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She was just so happy that he was okay.

But then he wasn’t.

Because Cobalt didn’t wake up the next morning.

At first glance, Crimson assumed he was utterly exhausted from their two, nonstop days of adventure. But then as she’d taken a closer look after another hour passed by and he hadn’t stirred yet, she’d seen the returning signs of his fever. The beads of sweat on his forehead, the pale pallor to his cheeks that were puffy and the sapphire colour of his mouth.

“No!” She scrambled towards him, running her hands up against his freakishly warm skin. He groaned softly and she felt the onslaught of angry tears as she shook. “No, nono! Youwerebetter! You were happy and dancing and playing and swimming!”

He didn’t answer her and she began to sob.

Crimson yanked the blanket up higher on his thin, too frail chest and tucked him in. She made sure there wasn’t an inch of his body to be seen as she stroked his black hair back and dabbed a damp cloth over his face to cool the rising fever that had him twitching.

She found out about her gifts that week, too.

When her stomach growled at her that she needed food, she ignored it. She ignored its whines and calls for four days straight as she tended to her brother. Crimson changed his clothes, washed the previous ones, made dandelion broth and fed it to him with whatever strawberries she could find from the spot on the river bank. She wiped away his sweat and brushed his hair. She held him when he cried and sang him to sleep to the best of her abilities.

But her own needs couldn’t be ignored forever.

Wild strawberries and dandelion soup wouldn’t fill the gnawing ache in her lower abdomen. Not for someone of her age. So she set out into the town, searching for any sign of a soul that would take pity on her and offer her up a morsel. Even if it was a crumb, she was desperate.

One by one, men and women passed her by without a single, sparing glance or a speck of kindness. It was raining that day, because of course it was. It only added to her misery as she stood in the downpour of cold drops. She was drenched to the bone but it didn’t matter.

“Please! Spare a coin or two, for food?” She begged of a gentleman who made for the Silver Gate. He shirked her arm off as she tried to grab him. He cursed her, leaving her behind as he disappeared around the bend.

“Anything would do!” She called to a woman who only wrapped herself tighter in her pink shawl, rushing for the cover of a tavern nearby.

“You’re too pretty to be out on the streets, begging.” A male voice snickered behind her. “I’ll give you a coin.”

“Thank yo-” Crimson flipped around to see her saviour, only to have her gut clench in rife terror as she took in the man. The coin wouldn’t come for free, by the looks of him. He was dressed for someone who could only belong within the Gold Gate. He wore a smoke doublet with rich, golden buttons that ran down his front and a bag embroidered with silver birds that picked at ruby thistles.

“I- I’m not selling anything.” She protested and went to turn away from him, but his gloved fingers latched onto her arm. He whisked her back to him and she could smell the strong cologne that drifted off of him in wafting waves of patchouli and amber.

“I thought you said that you were desperate.” He chuckled down at her. “Desperation is quite a motivator.”

Crimson kicked his knee, succeeding in releasing her from his hard grasp. Acrunchsounded and she took a miniscule bit of pride in it as she tore from him.

“Youanimal! You belong in the Pits, of all places.” He snarled at her and limped away, leaving her to herself.

The Pits.

She halted her walk down the cobblestone street, back to the apartment as she turned that particular name over in her head. She’d heard of it before, and knew that place.

But where?

Why?

Crimson continued down the street, avoiding the scoffing looks of others who passed her. They snickered at her height and her thinness, even if they weren’t much better off themselves. A life in the Bronze Gates only held so many outcomes for its residents.

She wandered until she found a tavern.

The Bronzed Goblet.

The double doors were held open by metal pins in the ground, welcoming all sorts of life within. But as she peered around the entrance, she saw something strange. All men of life were gathered inside, which was more than odd considering that most people didn’t dare to venture past the Silver Gate. Let alone come into the Bronze Gate.

But there, at the counter, was a man in a velvet top hat and chiffon cravat. He murmured something to the barkeep who grinned and pushed past the counter, beckoning him to follow. He did, only to vanish a couple minutes later and for the woman to return to her post at the bar without him. A second and third followed, disappearing into what seemed like thin air.

Crimson snuck around the corner, fixing herself against the wall to observe some more. Patrons laughed, drank and gambled at round card tables. But throughout the entirety of the night, more and more emptied into some other section of the tavern that escaped her vantage point.