WitchHunter ✔️

Phlegm

Hale

In the days and weeks following the Cleansing, Kindleridge slowly but surely recovered. Old burned buildings were torn away down to their foundations, new ones built in their wake. Families came together; businesses reopened, trees were planted, and the birds returned. The travelling circus left and returned once again. The sun shone down on our cliffside town, beaten and broken but resilient. Powerful. We weathered the storm and came back stronger, unified, undefeatable. All except for one.

The name Hale Arsen didn't grace the list of the dead, but a piece of me had in fact, died that night.

January 10, 758 Post Reckoning

The smooth cobbles suck all the warmth from my body, replacing it with a harsh chill that suffocates my bones and grips my lungs in an icy vice. My teeth chatter incessantly, my body aching from the constant struggle to keep my blood warm. Soon the sun will rise, and with it, the smallest relief from the bitter chill of the Octaven winter. It's been nearly three weeks since the Cleansing, three weeks since my life, my parents were brutally stolen away. Three weeks in these bloodstained clothes. I can't wash them. The wet would certainly kill me. The blood of that strange woman will just have to stay.

My stomach wracks with hunger, reminding me once again of the days that have past since I've eaten.

The footsteps of a drunk skrit along the cobbles down my alleyway, probably on his way home from Menagerie. My father used to go there, but when I tried on the night after the Cleansing, the angry lady there turned me away. She had told me it was no place for kids, but I had seen a girl in there, no older than me. Why wouldn't she let me stay?

The drunkard grumbles to himself as he passes, hocking up some phlegm in his throat. The wet glob finds rest on my cheek, the mucus dripping down toward my chin. The air leaves my body in a rush as I stare absently down at the stone below. How can people be so cruel?

Why did my parents have to die and leave me here like this? What did I do to deserve to be left all alone? The fire took everything. It took my family, my home, my clothes, leaving me cold and dirty, a stranger's spit slowly dribbling down my face. The fire, the lochri. I'm here because of them. My mother and father were burned alive by the lochri. I drag the sleeve of my sweater across my face. They'll pay for what they've done. I swear. They'll all pay.