In the grittier part of the city, where thieves and beggars dwell, Linh made it to the Red Crow with paper feet smudged over in dirt and tiny pebbles. Linh could feel another hole beginning to wither into her wrinkled soles. She sighed and paused, pulling out some bandages from her paper bag, and wrapped them around her feet before entering.

Within the inn, various unmentionables drank and gambled. Linh spotted a woman made of grass chatting up a being made of metal gears. Other beings, some with wolf heads, some with crow bodies, swayed back and forth with the music. Their rags, if they had any at all, were worn down—faded like their dreams.

The unmentionables that didn’t make it to the Red Crow,  well, Linh heard very little about them. Her brother used to chortle about the unmentionables burned in the square for some petty crime or locked away in the attic, never to be seen again. In retrospect, Linh was amazed her Aunt had put up with her for seven months.

“Allo there, what’s your poison?” the innkeeper nodded, gesturing to the menu. “The day’s special is rat soup. Even managed to pinch a bit of cabbage to make it nice and nutritious for yeh.”

Linh shook her head and raised her palms up.

[I’m looking for work.]

The innkeeper stared at her with his good eye, then burst into laughter. Each laugh seemed to choke up another rotten tooth from his throat. No doubt, his curse. Linh did her best to avoid being hit by the teeth.

“You and every cursed unmentionable in this rotting hell! I’d tell yeh to go into mercenary work, or the night life, but your body wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

She tried to resist the urge to ball up her hands. Uncrumpling her fingers always proved to be a pain, like realigning broken bones.

“Well, that’s a cute pout there,” he nodded at the ink frown on her face, “but that don’t make it less true. You’re paper. You’d get torn apart if you ever landed a punch! Even if you went into the night life, any soul who had a fetish for you would ruin you for good.”

[Do you have any postings for outside the city?] Linh demanded.

“Nothing any sane soul would want.”

[I can decide that for myself, thank you.]

The innkeeper shrugged. “It’s your loss then. I guarantee you won’t take it as soon as I tell yeh, but…” He looked around and gestured for Linh to come closer. “I know it’s not done… hell…” he sighed, “there’s a witch out there. A consulting witch. Hecate. You heard of her?”

Linh felt dry and cold. Hecate. Of course, she’d heard of Hecate. The wicked witch. The dark one. The women who had torn kingdoms apart with a simple curse. Hecate was the worst of all witches—immortal and merciless. Her clients always paid a high price. In blood, perhaps. In suffering.

The ink on Linh’s face faded out, almost white.

The innkeeper smiled, his rotting teeth growing back slowly. Nice and sharp. Clinging with rot. She could see red feathers stuffed in between each crevice.

“She’s looking for a lil’ helper. An assistant.”