Remnant Tails

Winter's Callous Promises

Promises.

I looked down at my best attire, now worn old garments, imminent to fall apart any day now. The threads of the former budding flowers that once made up the lovely dress hung loosely to the weak material.

They reminded me of exhaustion. They reminded me of... well, me.

They reminded me of promises.

Promises. They make up the world, don't they? Like threads in old clothes?

"Ss," I breathed in.

I looked both ways checking for the Head before I stopped twining the wires and pulled my sore hands to me. They were red and felt strained. At least they didn't scratch and callous painfully as they used to.

Didn't that mean I was used to the work? That they were now strong hands? Strong as the metal wires I wrapped together to make the cable cords that powered Oeffing.

Ahum. Maybe not, but they're still good hands. Good for keeping promises.

"Take care of your brother, even when it's hard. Promise me, Emare!"

I balled my fists tight as might let me, trying to push away my mother's ill-burdened face. Even six months past, her sickly heat and heaving chest weighed down my soul and troubled my mind.

Her weighty words and promises, and by heaven I swore to keep to them if it'd ease her tortured soul. Her words...

"You are all he has. And... If a creature so loathsome shall appear before either of you in the form of man. Eyes of crystal and a mass of no weight... Then spurn them and refuse them any grant or disdain, for they are soul eaters and will wind your greatest passions against you, for they are demons. Promise me, Emare. That no matter how hard it becomes, that you will persevere for your brother's sak—"

"Hey! Fourteen! Get back to work!" The Head yelled, almost causing me to topple over.

"Y-yes!" I called back, grabbing abandoned wires and twining them once more.

A hot blast of steam sneezed in my face as a new bundle of twined wires was melded together. I frowned at it and continued with my own cord.

It was disconcerting that new fellow could finish five bundles in all but nine hours when most of us who had worked here for the better part of three months could barely get two finished.

The new fellow walked by and my eyes darted back to my work.

His hands are big.

Big hands made this job harder. Much harder. That's why the Head hired me. I had small hands.

"Why do you hire all these whelps? Slow as yolks they all are. Why, that one barely finishes the day's load," the new fellow gestured to me.

I bit my lip.

"Yeah?" the Head might've agreed. "But that one is the only one who understands the job. The quality of work I get from that one, why, I can sell her cords to those fussy aristocrats uptown. These youngsters are good laborers and would no sooner take to starving on the streets if I didn't employ them.

"Orphans they all are. Shirkers can't keep up with them since the plague wiped out all the adults in the Outer. Small, nimble hands are good for this job and keep them out of the cold. Those Shirkers ain't doing nothing, and the town is still too young for a children's home. All these youngsters have are humble folk like me willing to sacrifice."