Violet Shadows

9

Christine felt as though she was walking near the edge of reason, and that any moment she may fall off of it and hurl herself into peril. She knew the risks in approaching Nicol and trembled at the idea of speeding up the process of death. Whether his hatred for her was intended because it was written to be, or that she was against Clara, the possibility was always there. Always. But she needed to escape this kingdom. She needed the money to run away. And as far as she knew, male leads were a gold mine in that department.

This hadn't always been the plan. There were hundreds of other things she'd tried and failed. Each failure broke a piece of her, a shard of hope that she may return. She dreamed of it constantly, abandoning this world behind, back to the ramshackle streets full of roaring cars, the busy crowds than pressed against screens, the vulgar songs and crass swearing she'd hear on the radio. Her eyes had sunken within each day, the vile realization creeping in on the edge of her mind. That this was it.

That she would never return home.

Christine did not linger by the outer rims of the streets. She lived in House Ducal, and for all its wickedness, it was far safer than this domain.  The tavern was where it always was, the wood looking worn in the light of day. No matter how old it looked, money was a language spoken between worlds, and she knew better than to judge a piece of charcoal before it honed into a diamond.

She rapped on the tavern's back entrance thrice, then once. Nicol had requested for her to enter this way, declaring that her red hair drew too much attention and it'd be a bother to gather so many eyes when they'd be fighting half of them later on. Christine planned on telling him a mouthful about his mask that made him look like a serial killer. But the retort never left her mouth. Because they were to be business partners, not friends.

The tavern door cracked open with a large grunt, and she barely squeezed past the opening. She found the burly man from last week the one behind opening the door, and she murmured her thanks. He gestured to Nicol's office with his head. At this time, the tavern had become a stomping ground for clients. She could hear their fleeting trampling a floor above, and she prayed the noise wouldn't follow her as she reached Nicol's office.

And nearly froze midway in the door when there were others inside.

"You're awfully late," Nicol said, inspecting a pocket watch engrained in glittering blue stone. She was bothered by the sight of his mask, still donning it after she knew of his identity. He must have enjoyed the theatrics of playing another character. But she did not.

Christine craned her neck at the grandfather clock chiming silently. "A minute bothers you?"

"A minute when I could be making money."

Prick.

She shut the door behind her, glad to find that the tavern's rugged stomping from above was not audible down here. Though she hadn't resigned herself to the silence that loomed. The three companions gone quiet over her arrival.

She summoned her best smile and turned to meet her strangers. Nicol would not invite just anyone. This was not the world she knew, and it ran in ways she'd never dream. Christine acknowledged her nerves, that she may very well show that she wasn't from this world, but refused to show them. The three companions watched her, but not out of malice, curiosity. Strange, Christine thought, they seemed too young to be investors. Then why were they here?

"Take a seat, Lady Ducal," Nicol said, referring to one of the empty chairs left for her. "I've gathered some more help to aid us in our territorial war. Let me introduce you to my friends."

Christine nearly laughed. He had friends? The only friends the character Nicol had were—

Horror and realization came at the same time.