❝ Pain was my fuel, until the fire began bleeding from my veins. ❞
The girl without a name.
The black-haired fiend devoid of fear.
The sharp-tongued scoundrel always ready with a trick up her sleeve.
Thief and street rat Azura knows how to hustle a...
❛ You can tear me down, break me, beat me, but I'll remember. ❜
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◢✥◣ PREVIOUSLY... ◥✥◤
Through manipulation and the blood of the innocent, Palmira made certain the people of Rupteran were prepared for a war she believed was inevitable. A war between the gods—Lucifer and those loyal to him—and mankind. All she needed was a weapon that could kill gods, and Azura was that weapon. Palmira threatened Ari's life, forcing Azura to choose between saving Ari and allowing Palmira to use her power to continue to enslave Rupteran for a war that may not even be real, or letting him die. Ari demanded she not submit, and Azura was subjected to watching Palmira kill Ari before her. Azura managed to escape.
༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛
Rosabel will never get used to the frigid air of Kitala. It's biting and awful and every morning she wakes just as grumpy and exhausted as when she went to sleep. But still she crawls from beneath her furs, pulls on her boots, shrugs into her coat, shoves a thick hat over her fiery hair, and braces herself to be slammed with the cold by gritting her teeth and sending a prayer to the Mother not to freeze to death.
No amount of preparation will ever make it easier.
As she steps out of the humble hut, the air knocks the breath from her lungs and stings her eyes.
"Good morning, Rosabel!" someone greets, their voice far too cheery and clearly one of the people that have the privilege of sleeping in one of the huts that make up the ramshackle village.
Rosabel grunts in response, shuffling forward to begin her duties that she refuses to abandon. She can hear Raffy's voice now, rumbling and filled with annoyance. You don't need to do this, Rosa. Go back to bed, Rosa. You're going to catch your death, Rosa.
Raffy can sod off. That's probably what she'd say to him if the man weren't twice her size and just as stubborn, and if she didn't rely on his strength so much.
She trudges through the wide street, the road cleared of snow by those who brave the cold before the sun is even up. She can't help but feel sorry for those people and knows her own jobs are easy in comparison. It's why she won't neglect them, though she's aware no one will look at her any less if she does.
Rosabel approaches the tents with trepidation, her heart always hurting to see them. People wander between the hide tents, buried in layers of ragged clothing, their noses pink from the cold. Rosabel's own nose is numb and that numbness is spreading too fast.
But she won't turn back to her hut. She won't tear her gaze away from the people that huddle together, blowing on their cupped hands or inching closer to their small fires. Each of them watch her as she passes, some of them even brave enough to greet her. There's no cheeriness amongst the camp like there is in the village, but a line has been drawn and there's only so much Rosabel can do to make it less harsh.
