Better as Bones

like this - V

Nyx

She had been playing in my head like a scratched record. The swell of the orchestra filled me every time it looped back. My vision had become more common as I aged. Two years I had become known enough for begging visitors. Each time I indulged their pleas, lying for their tears and desperate hands.

I had sought out other means of pleasure. Their begs became simple, ordinary. I found the muddle of my mind in the harsh warmth of drinks. They settled in my belly mimicking the warmth of hands.

Soon the barkeeper had noticed my visits. As he should, me being a Gold-Eyed. My hair had grown out, brushing my throat as I slipped on tighter clothes. Others should have the chance to glimpse at such a sight.

The barkeep neared me one night, the fire of sunset bleeding onto my hands. I lifted a glass, sipping at the warmth. I remember him faintly. A young man, with tied back brown hair and thick lips. His face was always hardened on me. His eyes were matches of his hair. His hands waved absently as he made customers drinks, light bending with the twist of his fingers.

He planted his hands in front of me in this encounter. I twisted in my seat, my eyes flicking to his. He stayed, his expression bored as he tapped the wooden counter. I frowned.

His hands were deft, as I remember them. The one thing pierced through. His fingers as slender as my own, but his flesh anything but smooth. Cracks littered his palms from dry mornings and long days of work. Oh, how I long to see like this once more.

"You had to pay your tab soon," He muttered, voice thick as fog. I pressed my lips, setting down my glass. My body had been bored. My mind had resorted to drinks. I felt the stretch of yearning as my eyes flicked to his hands. Not one body had laid their hands to ease the warmth inside me. I had to do it myself.

My eyes flicked back up.

"I don't have money," I said sweetly. He squinted at me, scoffing. I straightened my shoulders, leaning in. I batted my eyes, feigning innocence.

"I know you, Seer," He said, taking a step back. I lowered my head down, eyes big as I watched him. He scrunched his nose. "Your games won't work on me."

"How can I pay you back?" I asked, raising my voice slightly. I found mimicking women made it easier to get men's tears. I leaned forward, twisting my waist as I set my elbows on my counter. The barkeep sighed, his hands finding his brow. My jaw twisted, fighting down the annoyance. He should be melting right now.

"Get money," He said. I blinked again, my fingers tucking my hair behind my ear.

"I told you," I murmured. "I have none." The barkeep tapped his hand on the wood. Empty and hollow. He raised his eyebrows, turning back to the other patrons. I gritted my teeth beneath a smile.

"Work for me then." I swallowed a gasp. The barkeep grinned, leaning back to me, his face brushing mine. "Oh, didn't like that, Goldy?"

"I do not work for others," I hissed, pushing myself back from my chair. The barkeep grinned, raising his eyebrows. He thumbed to the side, across the bar's bay-oak tables as flickering candlelight. A door stood snug between two tables.

"Great, work for yourself. I don't care. Get me my money or I'm cutting off your tab." He turned, hands already finding a new glass to fill. My face bristled with burning heat. How dare he speak to me as such. This was why I never went after men. They were too steady when they weren't despersate. I could easily make women and others crumble but men? They always took more effort. Sometimes it was entertaining prying them open, but often it was just pitiful effort.

"I'll sell you my visions," I told him. He turned, eyes bored. A growl lodged itself in my throat. What idiocy. He should be grateful! He should be crying for thankfulness!