The Reaper's Curse #1 - Complete

The Price for the Past

The days seem to pass quickly when Alicia keeps herself busy. The hours no longer drag, and she doesn't watch the crawl of the sun. Instead, she buries herself into work, training the horses, caring for the stables, and collapsing into bed exhausted each night.

It's dull work, and she doesn't get much for it, but while the Commons sit idly with their sick, there isn't much to do besides work and listen to the ticking clock of inevitability. In the meantime, she surrounds herself with animals and mud, content for the moment.

The stables her family had owned as their fortunes swelled were always in immaculate condition, tended to by many capable and willing hands. The Commons are vastly different from the Zalana's grassy hills and polished homestead. She was never needed to help the horses, and often her ma forbade her from dirtying her shoes. A small part of Alicia that has been missing for years is beginning to return, it's how she wakes up each morning, how she looks in the mirror and finally begins to recognise the woman beneath the guise of smiles and bitterness.

She hums an old tune to herself as she fixes a pipe by the stables. The song is warm in her chest, one she would hear from a brothel down the street, one of the girls singing it to any who would walk past. A song of travel and love, of seeing the world but never forgetting where one's heart truly belongs. Alicia used to sit by the open shutters and listen to the lilting tones of the woman's voice echo through the street, the usual rabble of the slums seeming to hold its breath when her songs began.

She doesn't even mind that the small stool she sits on keeps sinking into the mud, or that her boots have filthy water soaking into her thick socks. Alicia is glad to be doing something with her time other than wondering when the Reaper will knock on her door.

He finds her there, at the back of the stables with her shoulders hunched and whispering lyrics barely escaping her lips. Alicia brushes her hair from her face, every part of her slathered with mud. She flicks her gaze to him, watching him from the corner of her eye as he manages to dodge the murky puddles, raising an eyebrow at her, the mud on her blending her in with her dirty surroundings.

"Alicia," Oliver calls as he slowly walks towards her before stopping when she lifts her head higher. "Might I ask why you're out here in the mud?"

She huffs out a breath, getting to her feet to trudge through the damp ground. She shoves the tools back into the sagging belt around her hips. "Fixing these stupid water pipes. They break at least once an hour."

Oliver looks her up and down, fingers slotting a cigarette between his lips. Alicia knows she's a mess, streaked with muck and stains she can't seem to rid herself of. Her hair is untameable, and her features display the evidence of her exhaustion though she won't admit it.

They don't ever see each other in his house. He's so rarely there that sometimes Alicia forgets it's even his home. Some nights she hears his footsteps, pacing, always pacing. But more often than not it's silent, the ghosts that haunt that place her only company. She grew accustomed to the familiar loneliness a long time ago.

"Do you ever wash your face?" he questions, amusement shining in his light eyes.

Alicia purses her lips, fingers itching to brush at her face. "As a matter of fact, I don't," she replies, causing him to smile.

"Great, you fit in perfectly here."

Alicia just shakes her head, hiding her smile as she looks down at her filthy boots. "Did you want something, Oliver?" she asks as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth, a hand in the pocket of his tailored trousers. He studies her in that way of his that has her heart stuttering in its beat. Like he can see her soul, and he's wondering what he can do with it, as though he could simply pluck it from her chest and mould it to his desire. Crush her, make her laugh, shatter her, show her what she's meant to be or lead her towards destruction.