1 Pestilence

I never thought my last day on this earth would be so insignificant. My ego always assumed I would die in action, or on some busy day due to an elaborate scheme, but I had the premonition that now, I could die at any given moment.

Yet, even with that hovering thought, the birds still sang as they always do each morning, and the wind still howled as it was prone each night. And now, the horses transporting me onward were just as fit- entirely lacking in the hesitation that consumed each of my actions. Breathing in and out, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger- even blinking felt as if it was a link to my demise.

<<One... Two... Three, four...>> I counted each raindrop as they hesitantly dripped down the carriage door, and imagined the lulling sound of rain battering the roof were the footsteps of fairies dancing. Fairies believed in a term called 'fate'- the idea that you had a destiny that no matter how hard you fought, was bound to happen. Didn't someone teach me that? They said something that made me smile all those years ago... What was it?

<<"You remind me of a fairy Eleanor..." Ah... How bittersweet it is now.>>

My fists coiled together achingly, bitter. <<Just keep counting... And stop thinking about them.>>

The shaking of the carriage began to harmonize with my stomach as we neared our destination, and with it that familiar deep pit within me toiled ruthlessly. They're gone now. Everything is going to be over soon...

Because this is my fate.

I had made the decision to call my grim end 'fate' instead of 'doom', though it was a childish comfort and an even weaker imitation of remaining in control.

After pinching my cheeks in an attempt to distract myself, I picked at the delicate lace of my gloves, my puffy eyes mesmerized by the floral pattern which wove down like vines entrapping my arms. If I closed my eyes, I almost felt like I was being suffocated by them; their rope-like grip digging into my dry skin, gracing me with the fresh ache of prune-tinted bruises.

Run little mouse, that ruse-voice taunted. We both know that you deserve this-

"Hah..." I shook my head and forced myself to keep counting- to force that part of me to become mute.

The pressure of my clamped jaw wavered slightly as the sounds of the outside world slowly grew louder. Strangers laughing, drunkards arguing, the homeless begging on the side of the road; with each passing second, the sounds were slowly swallowing me whole.

Between the tight gloves and strung corset, and even sitting in this musky damp carriage, I felt the future hanging a noose around my neck. Perhaps for the worse, I found my mind trying to calm myself with beautiful lies- lies more beautiful than childhood stories about fairies or elvish men. Isn't that how you survive unfortunate experiences? If I trick myself, or delude reality so it is easier to swallow, and if I believe it hard enough, everything will be ok. I can pretend it's all part of an elaborate, beautifully saccharine puzzle.

Something in my chest panged harshly, a gasp ripping through my teeth. Rather than confronting the growing pain soiling my lungs, I instead risked a peek out the small window.

The glass-smudged lights casted gold coins across the cobbled roads which sifted through my own reflection, and the film of rain made everything appear soft and hazy. Bricks and slating having the breath of a tired promise of tomorrow, the wet film of the day was opening the city into the hot clutches of the night. The chipped paint of old advertisements, the broken windows of abandoned shops; somehow, I felt like they suited me. My focus shifted from the scene outside to my callow face, my finger tracing my bitten lips.

"There is always good in life..."

Mumbling it to myself, I watched as the words dripped from my greyish lips and painted the world before my eyes: the boozed breaths, the pink gazes. It was a rehearsed phrase, and it felt foreign upon my tongue. And perhaps it was, because it was what they always used to say, though I now couldn't believe in its validity.

Another drained exhale limped through my lips, resigned. Though I was trying to push the thoughts away, I found my eyes watching the water trickle along the side of the road, the darkness of the night making the water appear as inky as blood. Among the broken bottles on the side of the road, perhaps there was that too; passing, violent murders which get swallowed by the sewer drains as soon as they occur. If murder is the tongue of a scene where gambling and street work were the eyes, I decided the portrait of the outside world was quite ugly. This city, these people- it's all so extremely hideous.

A hollowness settled in my throat as an unspoken thought batted at my eyes. Though I didn't dare utter it, my mute reflection stared at me knowingly. There's a reason I'm better suited for places like this. There's a reason this part of the city is my safe haven. The silence of the carriage pulsed between my ears, the very beating of my own heart condescending- the footsteps of the rain fairies, the echoing of the horse's gate, the creaking wheels reminding me of the squeals of mice.

"Ahhh... that's what I am." A dry laugh turned my cheek darkly as I turned away from my reflection. Hair like <theirs>, and empty eyes which looked exactly like <his>; behind them I saw the answer as clear as day despite the worsening storm outside.

"Gods I just want this all to stop..." Even my own voice reminded me of them, and the pain in my chest grew even more consuming. Where the lack of response used to be a relief, in this moment, it felt like a bitter curse. If I close my eyes and believe hard enough-

A weak chuff escaped from my throat as something wet dripped against the back of my clasped hands.

"Ahh... it looks like the carriage roof is leaking..."

Another lie to make myself feel better.

After a few more minutes passed, and the scenery became more familiar, I cleared my throat and rose my voice to the carriage driver, trying to muster as much authority into my words as I could.

"I'll get out here, thank you."

The carriage lurched to a stop and the step bobbed slightly as I took a walk into the buzzing air, my small purse hidden in my inner coat pocket. The coppery smell of rain mixing with the scent of beer and opium smoke was almost a comforting perfume. Step by step, breath by breath-- weaving through passed-out men and scantily clad women as I webbed in and out of the now-familiar alleys. Though in the beginning I had been afraid to walk alone here, especially as a single woman at night; now, it was almost relaxing. Where some find a stroll at a beach or park might ease one's mind, here, it was like walking on clouds.

The broken glass were like fragments of fallen stars, and the bile from the intoxicated sailor was an enchanted potion spilled upon the lay bricks. At any moment, I could fall to a horrible, painful death or stringy assault; yet, it's somehow safer than where I came from. And surprisingly, none of those things had ever happened to me-- though I mused it was because I still gave off the air of the person I pretended I wasn't.

Quite a few times, the random drunk would make a remark at me, but I continued further and further away, taking mind to make quick turns to shake off the people my extended family always tries to send in order to monitor me. The echo of my heels striking against the stone pathways became a sort of drum as heat began to pool at the base of my neck.

How much longer can I live like this?

Pulling my thick wool coat tighter around my black cotton dress, I risked a quick glance behind me before heading to where I really planned on going. Nearing closer to my destination, a weight was lifted from my shoulders as the sounds of a crowd exiting a nearby theater swarmed around me.

Ducking into the crowd, I hugged my inner pocket closer to me as I made my way to the back of the theater, the oil lamp above the back door flickering faintly. Warming my hands quickly, I knocked my knuckles against the chipped wood of the door five times, the wet rain beginning to seep into my clothes. Muffled moving and footsteps sounded as someone drew away the peep slot, revealing two bright brown eyes.

"Back again Eleanor? Why do you always come so late at night?" The cold from outside bit at my skin as I looked around anxiously, the back of my neck tense. <<All this work to come here, and you're making me stand out in the cold?>>

"Let me inside, and I'll muse telling you."

All that answered was a faint chuckle until the metallic creak of the door rang like a song from Heaven's gates. Before it even opened all the way I poured in, the wet anxiety from outside unable to penetrate me as long as I was here. A heavy sigh mewed from my throat as I felt the tense and fear-tight shackles of stress trickle down to my feet.

Even though we were just in the back hall, the lights hurt my eyes slightly compared to the dark night outside. Tacky wallpaper, gaudy crystal lights; for a scam-structured slum theater, it was pretty decked out.

"Well? The last big group just left. You would get more money if you came earlier, ya know."

Looking up, I had almost forgot that he was still here. Charcoal hair, tall, muscular-- Vince was another sort of door that shielded me from the outside world.

"Well..." I smiled, the warmth in my cheeks returning as faintly as a ghost wanders its grave.

<<Grave.>>

The smile melted away for a moment, the aching in my chest dense as it always was. My throat was hollow as I simply pulled out my purse and placed the appropriate amount in his hand. At the silence, we simply walked back to my room, the routine simple and calming. No small talk, no wasting time-- even my actions now were tightly tied to a future I knew I couldn't escape. A future I had no means of escaping. The emptiness in my lungs began to burn, my body a cataclysmic vial of distain. Even my own feelings were constantly haunted by phrases akin to 'what if this is the last thing I ever think?' and 'what if this is the last thing I ever do?'.

Those thoughts quelled slightly at the familiar sight of the wooden door tagged with the number 4. Just touching the doorknob caused my heart to cool and my veins to still. As long as I am here, I am not living in regret. As long as I am here, I am close to being the person that I abandoned all those years ago.

"By the way, here are the tips from last time."

I opened my hand to the 20 luons that he passed to me each time I came, the tip always the exact same. Though I had been saving them in hopes of escaping my 'fate', the lack-bitter taste on my tongue knew it would never be enough.

"How bout... you keep it Vince?" I pressed the money back into his hands, an eerie calmness melting over my skin. I won't need it anyways.

"Are you sure?"

A soft nod jogged my chin.

"Of course, consider it extra payment for protecting my door tonight," I laughed, though it sounded more like a wounded exhale. He shot me a concerned look one last time before kindly accepting it and assuring me he would do just that then.

The soft click of the door closing behind me was all it was took for me to crumble to the ground, my pounding head resting against my knees. With the storm outside muted, the silence did little against the pessimistic thoughts which scurried throughout my mind.

Count Boran, my arranged fiancé. The Estettes-- my extended family. After the passing of my immediate family, none of them bother to mask their true intentions. The only blessing I had once hoped to rely on was whatever was left to me from my father's will, but just thinking about the past ripped at my throat. My eyes stung slightly as I struggled to breathe- <<"It's all your fault-">>

No. My old family; it's better if I don't think of them. And though I tried to smoosh down the small voice in me which held hope; the one which begged me to find a way out of this situation, this terrible 'fate', I knew it was like wishing for lighting to strike me where I stood. Even still, I found a little voice in the back of my head mumbling adolescent beliefs like 'there is always a way' and 'to never give up'-- but loudest of all, it said 'I... can still find a way out of this... Right?'.

I roughly rubbed my face and got up, scanning the dim, closet-like room knowing today would be my last time here. In the low ceiling was a pit box, the open square was the only source of light. Something in me calmed knowing that perhaps up in the seats in front of the small stage, there may be one or two people waiting to listen to me. A weak chuckle gathered in my throat about what a scam this all was: a performer pays to occupy a pit under a small slot-stage, a listener pays for a ticket, and then the performer receives the tips from the listener as payment. Yet, still knowing that, it never stopped me from coming out as often as I could. And it didn't stop me also paying Vince to stand outside my door just in case.

I just need one place to feel safe. I just need some beautiful distractions.