t h r e e

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Remi always hated the statue erected in the heart of the city, city square. It was dark and metallic, icy to the touch and hideous to look at. From a thick, scaly neck sprouted eight feline heads with their abnormally long fangs bared and devilish eyes slanted downwards as they glinted with bloodlust. Each head was more ferocious than the next, built onto a massive body of metal at least four men high, rippling with frozen muscles.

The terrifying creature was called a Doomtaur, and it was something of legend. It also happened to be the symbol of an island free from monarchy, representing the freedom to commit any act, no matter how depraved or brutal it may be—because there was no one to prevent it. Every island aside from Vertice and Belley had a sculpture of this beast on display for all to see.

Remi couldn't stand any of what it represented. Without limitations, one's freedom often came at the cost of another, and that wasn't freedom for all.

And now, she was standing atop the Doomtaur.

With startled sets of eyes on her person. She was noticed by only a few people nearby at first, but they had a domino effect consisting of elbowing and pointing and shouting, until countless sets of wide eyes were on Remi.

The last time she had visited the busiest part of Merricrest was with her older sister Faye and her cousin Caede, when she was out searching for Killure. They hadn't stayed for long because Faye was in a rush to get to her fiancé's estate.

Both her sister and cousin were now dead, by her Uncle Fahrem's hand. Remi's heart clenched in her chest at the thought, as though an invisible hand had reached within her and squeezed her beating heart painfully tight.

It didn't help that she had the attention of all these people in the city square.

The amount of people looking at her was almost unbearable. Though she was standing far above everyone with nothing but open air around her, out of reach, the crowd's eyes felt like claws that were seconds away from ripping into her flesh and tearing her to pieces. Beads of sweat formed at Remi's hairline as she tried to focus on why she was here and not on the almost intolerable feeling of bugs crawling beneath her skin.

Lounging casually beside her on the metallic creature, legs crossed as he leaned back and let his head fall back, Killure seemed at peace. Only the flicking of his ebony, reptilian-esque tail revealed his boredom. Remi couldn't help but be a little jealous; if only she was that at ease in front of crowds.

She felt jittery and like each one of her nerves was ricocheting within her body.

A strong, warm hand grasped her own, instantly absorbing her focus. Remi's eyes shot to Killure, who had grabbed her small hand with his large, clawed one. The sharp points of his claws pricked the skin of the back of her hand, and the sensation somehow brought her to focus.

Remi narrowed her eyes at the crowd and plastered on an expression that she hoped made her appear fearless and in control.

"Designer," was the word on every man and woman's lips, spat out in a hiss but filled with greedy desire.

Aside from her Uncle Shaam, the infamous drug lord who few dared to mess with and who wasn't for hire, there hadn't been a Designer to do business with for weeks. Remi could only imagine what was going through the minds of lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses alike: who would extend their lives, cure their incurable diseases, and bring their dead back to life, among other things? Without a Designer, one could have all the money in the world and still not be able to buy the things that mattered.

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