Voices floated in and out of her daze. Lucia tried to sit up, but the pain throbbing against her head
kept her from doing so. Her ears were ringing eerily, and everything was obscured by a white mist. Colors all looked the same, and voices came from far off, as though she were
underwater.
Her sight and hearing were clearly messed up, so Lucia attempted to locate her surroundings using her
other senses. She sniffed. Was that pine wood she smelled? Being Lea’s sister for 10 years also told her that marigolds were somewhere nearby, and rich soil along with it. The air smelled of recent
rain, and- was that grass? Next, Lucia summoned all her energy to be able to move her fingers. She ran them along the floor underneath her. It was brittle, hard and probably wood. She let out a cry
of pain as something, a splinter, she guessed, had lodged itself in her finger. Yep. Definitely wood.
“Look who's up.” She could hear over the ringing before she was violently yanked off the floor by the
arm. Her vision cleared as she focused on the auburn hair facing her. The voice was sharp and harsh. He clearly wasn't happy with her. The ringing faded as the last of her vision cleared but the
painful thumping wasn't going to budge anytime soon.
She looked around her quickly. They were in some kind of closed off wagon or crate and she could now
feel the uneven bumping of road traveling beneath them. Wherever they were, they weren't going to be there for long. The other man sat slumped against the wall, his hands and feet looked slightly
cleaner but she doubted that the dirt ever fully came out.
There was no window in the wagon, but Lucia, straining to sit up, was glad to see there was a large
crack in between two slats of wood. She squinted and peered hard through the crack. She didn’t recognize her surroundings, wooded trees and… more wooded trees. Wherever they were, there wasn’t
civilization around anywhere near here evidently.
Her hands were still tied behind her back, so as the wagon jolted to a stop, Lucia fell with it,
steadying herself against the wall as she slid. The other man woke up with the jolt and grinned at her. “You okay Princess?”
She glanced down. The dress she’d been wearing was now covered in leftover soot from the fire, and had
additional spots of dirt on it. Lucia could feel twigs and branches knotted into her unkempt hair. She was sure she looked like a mess. If Grandmother could see me now, she thought wryly, scraping some dirt off her bare foot with her opposite foot“-ey, Hey!” The man in front of her shoved her shoulder roughly and her head shot up. “Pay attention!”
His blue eyes glared down at her.
“We’re going to get to the market soon. You will do as we say, you won't speak to anyone or try
anything. And if you do I will make you regret it.” Malice filled his voice and Lucia knew he meant it and quickly nodded.
“Okay, good,” he replied before dropping her to the floor roughly. “Then we won't have any
problems.”
The other man opened the back of the wagon and climbed in. He un tied her feet and hands. Lucia stared
at him in surprise. “Can’t have you going around and tripping over your own two feet in a crowded marketplace,” he informed her gruffly. “Now, stay right behind me or you’ll be
sorry.”
Lucia obeyed, following his exact footsteps and weaving through the crowded marketplace. Nearly
everyone inside had dark hoods over their faces and Lucia felt a shiver go up her spine. Who were these people?
The man led her to what looked like a gypsy shop. Fabrics draped the windows and the glass doors, and
tiny useless-looking trinkets covered the window display and shelves that lined the walls. The door chimed as they opened it and stepped inside, and from the back room, a woman wearing a long
purple skirt and lots of beads with a dark purple veil draped over her face stepped out. “Welcome my dears.”
“Ah!” Recognition flashed across her face from behind the veil. “Regan, Fletcher, you're here. Did you
bring it?” Something darker seeped into her voice.
“Yep.” The first one (Regan?) replied, reaching back and shoving Lucia forward. A small gasp escaped
the gypsy’s mouth as her hands caught Lucia by the shoulders. She's brought face to face with the others’ curious eyes for a moment before she's spun around and her head forced down. A small yelp
escaped her lips and she could feel eyes baring down into her skull from across the room. Her hair is swept out of the way as long fingernails trace her neck.
“Ah yes.” The gypsy hissed, her breath hot on Lucia’s neck. “She’s the one. And where is the other
one?” She asked.
Regan stepped forward. “Vanessa,we only needed the one and we said we’d bring you what you wanted, you
only need this one for that. The other ones probably useless anyways.”
She let out a hissing sound. “And how would you know, didn't you say you only ever checked this one? So you just decide to leave the other!?” Her sigh portrayed frustration. “But no matter. This one will do for what I need.” She bent down to peer into Lucia’s eyes. “Ah yes.” She said. “You will be
perfect.”
Lucia was too frightened to speak. Her body stiffened as the gypsy, Vanessa, propelled her behind a
curtain of purple beads and into a back room. The room was lined with the same purple cloth, and the air was heavy with perfume. There was a small table bearing a pot of tea and two cups with two
padded armchairs that sat beside it.
“Take a seat.” She gestured to the armchairs. And Lucia, too frightened to do anything else,
obeyed.
Before taking her seat, the woman zipped around the room, moving bottles and baskets and gathering
things. She came back with a small pot and a dagger. She held it out to Lucia expectantly. But Lucia still had no idea what to do, but before she could even ask, Regan was behind her grabbing her
wrist roughly and slitting it with the dagger, fresh pain blossoming across her arm that brought tears to her eyes as she jerked backwards
“Ah!” Lucia couldn't muffle her scream as she tried to pull her wrist away, but Regan’s grip held
tight, pushing her wrist over the pot as blood well up against her wrist and splattered down.
“What did I say about being too loud?” Regan ground out, ignoring her struggle and only squeezing her
wrist harder as more blood spilt over. Lucia barely held in her scream as red hot pain branched its way up her arm, throbbing mercilessly
“Magnificent.” The woman uttered as more blood filled the small pot before deeming it enough and waving
off Regan’s grip as she took the pot away, she immediately yanked her hand to her chest once it was free, trembling as she pressed on the throbbing wound. But even with the pot gone, her wrist kept
bleeding as she clutched it desperately to try and stop the flow. Wordlessly, the gypsy dropped a needle and thread on the table as she continued to move things around. And what was that
for? Oh. She looked down at the deep gash on her wrist. She has to-. She felt herself tremble violently and her breath sped up even more. How was she supposed to- she didn't even know what was going on, a few hours ago she was safe at home and now she was who-knows
how many miles away.
Her arm jolted with another pang of hot pain, more blood spilling over her wrist and onto her dress,
sopping up into her dress and staining the white fabric into a scarlet red. She drew a sharp breath at the sensation, bringing her back from her head. She couldn't sit here and do nothing. She had to, she had to at least try. Quietly, she grabbed the needle and thread. How was she supposed to do this? She looked down in horror at her bloodied wrist, feeling nausea rise at the sight of the jagged torn flesh, seemingly endless red blood rising from the seams.
Lucia closed her eyes, trying to picture the way her mother had once stitched Lucia’s arm when she’d
been dared by the village boys to climb a tree in her stupid skirt (Grandmother Nataline had made her wear it) and fallen out. She might not have sewn like this before but she had sewn skirts, It
couldn’t be different from stitching a hem, could it? Then again, Lucia had never been good at even stitching hems. Her most recent one had been wrinkled and misshapen, and Lea had had to rip out
all the stitches and redo them herself before Grandmother saw. Sewing was also Lea’s thing.
Trying to blink away some of the tears that clouded her vision, Lucia threaded the needle with shaky
hands, pain shooting down her wrist with the motions. More tears swam in her eyes, and it was all she could do to hold them in. First stitch is the hardest, she told herself, bracing herself tightly as she ignored the rising tightness in her throat. If she
started crying she wouldn't be able to see. “Three, two, one.” She counted herself down and pushed the needle into her skin, crying out in agony. With the needle firmly through, she knotted the
thread as best she could with trembling hands.
Lucia glanced down her wrist. Now the first stitch was in. She pulled to tighten it barley muffling
another pained noise, hot red flashes of pain working up her half numbed arm again, lighting it up in pain.
Her hands shook as she painstakingly stitched up her wrist. The stitches were messy and crooked but
Lucia couldn't bring herself to care as she pulled them closed, she just wanted this to be over, wincing as a last flare of pain branched up her arm. The bleeding stopped, that's all that mattered.
She tied the knot as best as she could, doing her best to ignore the sick feeling of her skin pulling against the tight black string when she shifted and tried to wipe away some of the tears on her
face. Looking up, she realised that Vanessa wasn't running around the room anymore. She was with Regan and Fletcher now, digging through a fabric sack
“How much do I owe you for the blood?” She looked up at the two.
“25.” Fletcher grunted, leaning on the wall next to Regan.
“Wonderful.” She chirped back, pulling out a handful of shiny coins from the
satchel.
She handed the coins over, dropping them into Fletcher’s hand. He closed his fingers over them and shot
Lucia a half grin, laced with sarcasm. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He said, pushing the beaded curtain aside and exiting.
It was only Vanessa, Regan and Lucia and her painfully misshapen stitches left in the room. “What can you do with the girl?” Regan asked. Lucia looked up, forgetting he was still there. She paused.
Vanessa looked up from the sack. Obviously, she had forgotten he was there too.
“Mm?”
“The girl. What can you do with the girl?” Regan demanded. “Are we to take her, cause unless you can
help us get what we want we’re taking her”
Vanessa eyed Lucia up and down. “Her? Why would I want to take care of that? She’s all yours till I
need her again.” she turned and placed the brown satchel on the counter before she paused again “And for the record.” she turned her head to look at Regan “I don't mess with the stuff you two are
trying to do.” Lucia could practically feel the tension in the room against her skin now and she felt herself shrink back a tiny bit
“Great.” Regan snarled. “Come on brat.” He turned to the beads and pulled them
open.
“Now.” He punctuated when Lucia hesitated in her chair. Startled into action, she stumbled out of the
chair and quickly followed, fear settling deep in her stomach again at his icy tone. Fletcher was waiting at the door, counting the coins in his hand before dropping them into his own leather
pouch.
Regan led Lucia out to the door. He passed Fletcher, holding out his hand. “And my share?” Fletcher
grunted and handed over half of the money. Regan let go of Lucia’s arm long enough to drop the money into his own pouch, hanging around his neck.
“What’s that?” Lucia asked, before realizing she should have kept her mouth
shut.
He glared at her, but for some reason decided to answer. “identification.”
“What?”
“identification.” He informed her like that was something she should know. His pouch bounced and
flipped as he moved, and the back showed. Slipped inside the plastic pouch was a blue identification card. Lucia caught a brief glance before it flipped back to the other side. Regan Harken, age 20.
Before she could think much into it, Fletcher pushed the door open and yanked her outside. It seemed
even more congested than last time. Keeping her head down she followed him, getting shoved roughly by Regan when she slowed too much. This time she could feel the strares people gave her from under their hoods, eyes following her as she walked. They probably don’t get kids here often, she reasoned warily, picking up her pace a little.
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