Marked

Chapter 1

Roe awoke that morning to sunlight filtering through the gap between the shutters, little bits of dust catching the light and glinting as they spiraled towards the ground. The shadows shifted in the room as the breeze caressed the window like a mothers hand on a newborn's face. She sat up and stretched her arms in front of her, then turned her body to the side and lifted her legs over the edge of the mattress.

Stepping onto the cold stone floor, she padded across the room to the mantle of the firepit and grabbed her pitcher of water from the shelf. She poured herself a glass of water and drank greedily, replenishing her body with hydration after the hours she had been in bed. She then walked over to the window and threw open the shutters, bathing the room in light.

Her apartment was small, just enough room for a bed, a firepit for cooking, and a narrow bathing room with a tub. The walls were faded and cracked with age, little divots in the stone where people had previously hung decorations. A small stone counter surrounded a shallow cooking pit, where ashes had gathered in dunes and clumps, sprinkling over the floor in front of the pit with a careless ease. There was a small sink to the right of the cooking pit, with dishes piled to the rim. A faded rug ran was lazily strewn in front of the bed, tassels frayed and dirty, while a small door led to the bathing room. Candles were melted onto the windowsills, the mantle of the cooking pit, and on a couple of hastily hung shelves that held no other decorations. Her bed was a simple mattress, with coverlets and two plush pillows at the head. Other than a dresser in the corner and a compact table and single chair near the firepit, she had no other furniture.

She had a little bit of bread and cheese left on the countertop and she felt a rumble of hunger as she turned her attention to the food in front of her. She hadn't gone to the food market in a few days, and she cursed herself for not thinking ahead. It was difficult, caring for oneself; It felt like never ending tasks that provided little reward. She took a small knife and cut pieces of the cheese to eat with the bread, gnawing off pieces of the tough roll with her teeth. She had slept mostly soundly through the night, although her dreams were plagued with claws, too-long fingers slapping against the ground, and teeth. So many teeth.

She shook the remnants of the dream from her mind, and turned towards the dresser. It only took a few steps to cross the room to her clothes. She pulled on a tan tunic and a pair of deep brown pants that hid several clever pockets. Braiding her hair behind her head was difficult; her hair was shorter than she was used to after she had taken a knife to it the night before. It was getting far too long and she couldn't be bothered to take exceptionally good care of it, so shorter was easier.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a twin set of knives; short enough to conceal within her pockets, but long enough to do significant damage if she was challenged. She strapped a few small daggers around her ankles, and sheathed a larger dagger into a holster swung around her hips.

Her thoughts drifted to a time before she would arm herself to the teeth just to venture out into the city, when she was small and carefree, and had people protecting her from harm. It was always safer to go out in groups of at least two, and she remembered what it had been like to have people she could rely on. She thought of her cousin, a bright light in an ever-darkening world, a quick wit and generous smiles. She thought of her humor, as she laughed so effortlessly, cracking jokes and always trying to bring the best out of those around her. Her cousin was beautiful, with red-tinted dark brown locks, twin to her own. They had been told that they looked similar, and were often mistaken for sisters, although Roe hadn't seen the resemblance.

She missed the times when they would walk down the streets to the vendor's capital of Miraxis, perusing the wares of the merchants and trying on scarves and silks she couldn't afford. Sirscha would always preen over the colors, declaring each one better than the last, and throwing liberal compliments towards her about which ones matched her eyes the best. There were all sorts of different vendors in this district; cobblers and leatherworkers, dye shops and shops for sweets. Sirscha always preferred the clothing and dress shops, happy to spend her hours perusing the finery that adorned the shelves. Their afternoons were a whirl of fabrics, trying on dresses and tunics and scarves and sweaters. Her father always gave her a healthy allowance which funded her purchases for herself and Roe.