I slipped into the darkness, and the shadows enveloped me like a shroud. The moon hid behind a veil of clouds, and stars glimmered like tiny points in the dark sky. Despite the warmth of my cloak, I shivered.
I trembled with fear, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. The cold seeped through the two cloaks that wrapped me head to toe, leaving me shuddering. I prayed, though I didn't know to whom.
Please, don't let me die tonight.
I'd waited until the house was quiet, everyone asleep, before sneaking out, careful not to creak the wooden floorboards. The risk of being caught was too great, especially with what I was about to do - something that would bring shame if known.
I focused on the potential outcome, trying to be positive, Father's recovery, and my family's welfare. The thought of securing their well-being filled me with pride, but I couldn't shake off the unease about the methods I considered.
It was disgraceful.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The familiar streets of Mud Hollow, which I'd walked a thousand times before and knew like the back of my hand, now seemed eerie.
With each step, I felt like I was announcing my presence to the world. I strained to hear any movement, but the only sounds were the wind whispering through the trees and the creaking of branches that strangely resembled skeletal fingers reaching out.
I had to reach Celestria, but an unsettling feeling was gripping me. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind me, and I spun around, my senses on high alert. But there was nothing, just the oppressive feeling of being watched.
Deserted alleyways and empty streets stretched out like a barren wasteland, and I quickened my pace in fear.
I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood a brief distraction as I wondered what Nyssa, my favourite book heroine, would do in my place. But Nyssa was braver and wiser; she wouldn't be out alone in the dead of night, vulnerable and scared.
I thought of Matilda, even if she seemed to live in her head almost all the time, I knew she'd stand by me, even if it meant doing something that went against everything she believed in, all for the sake of our family.
My hand instinctively went to the knife at my waist. The butcher's knife I used to stab fish for dinner. I had no experience with weapons, but I hoped my survival instincts would be enough.
I turned into the alleyway, and the silence enveloped me once more. I tightened my grip on the knife, its presence a fragile comfort.
My mind began to conjure all the ways I could meet my end in this place. I could slip into the mud and accidentally stab myself with my knife. I could encounter a drunken brute who'd try to assault me, and then kill me in a fit of rage. Wild animals, starving dogs, or even cannibals could emerge from the darkness. Benjamin's gruesome stories echoed in my mind, fueling my fear.
My thoughts were a jumbled mess of worst-case scenarios, but then—
The silence was shattered.
I pivoted.
My thoughts were shattered, like the fragile glass vials Nyssa used to store her precious potions.
Curiosity got the better of me, and my feet carried me toward the sound of groans. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, I could almost taste it.
I heard loud groans. Groans earned from pain. Not pain, more like torture. Torment. I shouldn't have been walking in the direction of the sound. I should have been walking to Celestria, where I could get money for my family through a perverted merchant.
Curiosity can be a curse. Nyssa's words caressed my thoughts, but I pushed them off the cliff, into the abyss of forgotten memories.
I stiffened when I felt something against my feet. Maybe I should have brought a lantern. Maybe I should have brought a candle, but all my dim-witted brain could think of was a match. A matchbox.
Damn you, Mabel.
I lit a match, and the flame cast shadows on the walls. A silent gasp escaped my throat as I stumbled over something, nearly losing my footing.
A body.
A dead body with internal bleeding, lying on its back. He wasn't dead, not fully, but he would be. When he coughed, deep red splattered upward from his lips. He was a large man… he almost looked like the merchant who never stopped touching me.
"H-help m-me", he choked on his blood. I panicked and moved back, my heart racing like a wild animal. This was not the first time I had seen a dying man. But I should have been running. I should have been running away, so my prayers got answered, but instead, my feet moved forward.
My match faded into ashes, and I dared to light another. Then I saw another body. And then there was another. Red smeared down the wall where he slid down to the ground. Legs are too weak to support him.
I swallowed the huge lump in my throat. I was terrified, no, horrified, and yet I moved forward. I continued to tail the bodies, my senses on high alert, then I heard the cry of pain.
Finally, I saw him.
He drove the dagger straight into the man's chest, then with a brutal swipe, he slashed his throat. Deep, so deep that the head hung precariously by a mere thread. Blood splattered everywhere, and I gagged, my hands rushing to cover my mouth in horror.
He didn't notice me as he dropped his bloody blade on the floor, attempting to walk but failing miserably. Only then did I see the dagger piercing clean through his thigh. He moaned with each failed movement, wincing sharply as his injured back hit the wall when he finally collapsed.
My mind warred with itself. 'Run,' one voice screamed, while another urged me forward. With shaking hands, I struck another match and took a step towards him. He laughed softly to himself, unaware of my approach, as if mocking his pain.
As I drew closer, my eyes widened in recognition. It was him—the man from the market, with those piercing red eyes, the one from Velcan. My mind raced as I tried to piece things together - why was he here? Why had he brutally murdered these people?
My thoughts flashed back to the market - how we both ended up on the ground, he was clearly fleeing from something or someone. It made sense now - they were likely trying to kill him, given that he was from Velcan. But why was he here, in Mud Hollow's streets at this hour?
It was stupid to be roaming these streets alone and— I could almost hear my own thoughts mocking me - 'Pot calling the kettle black much?'
I was sneaking around like a thief in the night myself.
I knelt beside him, bringing my ear close to his heart. His heart beat steadily, but slowly, against my ear. The relief I felt was unexpected. He was alive, though barely conscious, likely having passed out from the sheer agony. My eyes traced the path of blood staining his clothes, leading me back to the dagger embedded deep in his thigh.
If I could just remove the dagger and apply pressure to the wound with a cloth, it might ease the pain until I get him home and try to treat him.
Very terrible idea, but I couldn't leave a dying man here, well, actually, I couldn't leave a dying man with colored eyes. If I could help him, he might reward me. He was from Velcan after all.
Before I could even fully grasp the handle, his ragged breath caught sharply. A deep, masculine groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through my very core. His hand instantly shot up, capturing my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip despite his obvious pain.
"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help," I muttered, my grip on the dagger unwavering. His brows tightened as if he was trying to process my voice.
Those red eyes remained tightly shut, sweat beading his hands and forehead. "Don't," His voice was a soft, raspy murmur, but I pushed past his protest.
"This is going to hurt," I warned, before gripping the dagger firmly and yanking it out in one swift motion. A pained groan escaped his lips as blood seeped from the wound.
I swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of nausea, and reached for the cloak beside him. Ripping a piece of cloth from the soft silk, I ignored its hints of wealth and pressed it firmly against the wound, applying pressure exactly where needed. Nyssa's words echoed in my mind – to stem bleeding swiftly without causing further damage.
His body convulsed, a guttural cry escaping his lips before he bit down hard on his tongue to muffle any further sounds. His blood flowed freely, staining the cloth I pressed against the wound crimson red.
"I don't have a bandage, so this will have to do for now," I said, a bead of sweat trickling down my forehead. The extra layers of my cloak suddenly felt suffocating. He managed a nod, and I continued, "I don't know what I'm doing, but I'll try to help." His eyes flickered open, a sliver of that striking colour gleaming at me before he nodded again.
"I've seen you", I heard him say, but I ignored it. Of course, he'd seen me, I'd seen him too—at the market.
"Can you stand?" I asked, ripping another piece of cloth from his cloak and wrapping it around his thigh.
"I think I can manage," he gritted out, wincing as I tightened the makeshift bandage.
If I could just get him to my house, I might be able to help him more – the medicinal weed growing behind our home had always worked wonders for my siblings' scrapes and cuts.
As I moved to his left side to help him, he let out another pained moan, and I felt something wet and sticky against my palms. "You're stabbed here too?" I inquired, my concern rising as I realised the extent of his injuries.
He grimaced before letting out a faint "yeah," and I heaved a deep sigh before moving to his right side. With considerable effort, grunting under his weight, we finally managed to get him to his feet, his arm slung heavily over my shoulder.
My mind flickered back to the merchant, probably waiting for me, but I pushed the thought away, refusing to turn back now. I'd come too far. I've helped him already, I couldn't abandon him now.
Besides, I'd just saved a man from The Golden City from certain death – maybe this would change my life. Perhaps he'd reward me for my kindness.