The planned one-night stay turned into days, a week, and then two, and now Amila found herself establishing a routine.
"You don't have to leave so soon," Sham told her the first time she mentioned her plans to leave. "We’re the only ones here. Not many people travel these parts. And I'd like to make sure you've fully recovered. Just be safe."
"I actually prefer it if you stay longer," Noir quipped. "At least you don't burn the food." That got him a glare from the blond woman, which he elected to ignore.
It felt foreign for Amila; having a safe place to stay for days on end.
The nights were the most brutal. It consisted mostly of darkness, the shadow of her village burning, and her father’s warm hands, like some twisted echo ringing inside her mind. When she woke up, it was to the sight of Noir sitting on top of her as he groomed himself. "Oh, good. You’re awake. Now get me my breakfast.”
Glad to get rid of the taste of her nightmares, Amila would then dive into whatever chores needed to be done, mainly with the guidance—demands, as Sham would often grumble—of Noir. When the cat noticed that Amila would even willingly scale the roof to plug a hole, he began to rope her more often with his requests.
She was… surprised, to say the least, at how quickly she got used to the talking cat. He talks more than any person she ever met, and can be quite opinionated (Sham called it judgemental), but his respectful distance (aside from waking her up) and constant talks peppered with little and silly questions like whether her arm's getting tired or if the smoke's getting too much made Amila realized that the weird cat was taking her comfort in consideration.
… Well, that's what she'd like to believe. Even so, she made sure to maintain that distance.
Assisting Sham, however, was an entirely different chore. The poor girl was clumsy enough to trip on air, and in the short time she had stayed with them, Amila could confidently say that her patching skills had quite improved.
The blonde also had a... unique taste in decoration, and the interior of the house reflects it. The large, multicolored vase was being used as broom storage, and the portraits decorating the walls ranged from beautiful landscapes to skull mounts of different animals. Facing the foyer was a large circular mirror with wavy spikes on its side as decoration, sharp enough to be a weapon on its own. Amila thought that it was probably trying to imitate the sun's rays, but it's tilted more toward a horror-based motif.
“Where do you all get these things?”
“Hmm?” Noir stopped grooming himself and turned to look at her. “Where? From scamming people, of course.”
Amila blinked before turning to him. “. . . Pardon?”
Sham had kicked the table at that, which irritated the cat perched on it, and quickly explained that they were, in fact, hers and in no way stolen or bought in some shady deals.
Amila felt something warm slowly growing in her chest as the days passed. It seems that she had already overstayed her welcome.
She couldn't let herself get comfortable. It's too dangerous.
Luckily, once every two weeks, they would take a trip down to the nearest city to refresh the stocks, to which Sham would often offer to get Amila a couple of pairs of clothes.
“I’m a woman, as well,” the blonde said as a rebuttal to the other’s insistence on being fine with her current clothes. “Having clothes that fit you properly is an entirely different brand of comfort.” Amila didn’t put up much fight after that.
It'll be a perfect time to leave.
Pulling a cart, they followed the now-familiar dirt track for a half-day walk to reach Hongnam, a large port city famous for its bustling streets and variety of unique and exotic merchandise.
“With how frequent natural calamities had been taking over any semblance of human civilization, this place might be one of the few remaining cities that remained standing,” Sham told her during their first trip to the city.
And indeed, Amila could see the truth of Sham’s statement. Every time they returned, the arrow alleys were filled with more people squatting down, many of them clutching their few remaining possessions in worn-looking bags.
"Let's try to stick together," Sham murmured as she tried to steer clear of someone's elbow. "Traffic seems to be bad today."
“My, what a lovely shade of red you have, my dear!”
Amila jumped in surprise as a store lady pulled her to the side to peer at her hair, so closely that she had to take a step back. “A great shade. Not like that of blood, no, but more of a rose. Delicate and unique.” The store owner then gave her a toothy grin. “With the right type and color of fabrics, we can highlight your natural beauty even more. Hmm, how about this green fabric? It’ll make your hair’s color pop even more!”
Amila took an unsteady step back. “Um, well—”
“No, then? How about this?” The lady then pulled out another dress with even more glitter and sparkling dangles. “This one is made from high-quality fabrics and would make any eyes follow you even in a crowded room!”
“N-no, I’m not really—”
A sudden voice broke through the bustling noise from the street, her words too clear. “A simple set of clothes will do, madame. One you can wear around the house.”
“Sham!” Relieved, Amila stood close to the blonde, eager to get as far away as she could from the sales pitch.
“Oh, it’s you.” The sales lady’s demeanor went through a complete change as soon as her eyes fell on Sham, the smile dropping into a line. In a short time, they had bought two simple dresses and one as sleepwear.
She turned to get one last look at the vendor, eyebrows furrowed. “That...” Amila stopped and darted her eyes down. Sham gave a soft laugh.
The blond woman offered a smile. “A lot of the people here are not really. . . fond of me.”
“They thought she was some magical witch,” Noir whispered from his place inside Sham’s bag. “They’re all scared that she might go and decide to blast them in the head. I heard them whispering about it.”
“It’s mostly the scars, I think,” Sham added, touching her left eye and the wrinkled skin. “They do look different than the usual scars.”
“They need to keep to themselves rather than nosing other people’s business,” Noir stated before curling back on himself. Sham huffed but offered no words back. The two girls continued towards the fruit stalls.
Amila wet her lips and lightly gnawed at it. “How... did you get it? Um, is it alright to ask?”
“Hmm?” Sham looked up from examining an apple. “Oh, a past accident. It blew up quite nastily on the face.”
The girl blinked. “Oh. I see.” That… doesn't sound like an enough answer. Amila couldn’t really imagine how bad an accident it was to have such an injury, but with the other girl being nonchalant about it, the topic should probably be dropped there. They're not really friends, so she had no right to pry into private details.
Besides, I should be thinking about how to leave. She hasn't even decided whether to say goodbye or just take her leave, fearing that Sham might try to convince her to stay again.
For some reason, saying no to Sham felt almost too impossible. She shook her head at that.
“Okay, that’s most of it,” Sham stated as she dropped their latest items on the cart, mumbling an 'oof' when she almost bumped into another shopper. “Good thing the roads here are wide. Let’s see, we got the fruits and vegetables, a new pail, and—”
“Fish!” Noir hissed under the bag. “You promised you'd buy some when we're here!”
“Right,” Sham looked to her right, then to the left. She opened her mouth and stood still for a few seconds. “. . . Which way to the fish market, again?”
“The fish stalls?” A passing man, face red, slurred in his words, “You can take this road, then take two lefts and a right, and then it’ll be a block away.” He then swung the arm holding his bottle to his left, “This route is shorter, but you’ll need to pass the center plaza. That’s where they put the gallows.”
“Thank you. We’ll take the longer route,” Sham answered with a sunny smile. Amila's starting to think that it's her signature expression.
"Are we sure to take that man's words seriously?" Noir asked from the bag, his skepticism clear from his voice.
"Well, it shouldn't be that much of a problem?" Sham answered. Amila couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the question-sounding statement. The blond noticed the look and waved her hand. "It'll be fine! It's not like we'll end up in another town!"
The longer route was packed with even more vendors and stalls, the noise a cacophony of discounted prices, intense bargaining, and overflattery. They tried to follow the man’s instructions and ended up in a narrow alley.
“. . . I know it’s a bad idea to listen to that drunk,” Noir said in a deadpan voice, and Amila couldn’t help but agree when she noticed one of the vendors eyeing them up and down, his eyes and smile narrow. He slowly made his way to them, hands clasped together in front of him.
“Lost, are we dearies?” The vendor was an old man, scrawny and graying at the head, with hollow cheeks. “Interested in browsing my wares? Antiques they may be, but still of high quality as any brand-new items.” By the last sentence, he had to raise his voice when a child started wailing at the end of the alley.
“Ah, no, thank you. We’re just trying to find our way. . .” Amila paused in her words when she noticed her companion looking at the displayed trinkets in front of them. The wares ranged from ancient-looking coins to rings encrusted with gems and glass paperweights. The one that got Sham’s attention, however, was a bronze circular pendant, the edges chipped and misshapen. It was almost unnoticeable and could easily be mistaken for an old decorative coin, which was probably why it was in that section rather than with the other pendants. In the middle was an image of a branching tree, faded out through age but still recognizable.
Amila’s hand shot to clasp the amulet under her clothes.
The shop owner, noticing their interest, picked up the pendant and hastily shoved it under his stall. “P-pardon me, dear customers. It seemed th-that some trinkets were unsellable that got mixed in. Please, peruse at your own leisure.”
“That pendant… It has an interesting design,” Sham stated, despite the stammering merchant’s darting eyes. “May we have a closer look?” For the first time, Amila saw how the usual carefree smile from Sham had a tinge of something in it: forced and sharp, and she felt something cold forming on her belly.
The request had made the merchant pale in a matter of seconds. He gripped the edge of his stand, his eyes wide and lips quivering. “No. No, please, I beg. It— I wasn’t trying to sell it, and I’m not into any back dealings, nor am I a secret member of Eden! Please, mercy! I have a family I need to support!”
Eden? It was the first time Amila heard of it.
Taken aback by the flood of words and tears, Sham snapped back to herself, her eyes widening in surprise, then in pain. “Apologies. I wasn’t trying to...” she paused, biting her lip. “I’m so sorry.” Their back-and-forth was causing a small scene as passers-by pointed curiously, making the hairs in Amila’s nape stand. She hates being seen like this. “Maybe we should just go,” she whispered as she tried to pull at Sham’s sleeves.
At the same time, the sound of the wailing child had been progressively louder, making an even bigger scene as the little girl, looking as if she were no older than four, threw angry words at someone who looked like her mother.
“Like I told you, we can have some at home,” the mother, half-shouting herself to be heard from the racket, told the girl, but it only made the crying worse.
“No!! I want to have it now!!!”
The girl was pointing at something, and her face was blotchy from crying. The spectators were trying not to look like they were watching, but it was not what had caught Amila’s attention.
A few steps from the arguing mother and child, a tall black-hooded figure stood watching. People moved and walked around it, not noticing.
Unmoving, it continued to watch as the mother, likely fed up, grabbed the child by the arm and started to pull. Then, bright thread-like lines appeared in the air, surrounding both the mother and child. Amila could feel her eyes widening, but her voice froze as more threads in red and yellow appeared like tangled knots, seen only by her. The girl wailed, the threads twisting and wrapping at the point her mother was gripping her, and in a second, the mother was entirely covered in red flames. The lady cried in agony, and when she reached another stall, it, too, erupted in flames. The threads quivered, their numbers doubling, and more and more stalls were caught on fire.
The scene horrified the people, but after a second, everyone darted in all directions, crying in panic and fear. Amila, still frozen, was helplessly swept away. The little girl, looking confused, watched with furrowed eyebrows as her mother writhed and twitched on the ground, her voice breaking, until she lay unmoving.
“Momma?”
“ Grab her! ”
The little girl started reaching for her mother, but then a group of men pulled her away, making her cry in pain. The uniform suggested that they were the city guards, shouting orders for people to settle down, which mostly fell on deaf ears.
Throughout the ordeal, the only figure that remained unmoving was the hooded figure.