Everlasting

It All Comes Crashing Down

 Sylrie crept toward the town bakery, her stomach growling like an enraged tiger when she saw the window display. Her mouth watered and she almost drooled, but managed to stop herself. I will not steal from them, she chastised herself. But the cakes and rolls stayed imprinted in her memory whilst she tiptoed up the steps to the front door and slipped inside, wincing at the tinkling bell attached to the door. She was used to sneaking into places silently, and it killed her to let the bell ring out, announcing her arrival, but she did. She had come to beg, not to steal.

"Hello?" a joyful voice called out from behind the counter. Sylrie dragged her feet past the glass shelves lined with iced delicacies and tried her best to look weary and scared. It helped that she was small, because it made her look more innocent. Her dark, mahogany hair was ratty and bedraggled, hanging just past her shoulder blades, and she wore a black mesh glove on her left hand. She focused on making her chestnut-coloured eyes look tired and fearful, even as her thoughts strayed to her scars. It was so rare for anyone to have scars, because of the rules. If you didn't follow them, then you were punished with flogging, but the rules were always followed. She tried to ignore her thoughts as she, once again, tried to fix her appearance into that of a homeless, helpless little girl. She was only eight, but she was already skilled at begging, stealing, trespassing and, most importantly, being invisible. Not 100%, see through, superhero-like invisible, but ever since she was young she had been able to manipulate shadows. She had been able to move them and bend them to her will, and to blend in with them and become a shadow herself. Everyone who knew about her skill had said one word in reference to it, the one word that she both loved and feared. Mysteria. It was a word she had heard whispered around her entire life. The Mysteria were a group of magical people who had waged war on all non-magical beings. The Dark War, they called it. The Dark War was still continuing in most parts of America, but thankfully it hadn't spread to their little New York countryside town. Yet.

Sylrie shoved those thought aside and shuffled up to the counter. She heard the gasp of the baker's wife as she fell to her knees in front of her.

"Help me, please," she said, making her voice a hoarse whisper. "I need some food. Please, I'll take anything. Anything!"

Another gasp rang through the shop as she fell to the floor, doing her best to look on the verge of death. Then, through slitted eyelids, she saw two pairs of dark boots enter the storefront from the kitchen in the back. She tilted her head imperceptibly and found herself staring up into a pair of seafoam-green eyes, wide with shock. She closed her eyes again, hamming it up a bit. Warm fingers brushed across her forehead, someone feeling for her temperature.

"We need to get some food and water into her," a low voice said.

Probably the baker. She tilted her head again, and saw, to her surprise, that it was the baker's son. He was the one with the green eyes.

"No Leif," said another voice, harsh and insistent. "I know this girl. I saw her on the street a few days ago. She's the Mysteria girl. I do not want her in our bakery, or to be given any food. Is that clear, son?"

"Yes, Mother," mumbled the first person.

"In fact," continued the second voice, as if they had never been interrupted, "I heard that the sheriff was looking for her so that he could give her a public flogging, to remind people that we do not tolerate Mysteria roaming our land."

Sylrie bolted upright, scrambling to her feet and cursed, dashing towards the front door. A public flogging! she thought. All I did was steal one apple! And besides, no one was going to miss it anyway! Before she could get through the door, the baker blocked it with his massive frame. He was a good six feet taller than her, and his muscled chest expanded to fill the entire doorframe.