Possessed - Harry Styles

Chapter One / Order Day

Blake

My father would kill me if he could see me now.

I jog quickly through the streets, dodging barter after barter, penniless merchant after the other. I take the sweaty kitchen knife in my palm and tuck it up my sleeve, out of view but kindly within reach. My heartbeat races and declines at every turn I make. I'm glad I decided to wear my loose running pants today instead of a dress. It makes it easier to run, easier to flex. If there isn't a criminal or beggar waiting now to jump me, rob me, kill me, it will be the next corner.

Or the next.

The streets of Malene, our small village at the peninsula of the kingdom, are clean today, save for a measly dusting of litter and the fowl stench of urine. I will not take it for granted. Today is Order Day. The only day of the month where the street workers take time out of their busy schedules of breaking up street fights and chasing armed criminals to sweep the alleys clean, freeing them of blood, trash, and rotting feces, even if it is just for a few days. Of course, our village is only one of hundreds in our kingdom of Krest. It is hard to keep them all spotless.

Today I breath deeply in through my nose, sure to savor the clean air. I exhale slowly.

Tomorrow it will be gone.

I approach a party of villagers. They all wear normal Malenian attire: petticoats and sweeping dresses, tailcoats and slacks. Beneath a roof constructed of clay, they've circled around a thin, haggard child, who plays soft music on his beat up violin. A violin case sits open at his feet. He's most likely being forced by his parents to play music for his next meal. A few silver coins already sit in the case, but not enough for an entire family's dinner. I search my pockets for something, anything I can possibly give him that will be of some benefit. I find nothing.

There is a guard of the Command to the right of me. He follows the wall and eyes the villagers, nose raised high and his dark, vicious eyes are alert. He's watitinf for someone to make a wrong move. Someone like me. He is a shadow. He can sense fear and hate. One misstep, one suspicion, and I'll be taken to the Command Post and charged with Immorality. Yes. Just the man I have been looking for.

Immorality is our definition of crime. Littering, street fighting, killing-all of these things become one. There is no difference between being a thief or murderer, both are treated equally, both are dealt with equally.

Crime is crime, no matter the severity.

I glide over to where the guard is standing. There is a sword strapped across his back. A few sharp objects bulge from a pack attached to his hip. Silver coins. Before my father was killed by the Command, he was both a blacksmith and, more prominently, an elite thief. He had taught me how to steal and cheat my way through most every day situations. He had taught me how to fake myself. Be who they want you to be, he used to say to me, but if they defy you, be who you really are. They'll never see it coming.

I have an idea. An idea that will help me in two very different ways.

I will steal the pack of silver coins as well as the sword off the guard's back. First, I will give the silver coins to the starving child for his family. He will have a feast tonight. Lastly, I will steal the sword. Or, at least, attempt to steal the sword. I know I will get caught. I know I will be taken in for questioning and charged for my crime: Immorality. But I will be released. My brother, Mikhael, is general of the Command. I have not seen him in six long years.

Today, I will.

Our mother is dying. She has been bedridden for months; she cannot walk, she needs me to feed her, and she can hardly talk. Every morning I find her writhing in pain, her mouth stained with blood. Every morning I fear that I will find her not breathing. If she dies, I will be left alone. If I die, I will have no one but Mikhael. This is why I want to inform Mikhael of this news, if he even cares enough to listen.