Alive At Crepusculum ✓ [TPL Book One]

I

Note: Before we begin, this is an omniscient story.

***** (five asterisks) means point of view changes within the same scene. 

*** (three asterisks) means a change in location or a time skip. 

Without further ado, I do hope you enjoy this different story.

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Crepusculum—a time between light and dark, a single oxymoron within twenty-four hours.

A tint of blue basked the country of United Arcan and all its thirty-three states, pulling people in and out of dreams while hinting that another busy day was making its way into their lives, but this time, a shadow lurked close behind.

The poor would dread another day or be full of worry and in distress. The rich would only worry how much their wallets would bulge. A handful of like-minded people with righteousness in their veins would work for the poor or bring immoral deeds to their knees.

Such were their utopian minds, of course. Nameless headstones riddled the graveyards like stepstones to grandmother's house, and many coffins were as empty as the hollow hearts of grave robbers.

Banking the ocean in the east, was the state of Tokencut. A famous city was Lupine for their hard scotch, favoritism towards mediumship, and somewhat progressive mindset to abolish slavery though with little political success. No one listened to those "heads in the clouds" who thought the world were made of sunshine and gold.

Lupine remained silent. Not even the street sweepers had woken yet to brush dust side to side with no goal to actually clean. Not even the newspaper boys or little girls stood at corners with eager eyes and hungry stomachs. They were asleep with dreams of earning a shiny lanny or two to buy themselves candy at the local lanny candy store.

Crepusculum—a time of quiet, of sleep, and a moment of peace for a fretful mind.

In Lupine, the four-story brick banks and the looming old bell tower sat tall and stiff in the middle of the dirt-road square. Roads were empty of people but littered with old newspaper, cigarettes, napkins, pair-less gloves, and a lady's knickers. Even a lost horseshoe lay in the middle of the road alongside the taverns and cafés. Whoever cleaned up someone else's muck each day, "hat's to you", many would say.

Along the dirt roads of Lupine came a gust from the north, pushing away the litter and lady's knickers, making dust curl. The wind permeated the brick-laden city and down darkened garbage-filled alleys where rats squeaked and scurried away, their yellow eyes gleaming and noses twitching, ever searching to satisfy famished stomachs.

"There she is," said a deep, rumbling voice, "I shall get as close as I can."

The wind knocked against a crate, startling a cat. Captured in the alley, it turned into an aggressive beast and hurled itself at the walls, snatching a blanket away as trembling hands reached for it. The wind, not the cat. A shadow chuckled.

Underneath the blanket was a woman with scraggly hair, red-shot eyes, and skin scratched and muddied with cheeks sunken. Her arms and legs were covered in dirt and ash. She slowly wrapped her arms around herself.

Anastasia Nikolaeva was well in her forties. She was once a beautiful lady with clear skin that radiated. She had the personality of a fighter, and a heart of gold. In her native snowy country of Roktia, she was known as an angelic nurse, and one with a rebellious heart. But one day, she was beaten.

The "slave trade" or "Roktion trade" was one of the many ugly things the throng of wars left behind. Ten years and this was the mold. The government turned a blind eye to this heinousness as money was coming in.