She might as well have been invisible. The people of Eloria paid no mind to the redness of her nose or to the wet marks that streaked across her dirty face. She was just another nameless vagrant after all, of which the city seemed to have more than its fair share.

It was midday, and the constricted, cobbled streets were flooded with people busily going about their lives. The perpetual grind and toil demanded that sales be pitched, prices be haggled, and money be made. Each day like the one before--an uphill battle to earn as much as the gods would allow so that, hopefully, their families would be able to eat that night and their own children would not have the same desperate gleam in their eyes that the skinny girl had in hers.

Had it been any other day, Sevy would have laughed at the curses that flew after her whenever she bumped into one of the merchants. Any other day and she would have been more reckless, more bold, snatching coins right from outstretched hands and then making a game of the ensuing chase. Today, sadly, was not such a day.

The morning had begun well enough. Hopping nimbly over heaps of trash, she had rummaged for breakfast before returning home, a derelict building that had once served as stables, decades ago, back when the Axlun royal family still lived in Eloria and the city was in its finest hour. Now abandoned by most of the kingdom’s aristocracy, Eloria had descended into a long, drawn out rot. Bad for the economy perhaps, but just right for those like Sevy. The city was littered with ramshackle houses and factories, memories of past prosperity cast off like the shells of sea creatures, readily appropriated and transformed into covert bastions of beggars and brigands.

The stables sheltered any number of street children, orphaned by choice or by circumstance, living together in fluid, drifting groups. It was their sanctuary against the dangers of the city, and though it couldn’t hold the heat in the winter or lose it in the summer, it was dear to them.

She climbed up to the hayloft and tucked into her meal of a half eaten apple and a crust of week-old bread quite contentedly. Things were looking up when Trena arrived and dangled a bottle of ruby red wine before Sevy’s eager eyes.

"Aww, fantastic!” she exclaimed. “Where'd you get it from?"

Trena popped the cork out with her teeth then took three swigs, each bigger than the last, before answering, "A friend.”

"Nice friend.”

"Mm-hmm."

If Sevy’s attention had not been focused on the savoury liquid, she may have noticed the nervous squirming or the edge in Trena’s voice. Instead, she simply sighed appreciatively and held up the wine in a mock salute to their health.

All too soon the bottle was emptied, leaving only a pleasant heat in their cheeks and a sickly sweet taste in their mouths. Warmed and sleepy from the drink, Sevy reclined against the wall and picked at random splinters of mouldy hay while Trena turned the bottle over and over again in her hands. With the distraction of the wine gone, Sevy finally discerned that something wasn’t quite right with her normally bubbly friend. Several times, Trena opened her mouth to speak, but then shook her head and remained silent.

Sitting there, in the musty ruin of an era long past, they were quite the pair of opposites. Trena was a full head shorter than Sevy, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in curves. Sevy often stared enviously at those curves, comparing them to her own spindly frame. Heredity and malnutrition combined to work against her, making her appear much younger than her sixteen years. Her brown hair, loosely tied back with a strip of cloth, didn’t have the lustre of Trena’s blonde curls. The closest that Sevy’s pallid cheeks ever came to a fetching shade of red was when she was embarrassed, but Trena’s seemed to be everlastingly rouged. Trena’s clothes were always neater too. Sevy was forever discovering new rents and tears in hers. And her shoes…

Now that was odd, Sevy thought to herself. She hadn’t, until that moment, noticed that Trena was wearing new shoes, slippers made from softened leather. And a matched set as well. First a bottle of wine and now new shoes. An eyebrow was raised as she regarded her friend with suspicion.

“What’s up?” she asked lightly, drawing her legs up to her chest.

"Nothing,” came the sighed response. “It’s just…about my friend. He's really nice."

Sevy nodded her agreement even though her stomach was beginning to churn. And it wasn’t from the wine.

"Well, um, he said he can get us all sorts of things. More wine, food, clothes. Whatever we want."

In one hurried rush, Trena spoke animatedly about a man named Gihaf, one who promised them all of Eloria in exchange for certain favours.

"It’s nothing we haven't done before,” Trena said with a shrug of her shoulders, trying to appear casual. “Just now, he'll give us stuff for it."

“You can't be serious."

"It's not so bad, Sevy. Honest. He promises that we'll be safe and that the men he’d fix us up with wouldn't be horrid."

In her heart, Sevy had always known Trena might succumb to something like this. For all her beauty, she hadn’t much brain. She was weak willed, more liable to take the easy way out, and definitely more likely to be charmed by anyone with a silver tongue.

The gods had been smiling upon Trena the day they had arranged for her to meet Sevy four years earlier. Born from tougher stock, forged by the biting winds and glacial waters of the Melacian Sea, it had been Sevy who discovered such a relatively safe and comfortable place to live. It had been Sevy who learned through trial and error how to pick pockets and steal food. Trena may have been gullible, but she wasn’t stupid. She had latched onto Sevy, recognizing her strength and nerve.

As for Sevy, she was just happy to have a friend. Like the majority of Eloria’s children, she had already experienced far too much loss for such a short life. Trena was her surrogate family, and Sevy was not about to let anyone, particularly some pervert pimp, take her away.

Indignation blazed within her stout little soul as Trena continued her impassioned speech, punctuated with sobs and frequent hitchings of her chest. She extolled Gihaf’s virtues--by the way she spoke, he may as well have been King Grewid himself--while rationalizing her choice with protests against the cold and the hunger.

"I'm sick of this. I mean, look at us, Sevy. Look how we’re living. It shouldn’t be this way! And Gihaf says--"

"Gihaf is lying!” Sevy at last exploded. “You're so stupid! You wanna be his whore? Fine. Go! Get out and go spread your legs for him and the whole world!"

"Please, don't be angry! Please!"

She just laid there, a blubbering heap on the floor, crying so pitifully that Sevy's eyes misted over in spite of her anger. Maybe it was all her fault. Sevy did have an overbearing personality, to put it mildly. Bossy would be a description that Sevy would not be likely to ascribe to herself, but it would be much closer to the truth. Trena had always simply followed in Sevy’s wake, never really testing the waters for herself, never really learning what manner of sharks swam in Eloria’s depths.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have protected Trena so fiercely in the past. She had set Trena up for a life of dependence on others. But there would be plenty of time later on for Sevy to beat herself up over the decisions she had made. Right now, she had to stop her friend from making a huge mistake.

Her tone softened as she helped Trena up. “You don't have to do this. I'll just start stealing more. I'll take care of you, you'll see. Look, I'll go right now and get some money to pay Gihaf for the wine. You won't owe him anything, okay? You'll see."

Without waiting for a reply, she ran outside and down the alley. She didn’t want to hear more excuses, more justifications. Words like that, harmless as they outwardly appeared, had a way of burning what they fell upon, like cinders on the wind. Sevy would prove to Trena that they could get by without resorting to prostitution. She’d prove it to her, and then she’d make Trena grovel for awhile for ever doubting Sevy’s ability.

Finally reaching the marketplace, Sevy pushed a strand of greasy hair from her face as she came to a stop. Green eyes with blackened half moons bruised underneath sized up the crowd that was milling about the market. She took breath after slow breath to calm herself and gain focus. She couldn’t afford any stupid mistakes, not today.

She needed to gather as much as she could, as fast as she could. She needed an easy mark. Not the dwarf over there sloppily drinking from a rain bucket. She would bet that his purse was in danger of bursting, but dwarves guarded their money like wolves guarded their dens. No point in risking injury. The two men discussing rhetoric over rum cakes and coffee were suitably distracted, but they were most likely students, and the pockets of students very rarely contained anything more than lint and dreams of grandeur. What about the elf dancing on the corner? She could skim from his earnings while he had his limbs tangled up in a bizarre impression of a bird, but as she walked past him, she saw that his hat held only two half pieces of copper. He’d either have to learn some new steps or start stripping before the crowd tossed him anything worth stealing.

No, no, no! This wasn’t going well at all! What the hell was wrong with these people? Why did they have to make things so difficult? What had started as a supposedly simple task was turning into something infuriatingly problematic.

But then she saw him. A tall, dark-haired young man dressed in a smart blue jacket. His attention was fixed on the busty merchant he was talking with, though his eyes were drifting more to her chest than to the wares laid out on her table. The pair flirted and laughed freely. Whatever they were bantering back and forth was certainly more engrossing than the scrawny girl sneaking up behind them.

Sevy could see a money bag hanging on his belt, and it was plenty full too. Perfect! She smoothed back her hair and wiped away the fine layer of sweat that had broken out across her brow. It took a conscious effort to quiet her breathing, and she chastised herself for acting like such a beginner. This guy was a complete patsy and not worth the worry.

She brushed against him, pretending to peruse the trinkets for sale. Oh my, what a pretty set of wooden earrings, and goodness me! Those bone bangles are absolutely to die for. She felt his eyes pass over her as he politely attempted to shift out of her way, but they quickly returned to the buxom beauty behind the table.

That’s it, buddy, Sevy thought. You just take your time with her tits, and I’ll be gone before you can wipe the drool off your lips.

Trembling fingers slipped around the bag, carefully working it off his belt. Almost had it. Just one more little tug. Success! Sevy could scarcely suppress her snicker of victory while she moved to sidle back into the ranks of the invisible underclass once more.

Before she could, her shoulder was gripped, halting her escape.

"I'll take that back, sweetheart."

"Take what back?" she asked in defiance while she was turned round to face the man as he, curiously, laughed. She glared at him, looking straight into his face for the first time.

Beautiful. The word almost escaped her lips in an awed whisper as she found herself mesmerized by the twinkle of his oceanic blue eyes, but, luckily, her tongue was so tied by the sight of his bewitching smile that she couldn’t speak. The way the sun lapped at each strand of his flowing black hair was so engrossing that she forgot to struggle against his hold until his voice, mellifluous and tinged with mirth, broke her out of the spell.

“Nice try, really it was. But your technique is terrible."

“Wh--what?” she stammered, remembering her predicament. “You're crazy! Let me go or I'll call the guards."

“Oh really? Okay, call them then. We'll wait here together and let them sort it out," he said, still chuckling. Without waiting for her reply, he pulled her closer and reached into her pocket.

“Let me go, you lecher!"

Smirking, he scooped out the bag of coins and made a show of tucking it inside of his jacket. Sevy felt her face grow red, but was it from the chagrin of being caught or from the intensity of those eyes shining down at her?

She had to look away, and it was only then that she noticed the people gathering around them, like ravenous dogs primed for the scent of blood, no doubt hoping for a bit of entertainment to help break up the day. There’s nothing quite like a public thrashing to lift the stupor of drudgery.

"What's going on, Jarro? Gonna teach her a lesson?" someone shouted.

"Give her to me. I'll teach her real good," another man jeered, thrusting his pelvis.

She had been caught in the act. By city law, it was his right to dole out her punishment, but in his face she saw none of the hatred and righteous indignation she had come to expect. There was only merriment, as though the two of them were sharing in a joke that the others were not privy to.

"Shut up!" he yelled to the yammering horde before flashing her another brilliant smile. "Listen, sweetheart, how's about I let you go this time? Just promise me you’ll work on that technique."