Aurelia is a Courtesan, not an Assassin. Her world is turned upside down, however, when she kills a high-ranking Senator in self defense. Given his status, and the political power his family wields, Aurelia knows she will be executed without a trial...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Countdown: 6 days, 20 hours
Aurelia pushes the large rimmed sunglasses she wears higher up her nose, and fidgets with the silk scarf she wears wrapped around her hair. She is acutely aware of every black and gold Mercenary uniform she sees on the street. She waits for one of them to recognize her, to twist her arms behind her back and drag her, kicking and screaming, to a holding cell.
She wishes she could stay cocooned in the safety of Camellia's mansion, but she does not have that luxury. Every tick of the clock is a tick closer to execution.
So she is here, out on the streets in broad daylight, less than seventy two hours after murdering a man. Holding a loaf of bread with which to bribe a pack of filthy children for their assistance. Three days ago, she had lived amongst pearls and gold-silk, in an underwater bedroom with a window overlooking the aquatic life in the bay. Today, she is hiding her face beneath cheap plastic glasses and begging for help from beggars.
It almost doesn't seem real.
She sticks close to the walls of the buildings as she walks, trying to blend in with the coral bricks to avoid the prying eyes of the Mercenaries assigned to Patrol duty. It is a relief when she is finally able to slip into the shadows beneath the bullet train bridge. There are seven such bridges in Glascoast, spoking outwards from the central hub of Polis Center like a wheel, and beneath their arching structures is where the little beggars she has come to see are known to make their homes.
Aurelia reluctantly removes her sunglasses so her eyes can adjust to the lack of light, and her nose wrinkles a little, in spite of herself, at the smell. There are worn linen blankets and cardboard boxes haphazardly leaned against the walls of the bridge base, a makeshift curtain rigged up around an area that smells to be used as the bathroom. Aurelia breathes through her mouth.
The children present grow quiet when they see her, their eyes large over their hollow cheeks. Aurelia holds the paper wrapped loaf out towards them, wordlessly. The youngest of the group step tentatively forward, each taking a piece of still-warm bread from her hands with their grimy, unwashed fingers. It takes every amount of Courtesan training Aurelia possesses not to shudder and wipe her palms clean against her dress.
Only when the little ones have eaten several bites do the older children finally step forward, convinced that there's no poison baked into the yeasty crust. The oldest of them all- those ready to tumble over the cusp of twelve into their legal working years- are the only ones that hang back as the other children eat their fill.
They know that a meal always comes at a price.
It is these children that Aurelia focuses on.
One is a pretty little girl with soulful eyes, chewing on a thumbnail as she watches one of the little ones lick crumbs from his hands. Another is scrawny with a mean, pinched face, glaring at her beneath heavy brows as his stomach rolls like thunder. The third isn't focused on her, or the bread, at all. Instead, he is watching the other children with a calculating gaze, concern in his guarded expression.
