Selene
The rain slowed down as usually it does, But Eryndor wasn't a drier city anyway, the fog drowning around the window panes of cafes on the ground, even under ground one's. Eryndor is known for its underground cafes, the cave like walls, swirling downwards on its own like a spiral. Water clung to the streets, reflecting broken lights and passing shadows.
Traffic moves as usual
Ships still dock at the harbor, with the pirates bickering around each other.
Lights glow in high-rise buildings, flowing through the mist of the air.
Elite clubs are full, music loud, laughter fake. The echoes making my insides churn.
For a woman, like me, noises were always too much because my head made them enough to cling to. I have never been to a club, used to read sherlock homes since the age of 16, while hearing how dad hid dead bodies underground. We used to live in the east side, a vast field surrounded with little villages, having small houses which stood unevenly along narrow paths, built from brick, wood, and time. Their walls carried faded colors—soft blues, pale yellows, sun-worn reds—each one chipped just enough to show years of living. Ours were a two stored house, the biggest in the area. We were already smuggling weed back then. Younger guys were working for dad and used to skip through their playground to exchange drugs with money. Pathetic really. But what can we do if morality wasn't something we were born in.
I am the only daughter. So eventually with the daughter rights, I got the den and taverns after he died. My dad didn't die easy, it wasn't incurable to decipher his disease. But he was shot right at the head one fine morning when he was taking a walk with me. The man who killed him, didn't kill me, looked me in the eyes, with a little shock perhaps. Because I didn't flinch or cried or stormed out. I stood there, looking at his eyes, his crooked and broken nose shape, the jaded scar on his right-side of the face. A local goon, when I was 18 I deep throated his own fingers in his mouth enough for him to gag and die. Dad wasn't sentimental, nor was I. Dad and I were almost identical, pathetic in reacting instantly. Our faces give away nothing at the instant, I did cry afterwards though, mid lunch during his memorial Mass. Ruining my 2000 dollar dior corset. Blue turned into rain drops
Then we shifted to the main town of Eryndor
Lucien's city
I stopped thinking right then. Sometimes this name makes me stall in instance and it's a habit, which doesn't work because of anyone around me
Not even my mother who probably is a drunken mess.
Yeah love does that. Because I didn't come from a family which was broken, ethics weren't there, but the misery of love was intact in my parents. Dad couldn't ever look away from my mom. His eyes never once wavered when she talked and she talked too much. Nowadays she doesn't speak at all. As if a mute woman lost in cage of grief and mourning and not knowing what to do with life anymore. Maybe start killing? Like I did?
Marcellus women are always supposed to be baren in a way or the other.
I sat in silence.
The screens in front of me flickered softly, casting blue light across my face making me squint a little.
The screen showed how the movements bear my docks on the west shifted and how people stiffened. People stiffened for less in my territory unless its for someone I know.
I had known the moment the patterns changed. The tarmac borders, near the west harbour, plain open field for the construction of a new warehouse.
A delay in dock activity. A jet arrived and I could tell by the notification in my email is just that news as well.
Routes that should have been active—paused. There were other men, the footages were grainy
I rarely put cameras there
I called Caleb
The 18 year old teenager who would even take the bullet for me. Currently he was supposed to be in the headquarters somewhere.
"Come to the Headquart-"
I couldn't finish the sentence before he answered, ragged, a little panicked.
Like the city itself had inhaled.
And then—
held its breath.
"Boss, Lucien Voss has returned."