The Reaper's Curse #1 - Complete

Rebel

It's as though she wanders through one of her dreams, bundled in layers, invisible to all around her, a silent observer of a life she left behind, a being that doesn't seem to touch the ground.

Alicia never thought she'd see the slums again, never thought she'd have the familiar stench up her nose and be glad for it. Then again, she never expected to survive after exiling herself.

Oliver is at her side. A tense silence is between them as they traverse through the muddy streets, the smell of rain mingling with the reek of filth and ash. It's familiar, like home, but also completely surreal.

She forgot what it was like to be in a place so vast, surrounded by strangers and buildings that stretch for miles, crumbling and leaning precariously though some of them may be.

They slip through alleys, avoiding mumbling drunks that try to grab at the thick coat around her stolen just moments prior. Desperation is clear on their faces. Alicia doesn't feel the same pity for them as she once did, not after her time as an exile. Desperation is a dangerous thing to harbour.

The night-time bustle of prostitutes and lewd figures in the dark is outlandish, like she's watching it all through the eyes of someone else. She lived here once, lived here and never thought any of this was abnormal. It's as though she's forgotten the concept of money and anyone being above another person, the social constructs of an exile are vastly different from that of the capital.

This all must be a bizarre dream.

"Oliver," she murmurs, peering up at his tight jaw from beneath her hood. When he doesn't reply, she slips her fingers into his, drawing his attention down to her. "What are we doing?"

"We need to get the other exiles within the walls," he says, sterling gaze flicking around them like he expects someone to jump them. She wouldn't be surprised if someone tried.

"Do you have a plan?"

Nodding, Oliver looks at her again. "We ask the rebels for help. I know someone we can try to contact."

Alicia's lips part in shock, wondering how he knows any rebels, but she doesn't push him for answers as he takes them into a building, its stone walls kissing the building beside it. She hears the inhabitants of the apartments on either side, a couple screaming at each other, the bark of a dog echoing through the walls, a child's wailing.

She barely hides her cringe, never realising how loud this place is, even at this hour.

The windows have been boarded up where the glass has been shattered. In the dim light from the street outside, Alicia finds a bar. Oliver takes his hand from hers to light a lantern that's covered in spider-webs, everything about him tense and alert. Alicia watches him bolt the door behind them as she pulls the scarf from around her head.

A long and dusty bar crowds the back of the space, empty shelves behind it. What windows aren't broken have marvellous views of the wet bricks on either side of them.

Alicia sighs, just glad to be off the street and away from prying eyes.

Oliver leads her up a narrow staircase to the apartment above the bar. She glances around the room, moth-eaten furniture greeting her. A tiny kitchen is tucked into one corner of the room and a wood bath is in another. There's no bed, nothing but a dirty couch and knocked over tables and chairs.

"We should be safe here," Oliver says, dropping his pack to the ground.

"Could have fooled me," Alicia mutters, eyeing the stained floorboards and wondering if there's a chance that she could fall through them if she steps on the wrong board. Oliver's chuckle breaks apart some of the tension in the room, and she lets out a breath, shaking her hands to try and disperse the nerves.