The Beast

Chapter Nineteen

All in all the performance was a success.

Hemorra and Rae once again had a sack full of gold, and no one had been the wiser to their workings.

Since it had been so early, they parted ways fairly quickly, Raela going to find what other pockets she thought needed picking, Hemorra going to her garden. Even if it was being used as a cover, the garden still needed tending to, and no one else would do it but herself.

She wove through the streets with ease, knowing them as well as she knew herself, until the buildings became smaller, older, closer to the edge of the city by the bay. She stopped at one of them, a quaint home that looked as though it could hardly stand any longer, and the slightest breeze would cause it to topple. It was old and crumbling, but it was hers, and she loved it.

She had stumbled upon the abandoned house some years ago, when she tried running away. It was the day of her initiation, when her father decided it was time to put her skills to the test. Her sister had gone through the same before her, when she had been the same age. Hemorra remembered how nervous she was before, but she had still been confident that she could do it. She was so very wrong.

Her target was one her father picked--a young man so obviously new to the city, his hands full with his two bags of belongings. He didn't seem particularly wealthy, nor was he destitutelike herself. Her father could not have picked an easier victim, and she initially had no qualms stealing from him. It wasn't until her hands were right at the edge of his pocket that two more approached him--a young woman and the infant she held in her arms. Hemorra could no longer find it in herself to steal from the man; she choked at the last second, and as a result, she was spotted.

She just ran, and she didn't stop. She hadn't just been afraid of her target that yelled after her; she was afraid of disappointing her father. She couldn't have possibly faced him with her failure. And when her tiny legs could run no more, she found herself at the building where she wept the night away, wallowing in self pity.

Hemorra was ashamed of her past behavior, now. She had been such a child, but she realized that in many ways, she still was. She still hated that her family had to steal just to survive, and she still wished desperately that one day they wouldn't. The only difference now was that she didn't simply curse her lot in life. Now, she had hope--a plan. It may not have been the best of plans, but it was better than simply feeling sorry for herself. Besides, she knew her family wasn't the only one that took from those more fortunate than themselves. They were only one of many. If Hemorra had her way, none of them would have to steal again.

Hemorra entered the building, avoiding spots she knew to be too rotted to step on. She took in the sights of the dilapidated home, ignoring the stronger, unpleasant smells and unsettling sounds. She knew it had been a home. There was something about it that made it feel like it had been a place full of love and happy memories--a place for a family. Or maybe that was just her wild imagination again. But there had to be a reason she found comfort in it, because practically speaking, the house was not comforting at all. She had come to it countless times since that first night. Whenever she felt low, like she just needed to escape, she would come here and imagine the family that might have lived there before. And then, when she wasted her meager number of pieces for a handful of seeds, it became the place to shelter her other hopes.

She found said hope behind the house, amid the soil, tall sprouts of green bursting through, bearing unripe fruit among their tender leaves. She picked up a chipped porcelain teacup, one she found inside the house, the rest of the tea set laid out next to it. She had almost wanted to try and sell the set, but it wasn't in the best condition, and it wasn't entirely complete. Besides, she found she had more use for them herself, as she usually left them there to collect water while she was gone, to aid in the care of her garden. She was pleased to see that this teacup had indeed collected a sizeable amount of water. But when she crouched down and tested the soil, seeing it was still quite damp, she only poured a small portion of the water on her plants.

As she began to inspect the vegetables one by one, she started talking to them. The vendor she had bought them from was a nice old woman who had actually offered to give them to her for free, though when Hemorra looked at the woman closer, seeing how her skin hung so loosely over her old bones and how sallow her face was, she gave the gold pieces anyway. The woman begrudgingly took them, and in addition offered advice as to how best take care of them. One of the things was to talk to them. At first Hemorra had felt awkward and ridiculous, speaking to the gound. But when the small green shoots came forth, she continued the practice, gradually finding that she enjoyed it, for in the vegetables she found a willing audience to her innermost thoughts.

"I did a job today today," she whispered to them. "And yesterday. I think Raela disapproves, though. She didn't want to do it at first. I usually mess up thieving in some way, and she probably thought this time would be no different, but it was! We're making almost as much as father, now. Who knows how long we'll be able to keep it up. I hope for a while. Don't tell anyone, but I actually like dancing."

Hemorra paused in her speech, absentmindedly inspecting the vegetables' leaves as her thoughts drifted to the events of that day. She had always loved music. She felt like it was a part of her. The reason she knew the Guild's schedule at all was because she had followed them so closely for so long, just to listen to the music. But the other day was the first time she got to feel like she was a part of it, the first time she danced. When she danced, she felt free--like the world didn't matter, nor did her part in it. She could just be herself, no longer comparing her own character to others'.

But this day was even more different. She couldn't tell right away, but after listening carefully, she knew there was a new addition to the troupe, and an extremely talented one at that. The way they played made it feel not only like she was a part of the music, but the music was also a part of her. She hadn't just felt free, then. She felt alive.

When the song ended, her curiosity got her to look at the assembled musicians for a new face, but she was disappointed. The only one that might have been a newcomer was a large, hunched figure wearing a very concealing cloak that revealed nothing except for a general, lumpy shape. She briefly wondered if that was why they wore a cloak--that they were ashamed of their appearance. It was still quite warm in the day for such layers, otherwise. The idea saddened her as she knew all too well what it was like to feel ashamed of oneself for something out their control. She fingered her red hair, still thinking of it. Personally, she didn't care a speck if they were the ugliest person in the world--she would give talent like that the respect it was due.

Hemorra snapped out of her thoughts, noticing that she had finished examining each of her plants, and that she was humming the mysterious flautist's tune. She rose slowly taking in the view beyond her small garden, still humming.

The view was another reason she loved the old house. It showed the castle in the mountain at the perfect angle, its many facets catching the sunlight perfectly. The Cursed Castle. She heard rumors that monsters dwelled in the ancient place, monsters that protected a massive hoard of riches and killed trespassers. One boy her age even told a story where a man was eaten by them, and that his screams could be heard across the land, followed by the monsters' laughter. But they were just stories, she was sure, as were many others. Nonetheless, nobody ever strayed too close to the castle's entrance, no one daring to find out if they really were stories or something more real. Hemorra suddenly wondered if that was why this part of the city had become so abandoned--because it was so close to the fear-inspiring palace.

Hemorra watched it more closely, waiting. Waiting for what, she wasn't sure, but the grey rock never showed any signs of life, remaining ever still and unchanging.

Eventually, the house's cool shadow fell on her, telling her it was time to start heading back to her meager home. And so she left the house with a tender goodbye to her plants and the home itself, her thoughts still revolving around hidden monsters.