Nyx
She had been playing in my head like a scratched record. The swell of the orchestra filled me every time it looped back. My vision had become more common as I aged. Two years I had become known enough for begging visitors. Each time I indulged their pleas, lying for their tears and desperate hands.
I had sought out other means of pleasure. Their begs became simple, ordinary. I found the muddle of my mind in the harsh warmth of drinks. They settled in my belly mimicking the warmth of hands.
Soon the barkeeper had noticed my visits. As he should, me being a Gold-Eyed. My hair had grown out, brushing my throat as I slipped on tighter clothes. Others should have the chance to glimpse at such a sight.
The barkeep neared me one night, the fire of sunset bleeding onto my hands. I lifted a glass, sipping at the warmth. I remember him faintly. A young man, with tied back brown hair and thick lips. His face was always hardened on me. His eyes were matches of his hair. His hands waved absently as he made customers drinks, light bending with the twist of his fingers.
He planted his hands in front of me in this encounter. I twisted in my seat, my eyes flicking to his. He stayed, his expression bored as he tapped the wooden counter. I frowned.
His hands were deft, as I remember them. The one thing pierced through. His fingers as slender as my own, but his flesh anything but smooth. Cracks littered his palms from dry mornings and long days of work. Oh, how I long to see like this once more.
"You had to pay your tab soon," He muttered, voice thick as fog. I pressed my lips, setting down my glass. My body had been bored. My mind had resorted to drinks. I felt the stretch of yearning as my eyes flicked to his hands. Not one body had laid their hands to ease the warmth inside me. I had to do it myself.
My eyes flicked back up.
"I don't have money," I said sweetly. He squinted at me, scoffing. I straightened my shoulders, leaning in. I batted my eyes, feigning innocence.
"I know you, Seer," He said, taking a step back. I lowered my head down, eyes big as I watched him. He scrunched his nose. "Your games won't work on me."
"How can I pay you back?" I asked, raising my voice slightly. I found mimicking women made it easier to get men's tears. I leaned forward, twisting my waist as I set my elbows on my counter. The barkeep sighed, his hands finding his brow. My jaw twisted, fighting down the annoyance. He should be melting right now.
"Get money," He said. I blinked again, my fingers tucking my hair behind my ear.
"I told you," I murmured. "I have none." The barkeep tapped his hand on the wood. Empty and hollow. He raised his eyebrows, turning back to the other patrons. I gritted my teeth beneath a smile.
"Work for me then." I swallowed a gasp. The barkeep grinned, leaning back to me, his face brushing mine. "Oh, didn't like that, Goldy?"
"I do not work for others," I hissed, pushing myself back from my chair. The barkeep grinned, raising his eyebrows. He thumbed to the side, across the bar's bay-oak tables as flickering candlelight. A door stood snug between two tables.
"Great, work for yourself. I don't care. Get me my money or I'm cutting off your tab." He turned, hands already finding a new glass to fill. My face bristled with burning heat. How dare he speak to me as such. This was why I never went after men. They were too steady when they weren't despersate. I could easily make women and others crumble but men? They always took more effort. Sometimes it was entertaining prying them open, but often it was just pitiful effort.
"I'll sell you my visions," I told him. He turned, eyes bored. A growl lodged itself in my throat. What idiocy. He should be grateful! He should be crying for thankfulness!
"Good. Take the back room." He pointed again to the door. Bristling, I spun, stomping every step to the door. It yanked open.
Inside was dusty darkness. I fumbled in it, searching for matches. I grabbed a box, lighting one hastily against my flushed face as I clasped a candlestick. The flame latched onto the wick, lighting the room. It was small. Barely larger than behind the bar. Boxes littered around filled bookshelves. A table sat at the end of the room, stacks of paper and an upturned chair on it. Cobwebs strung the ceiling.
This man.
My eyes twitched as I raked away the boxes, swatting the webs with the piled paper. The room cleaned easily with the fury that burned bright in my chest. How dare he. He is below me. Barely scraping enough to be a person to me. He was only good for his drinks.
The room cleaned up easily. The barkeep checked in when business was slow. He would toss me a sly grin, smugness smudged onto his features. I scowled as I dusted. I was there until darkness fell and the light scraped the horizon again.
It faded as the sun rose. I sat in the middle of a busy room. My legs crossed over each other. My eyes drew slowly to the children seated next to me. Their eyes focused upward, following an older human as they paced the floor. Their voice was static in my ears. The same as the faces of the children.
Underneath, carpet scratched my ankles. Colorful posters taped against the wall blinded me. Sunlight streamed inside. Through it clouds drew carefully across the sky. We were up high.
"Glenn," The older human snapped. My ears burst with spikes of white-hot sears. I was sure if I were to claw my hands away from them blood would come with it.
"Yes?" A child beside me spoke, his voice still as clear as the elder's. The child could barely fit within my arms, his body spindly small. His eyes were widened against the holiness of the elder's. Wide and deep gray. His short decaying autumn-leaf hair brushed his eyelashes. He was clothed in a dull green shirt. His posture mimicked the elder's.
"Pay attention when I am teaching," They spoke. The boy nodded quickly, his head ducking silently into his chest. The elder turned back to the children. The boy mumbled a breath. Words. I leaned in.
"I'll show them," The boy mumbled, voice thick with tears. No other children sat near him in the back. It was just us. Away. Fading. "I'm not just a kid." He sniffed then, eyes flicking back up. "I'll be who I want to be."
"Goldy?" I spun, eyes wide. I could barely make out his face in the rising sun. The room he gave me was clean now. The box I was grasping was itching my palms.
Bright sunlight streamed in through the opened door. We were deep in the ground, underneath a building of brick. The barkeep stood up. He neared me, taking the box.
"Better make it all spooky," He joked, raising an eyebrow. I scowled.
"Better keep giving me liquor," I retorted. He laughed, smacking my shoulder. I choked on air, clutching my chest as he went back out into the bar.
I rubbed my eyes. They would always blur after a vision. Now they just stayed blurry. But this boy...he stuck in my mind as I gathered fabrics and safe places to stash my slips of money.
Nothing was in my chest. His fierce determination. It burned me.
I scoffed. He should be grateful. I had it worse. I was the one who was building play in some man's basement bar, selling my precious visions. I was the one who should be pitied. Me. Not some child unaware of his own unimportance!
A knock hollowed on my door. I glanced up. A woman stood there. Her body was hidden behind the frame. Her dark hair clipped her jaw. Eyes lined with black and nose powdered with pink. Her glances drew up to me. I raised my jaw.
"You're the seer?" She whispered. I raised an eyebrow. "Malo said you were here. A Gold-Eye that could grant me sight?" Malo. So that was his name. I remember it now.
"What is it you want?" I mumbled back. She entered. Hips curved, waist slightly pulling in. I found myself grinning.
"I wish to see my future," She said. Her fingers clasped the edge of the chair opposite to me. She carefully sat, her ankles crossing. "My son...we do not know where he is...."
Cheeks wet. Her hands cupped her face from falling. I studied as she heaved so silently. My mouth watered.
"Your son is dead," I said. Her head snapped up, eyes wide as tears spilled. A wail escaped her throat. I clicked my lips, rising. Every bone in my body clicked into perfect place as I neared her. My thin hands cradled her head as she sobbed.
"He's–?" She choked.
"Dead," I lied. How should I know about this crying lady's son? Why should I know of such an insignificant person? A Gold-Eyed such as me? What a pathetic cause. "Yes."
She stuffed her face into my middle, crying. I tightened my grip on her slightly. Something squirmed within me. It stung my guts. It warmed me through. Her hands traced my arms.
"Please," She begged.
I think I was going to enjoy this.