Storms of the Sky

which makes it worse - V

TW: bl..d, br.ises, b.nes, mention of ab.se, mention of assa.lt, mental health, sickness, m.rd.r, hypothermia, d..th

--Briar--

I don't feel good at any point in time. I always feel stomach sick and head sick, which is my way of saying I feel like shit. I blame my sick on Hadron mostly. I know I shouldn't because me being sick has nothing to do with him, it's my own emotions that make me feel sick. But he mostly gives me the bad emotions that make me feel sick.

Like the last big "bounty" I had. When I handed her in, she was still alive. And she wasn't supposed to be. But I got sick thinking about killing her.

For my job I'm supposed to kill but I don't think I can. Not face to face.

Sometimes I wonder if me saying I'm not a bad person makes me one. Only a person who would say they're not a bad person and then continue to say why they aren't, are bad. And that's what I do. All the time.

I slant my mouth into my cheek. My thoughts don't make sense.

I grab a bag lying by the entrance of a market shop. I grip the end and shake it, spilling the contents carelessly on the road. People stomp over whatever I dropped without noticing. I don't look back to see what it was.

The bag is itchy, like my burlap one. Except this one seems to be weaved from vines instead. This'll hold nicely against rough terrain.

I weave through the crowd like water in a river. Between friends, couples, families I go. They don't mind me anything. To them I'm just another hurried Solar Market goer.

I mean I look like it with my dark circles and ragged hands. Besides that, I think I could look pretty good under the right circumstances. Too bad they never happen.

It's always something that causes a pause. This time, the bruise and dried blood on my cheek. Last time it was a broken finger. Before that a ripped ear. Next time it might be anything. I just hope it's nothing too bad.

Whatever it is, I can take it. Of course, whatever I give I get. I send people to their deaths and get my own in return. That is, death would be mercy compared to what I have to endure. But it's okay. I'll take it.

I turn into the Solar Market entrance. It's a tiny alley with big metal double doors at the end. It leads into the warehouse.

I groan as I look down. My shoes are soaked through from a puddle I stepped in. I move my feet to flash a look at the damage. Instead, I get a good look at my face.

My stringy obsidian hair falls in front of my face from my bunched-up ponytail. My pale skin still looks clammy from getting head sick. My eyes are swollen from my little sleep, not to mention my dark circles. And the bruise forming on my cheek. It's higher than I expected, up by my cheekbone. But it hasn't formed all the way yet, making it hard to make out. The dried blood makes up for it.

I pick at it. It falls off easily.

I hum before I stand back up and head into the Market.

The Solar Market is where I make most of my deals. Look, I'm not an assassin but do people hire me to "take out" people who have done them wrong? Yeah.

Fuck, I think that's the definition of an assassin.

Mostly I just watch the person for a few days before I decide if they're worth it to Hadron. Mostly they're not, but if they have any myth then I must take them out. Or at least that's what Hadron wants. Luckily for me most people are not in a Ring. Otherwise, I'd be fucked.

The Solar Market, despite its warm name, is rather not some place you'd spend the day with your kids.

The only lights are luminescent blinding lapis. They string throughout the entire warehouse, lighting every stand. It makes it kind of hard to see, but I appreciate the blue.

You know, being a Moon and all.

I wish I could say that and be proud. Blue-Eyes, Moons I call us, aren't good people. Or at least that's how the world sees us. Murders. Thieves. They aren't necessarily wrong either. Which makes it worse.

Moons are terrible. Yet I am one.

I think that's why Hadron chose me for this position in the first place. As a Moon, Blue-Eyed, we are bringers of death according to most. I can paralyze people on spot, even kill them without lifting a hand. Hypothermia does macabre things when it moves quickly.

But the blue is a nice touch.

I slip through stands, scanning the crowd. Anyone who looks interesting. Anyone who could have an enemy to kill. Dilemmas, problems, vengeance.

I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously. The crowd is dense today, at least at the front. I weave between people and vendors, easing my way into the back.

A girl is yelling at a vendorman. She slams her hand down on the table, rocking it. The man scowls. I turn around, heading the other way. In these situations, you just want to stay at a distance.

Another person leaves the same vendor. They scan the market before walking away. I watch as they turn through the thinning crowd. I frown as I keep my eyes on them.

They're tallish. I mean, taller than me at least. They have deep hickory hair with small, loose curls. It's cut short on top and buzzed on the sides. Their skin is a warm brown. They have on loose green pants that tie around their waist and a tight white shirt under a baggy jean jacket. They have a pretty figure. A figure I would want. Shaped like a blooming flower.

I start following them, trying to take a better look to gauge if they're the type to have enemies. Right now, it looks more like they're the type to be beloved by everyone they know. They look up at the ceiling in awe. Mouth open, gasping. Smiling.

It must be their first time here. I wonder if they're even from Maylea.

The person spins on their heels, smiling softly at the lights. My head spins as they turn their face towards me.

They have freckles all over their face, exceptionally on their nose. Their eyes are wide and...wait wait.

I start to move through the crowd faster, pushing people with my body. I chuckle to myself. I doubt what I saw.

The person turns again. I drop my bag.

Gold eyes.