"This all you got?" I met Circe's gaze with a tinge of annoyance, my fingers tapping impatiently against my thigh.
"This is Sire. You're not gonna find anything more valuable than this in this hellhole," I retort, frustration lacing my voice. We've had this conversation every day; one would think Circe had learned by now.
Circe glances at me, then back down at my meager findings for the day: a pocket watch, a copy of Borea's Victory, and some fancy dice swiped from children at the field. It's a disappointing haul, but I know it's the best I can manage in Sire.
"Fine. I'll give you 3 copper pieces. Go get yourself a pastry or something," Circe sighs, gathering up the trinkets. I felt a pang of disappointment; I had grown fond of that pocket watch.
"Actually, Circe, I'm fairly sure that pocket watch is worth more," I suggested. I suppose I might as well try to bargain. Circe looks back at me, raising an eyebrow, then sighs once again.
"You jest, Asha. Like the criminals here would have anything of value," Circe laughs, shaking her head incredulously. She plays with her bracelet, a beautiful beaded creation that I'm surprised they let her keep.
"It's strange how you say 'the criminals here' as if you aren't one of them." I look back at her while pocketing my day's profits. Circe flinches and looks up at me, as if to say something, then hesitates.
"Dear Pondus, you do one drug deal and you never hear the end of it," Circe rolls her eyes. "And correct me if I'm wrong, which I am not. You're not much better yourself. Weren't you born here? According to the law, you don't even have to be here. Yet you insist on doing these things."
"As much as I hate it, it's still my home. That's always what Grandfather told me."
Circe chuckles, and I walk out of the shop's doors, a pastry's worth of money in my pocket. The cold winter wind slams the door shut behind me, causing a loud bang to follow.
She's not lying, I think to myself. Just because my Grandfather was a criminal and I was born here doesn't mean I have to stay. All I have to do is redeem myself to the officials. Keep my head down, and I could get out. Yet I could never bring myself to. I had watched the children around me come into my life and leave my life, and yet I'd always been here.
The warmth of the day enveloped Sire. Granted, warmth for me is still desolate cold for others. Some would tell stories of fields so green, and small colorful grasslike objects they called flowers in the world outside. Honestly, I don't believe it one bit, but still hearing all these stories was unusually pleasant, considering the town's purpose of exiling criminals. Despite its reputation, Sire had a certain homeliness to it, a fact not lost on me as I strolled through its streets. Windows, either boarded up or shattered, cast elongated shadows across the weather-beaten facades of buildings, while the pungent aroma of cow manure mingles with the salty tang of the sea air, permeating every corner of Sire. The soft powder of the snow gives it a cloud-like ambiance to it. Some people in the mess talk about this place after one passes, they call "Rai". They describe it just like this, a beautiful, bright place, with soft, white, clouds gracing you with their embrace. Honestly, I can't help but think that they're just describing Sire. At least the snow takes away from the crippled building and grim faces.
Passerbys wander aimlessly, hoping to find some way to cure their boredom till the end of their sentences. I pass by the grounds, the grounds still the same as when my grandfather would take me to watch the stars. The children I had stolen the dice from were still on the field, now engaged in mock combat with sticks. Surely enough, those children would be freed someday. They could see the world.
"Ashanti, why are you still here?" A raspy voice pierces through the air, jolting me from my thoughts. I turn to find Viscountess Ezra, a hunched figure, perched like a raven on the sidewalk.
"Hello, Ms. Ezra," I greet with forced politeness, though the discomfort simmers beneath my calm facade.
"VISCOUNTESS! HOW MANY TIMES MUST I REMIND YOU? IT'S VISCOUNTESS EZRA GODDAMN IT!" The old woman's voice cracks with indignation before bursting into tears, her words echoing off the surrounding walls and drawing curious glances from passersby.
I suppress a sigh, the familiar dance of our exchange wearing thin. Quickly, I maneuver through the crowd, using the distraction caused by Viscountess Ezra's outburst to slip away unnoticed.
My steps falter as I navigate the crowded streets, my gaze drifting over the faces of those who pass by. I feel the weight of their presence pressing down on me, a suffocating reminder of why no matter how much I look for the silver lining, it won't matter. They are here for a reason. They are not to be trusted.
Viscountess Ezra, a shadow of her former self, sits perched on the sidewalk every day, her weathered face twisted in a permanent scowl. I can't forget the rumors that whisper through the town, tales of a woman who had snuffed out her own son's life because he dared to defy her wishes.
And then there's Circe, with her easy smile and quick wit, masking the darkness that lurks beneath. I've heard the consequences of her dealings, the children admitted in mental institutions to overcome their snow sprite addiction. I do hope she has changed for the better, she is a dear friend to me, and does make this dreaded place slightly more pleasant, especially with her banter.
Grandfather used to say every smile conceals a dagger and every kindness carries a price. How nice of him to leave such positive parting words to me. I can feel the bile rising in my throat, the bitterness of my disdain threatening to consume me whole. Breathing heavily, I reflect on Circe's words. Maybe I should consider embracing a more virtuous lifestyle. My grandfather is dead. I know he insisted on me staying here, but he isn't here anymore. Perhaps it isn't too late for me.
"That's her! She took my pocket watch!" A scream echoes through the street.
The commotion disrupts my thoughts. An old man is pointing in my direction. I'm surprised someone had that much of an attachment to something that they were willing to ask officials about it. Unfortunately, I did not want to stay around and see why. Without hesitation, I bolt, navigating the alleyways and narrow pathways with practiced agility. This isn't my first time getting caught, but it is always quite a pain to deal with, especially during the winter, when the streets are frozen over.
My knowledge of the town gives me an upper hand. With each step, I carve a path through the chaos, my movements fluid and purposeful, guided by an instinct honed through years of survival. It's a dance I have performed many times, my limbs moving with a speed and dexterity that seems to transcend the laws of nature. I scale walls with the agility of a spider, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with a confidence born of years spent mastering the art of evasion, the snow stinging my face in an uncomfortable yet satisfying way.I come to a pause, taking a moment to catch my breath, listening intently for any signs of pursuit, my ears straining against the silence for the faintest whisper of footsteps or the rustle of fabric against the snow. They're gone. Even though I have done this so many times, I can't suppress the smirk on my face from the thrill.
After climbing down, I am more than prepared to retire for the day. As I go farther and farther away from the town, the bustle of the crowd turns into a dull roar behind me, the whisper of the breeze now flooding my ears instead. My makeshift home comes into view. Held together by sap I stole from Circe, it's a sad sight. My old clothes are sewn together and draped over a stone wall that seems to be a remnant of a building, now eroded by the tumultuous weather of Sire. The sun is beginning to set, casting a pink hue over the white that litters the ground. Although desolate, there's a strange beauty to it, one I have learned to appreciate.
Upon nearing my home, I notice that my roof has come undone. Strange. The winds aren't strong today, not strong enough to undo my knot. Ducking under my fallen roof, I step in, a strange coldness enveloping me. My breath slowly becomes visible in front of me, creating a fog of white every time I exhale. What is this? Going to take a step, my legs feel heavier. Harder to move. Looking down, I notice a frosty sheen on my legs. A user? Here? But there are no artifacts allowed here. And none strong enough to do anything so stealthily.
"My, they weren't lying. It's truly you."