| 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 |
What do you do when everyone seems to want you dead?
Kill them first, of course.
Minerva Pyroline, assassin by night and heir to an empire by day, has one goal:
Survive. No matter the obstacles. No matt...
Minerva could make no promises about the lines, but she owed Nola something. "I'll take care of the dress" —she smirked evilly— "until I burn it to ash, that is."
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She'd never handled crowds well. Minerva would never forget her first adventure into the city, when Aunt Edina had clothed the both of them in peasant's garb and carried her pick-aback through the filth of the streets. She'd loved the sound of her aunt's geta tapping the stones—when the little stilts weren't squishing in mush that was.
"The people look sad," Minerva had whimpered. From beneath the wide brim of Edina's hat, she'd watched the beggars feebly holding out their hands to passersby. Those walking appeared to have no more coin than they.
"They are sad, little blossom," Edina answered softly. "But you're going to change all that someday."
Minerva tangled her fingers deeper into her aunt's black hair, letting the warmth of the absorbed sun warm her cold hands. "How?"
Before Edina could answer, an old woman stopped and peered at Minerva's face. Vegetables nestled in her arms, most of the leaves withered. She exploded with a tirade in the common dialect, while Minerva trembled and tried to keep up.
Words like "Hydro", "poop", and "white" assaulted Minerva's ears. People gathered around them. Her head spun, hardly hearing her aunt's gentle answers. Edina pressed some coins into the woman's hand, but the hag threw them down and stomped the gold into the mud.
It dawned on Minerva then—the people hated her. Fingers pointing in her direction filled her vision. She buried her head in Edina's back so she wouldn't have to see them. Something struck her shoulder. Somehow, that signaled for more chunks of things to pelt her from every direction.
Next thing she knew, shouts erupted and the blaze of fire brushed her cheeks. Then the wind pulled her hair, for Edina was running. Running far from the awful people.
When her aunt leaned down and dropped her off her back, Minerva realized she was crying. She raised her sleeve to wipe the tears, until she noticed the mud. And—and the more than mud.
Edina pushed herself upright from her hands on her knees, still drawing deep breaths in. Noticing Minerva's predicament, she drew a clean hand cloth from her sleeve and squatted down to wipe Minerva's face.
"Your face is dirty too," Minerva mumbled.
Aunt Edina smiled and Minerva thought she still looked beautiful in spite of the brown smearing her forehead and her windblown hair. "I'll be alright."
Minerva sniffled. Crying was for babies. "Your hat's gone."
"Easily replaced," Edina said, her sunshine not at all dampened.
Minerva couldn't take it. Not when the sun hated her. That's why the people hated her. Even with the giant leap of mind she'd taken, she knew it to be true. And with that knowledge, she wondered why she'd been so stupid as to not know before.
