. : HELLACIOUS : .

The Spell

N E W    C R E S T

A N N E X E D    S P A N I S H    T E R R I T O R Y

A M E R I K A     1 8 7 6

There had never been a more perfect occasion to die.

Maybe they were just being dramatic (okay, they definitely were), but Kash would bet all the money they didn't have that no snobby historian in their right mind would dare argue with the statement.

Kash knew enough to pray everything would still be for once, but nothing had been still for a long, long time, so instead Kash prayed for Real Things.

Themselves, mostly.

Because Kash ached.

It was a familiar bone deep, body wide, just-knock-me-out-Doc ache.

Even the palms of their hands. Even their knees. Even the tiny bones in Kash's ears vibrated discomfort.

Kash's plump lips dribbled spit and blood onto their crisp white shirt, gravity working its mysterious magic. Kash was delighted to discover they were sitting upright. Probably above ground. Certainly breathing.

Alive?

Sure, alive works.

The only other emotion Kash could manage was blank irritation. Laundry day was yesterday and it'd only taken them four hours to completely ruin the tunic they'd spent half the morning cleaning.

I hope no one's stolen my sheets, Kash thought. That was my last set for the winter.

Kash tried to scratch a bleeding itch on their cheek but their hand collided with smooth leather. A muzzle was stubbornly tied in place, clasped behind their head.

Kash had forgotten they were even wearing it. And why.

Seems like something that would be incredibly hard to forget, that muzzle.

"Don't even try it, girly." A large man suddenly appeared (or had he always been there?) tugging on Kash's shackles, testing the hold. "Got this gear special made for creatures like you. There isn't any escaping this."

The cursive inscriptions glowing on the metal chains confirmed as much. Kash couldn't move a muscle without earning a reproving pinch.

The man rubbed his beard before he reached for a knife. "I can't believe it was this easy. Honestly. I thought I was gonna lose a limb or two but you just... collapsed. You didn't even hear me comin' didja? No one even saw us leave."

The man sliced the back of Kash's blouse with surgical precision, pulling the cotton away just enough to preserve their modesty. Kash made an indignant noise, trying to remember words and how to make them.

Arthur gave me that shirt as a gift! I rubbed my wrists raw keeping that damn tunic clean.

The man noticed Kash's anger and snorted.

"It's justa shirt, beastie. A dirty one, at that. T'won't be missed. We can get ya another if you really want."

Once finished with his cutting job, the bearded man paused. He studied the mottled ink coloring Kash's back. "You musta done something really awful to earn a brand like that. Something unforgivable. It's not like D'Jinn to turn out one of their own. Guess they didn't want you staining the family name, huh?"

Kash breathed through their embarrassment, eyes trained on the ground. He could only mean the scarred round of flesh erupting from Kash's neck. It crested over their shoulder blades down to the base of their spine. Kash only caught glimpses of it in foggy windows, shattered mirrors, and the curious gazes of villagers who stumbled across Kash bathing in the river. Whenever Kash reached a hand around and touched the rippled tissue they could only guess it looked as wretched as it felt.