by someone my size.
"O—oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were my friend from behind." The boy with dirt upon his smiling cheeks hastily let me go but the people behind us bumped into my shoulder as they passed.
I tried to walk but he wrapped his arm around mine and dragged me out from the crowd.
I pulled back. He refused to let go. "Just what is it you want?!" I grabbed my pouch; my fingers tightening around it uncertainly. I knew of the dangers. It just never effected me before.
"Well…uh…well, don't you want to see it?" He was staring at me; finding me from beneath his lashes and observing me.
Do I resemble his friend so much? "Let me go." I tried to shove his hand away, but someone grazed me from behind—
And he ran. With me in tow.
Why—didn't I let go? In the vast crowd, I could've easily slipped away and left him behind.
Was it the sticky sweat greasing his palm? The heated air?
Or the time? Place? The fact that mother hit me…
Why did I abandon my intuition screaming at me?
He took me with him. And there, I found myself face to face with a dread I couldn't define. Because my brother, he was there. In the crowd.
My feet backed into another. Damnit! I apologized. Damnit all! But the fear that Edward would see me pasted me to that boy's side.
Damn him! Damn them! Damnit all!
I covered my face, shoving that boy before me; hiding behind him so that no one could see me.
But Edward didn't notice; the play ongoing as the crowd jeered. I couldn't even turn; the congestion behind me too thick to run.
Escaping was beyond me. And thus, that boy quickly became a prop—
A murmur that soon became a roar. "The Guard. It's the Guard!"
A forced rush. I found myself falling but the boy quickly drew me up—
"This way!" We were running. He was screaming—
I told him! I knew! But my legs were burning. My hands were sweating. And my ears were ringing. Was I panicking—?
The sounds of a thousand feet trampling—
I couldn't see them. The Guards. Yet the crowd was scattering in dozens of directions and the air was filled with noise—
Dizzying. Confusing. Perplexing—
The noise, it was deafening—!
But my stomach! I hadn't seen it. The fist. My body collapsed. There, I found myself falling; the shadows of an alleyway dragging me down to the ground.
My eyes that were barely open. My hands that were clutching my own flesh—
The air that was constricting. My stomach that was heaving—
The boy, scratching and clawing the shadowy figures surrounding me—
And a hand that dragged me by the hair and punched me.
***
In that place, festering infections dripped with pus and unidentifiable things. And excrement dried upon our thighs. It was dreadful. Disgusting. Demoralizing—
Dehumanizing!
And all I could do was cry; the gasping sniffles muffled by my teeth as I bit my arm.
One was taken; the screams both distant and terrifying. Just what was happening? Where were they taking him? Where was he going? Would he come back at all?
It was disturbing. I—
Was horrified. But another and another was shoved inside.
When I first awoke, I felt the world was unfair.
Melvin had died. My parents didn't care. And my place was being stolen by a lowly boy who shared hardly any of my blood at all.
But I soon found the sickening taste of my own soul there; the corruption quicker and easier than I thought…
I stared into faces I couldn't recognize. And watched them die.