Kajsa does arts® and writes® :D

[Mags she/they]

1 hour ago, Kajsa said:

HELLO HUMANS I REQUIRE ASSISTANCE

okay so for my art class my teacher is offering some extra credit opportunities and for one of them we can draw our fave character from smth random

and i asked her if i could do my OCs, and she said yes

so i'm doing two of mine and their friend group with @Bird Furious' 

but i have a dilemma

i need references

i was thinking a selfie situation

or maybe that one BOTW group pic with all the champions--@Wittles knows what i'm talkin bout

i also need to figure out if i should do just the OG four characters OR ADD CHAN AND REANNE BECAUSE THEY'RE SO ICONIC AND I LOVE THEM but they're also not OGs so IDK WHAT TO DO PLEASE HELP

@Mag i could use your artistic expertise

GO DO IT YOU GOT THIS

idk what exactly do you want help with? I definitely think taking pictures of yourself in the pose you have in mind could be beneficial. Try out stuff with thumbnails.

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

1 hour ago, Cash67 said:

Do this one /joking spoilered for size

  Reveal hidden contents

 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CASH I LOVE YOU

19 minutes ago, Mag said:

GO DO IT YOU GOT THIS

idk what exactly do you want help with? I definitely think taking pictures of yourself in the pose you have in mind could be beneficial. Try out stuff with thumbnails.

i did a thumbnail in history and i'm looking at it right now

and i am CRYING

IT'S SO BAD BUT IT'S SO GOOD

[Mags she/they]

7 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CASH I LOVE YOU

i did a thumbnail in history and i'm looking at it right now

and i am CRYING

IT'S SO BAD BUT IT'S SO GOOD

THAT MEANS ITS GOOOD

YAAAY

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

1 minute ago, Mag said:

THAT MEANS ITS GOOOD

YAAAY

dele is actually cracking me up so hard

i'll post a picture after shcool

[Mags she/they]

3 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

dele is actually cracking me up so hard

i'll post a picture after shcool

hehehehe I'm excited

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

16 minutes ago, Mag said:

hehehehe I'm excited

lol i found a reference for basic composition and some of the poses and this is maybe the most hysterical thing i've ever drawn

it's still a thumbnail but oh my gosh

[Wittles he/him]

5 hours ago, Kajsa said:

HELLO HUMANS I REQUIRE ASSISTANCE

okay so for my art class my teacher is offering some extra credit opportunities and for one of them we can draw our fave character from smth random

and i asked her if i could do my OCs, and she said yes

so i'm doing two of mine and their friend group with @Bird Furious' 

but i have a dilemma

i need references

i was thinking a selfie situation

or maybe that one BOTW group pic with all the champions--@Wittles knows what i'm talkin bout

i also need to figure out if i should do just the OG four characters OR ADD CHAN AND REANNE BECAUSE THEY'RE SO ICONIC AND I LOVE THEM but they're also not OGs so IDK WHAT TO DO PLEASE HELP

@Mag i could use your artistic expertise

I think it would be fun to do the botw group pic, but with the OCs

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

2 hours ago, Wittles said:

I think it would be fun to do the botw group pic, but with the OCs

that’s what i was thinking

 but we’re two short

 UNLESS I ADD CHAN AND REANNE

 but i also already did some thumbnails

 i’ll give it some thought

maybe i’ll do TWO

one with the OGs 

and then one with reanne and chan

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

@Mag these are the thumbnails lmao

Spoiler

 

[Cash67]

8 hours ago, Kajsa said:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CASH I LOVE YOU

i did a thumbnail in history and i'm looking at it right now

and i am CRYING

IT'S SO BAD BUT IT'S SO GOOD

*over the top bow* Love ya too.

 

1 hour ago, Kajsa said:

@Mag these are the thumbnails lmao

  Hide contents

 

Adorable!

[Mags she/they]

2 hours ago, Kajsa said:

@Mag these are the thumbnails lmao

  Hide contents

 

I love it!!!! eheheeh

[Wittles he/him]

2 hours ago, Kajsa said:

@Mag these are the thumbnails lmao

  Reveal hidden contents

 

THose are so fun!

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

hello lovely humans! this took me a while to get up lol but here is the revised first chapter of kiesha's story! i'm currently calling the novella either To Walk Again or To Live Again, but i'd love suggestions  

Spoiler

ONE

 

 

 

 

Kiesha passed the back of her hand across her slick forehead. It smudged sweat, and she paused to press the heel against an oncoming headache, clutching the blue fabric that cascaded down onto her work table and threatened to drop onto the dirty floor. 

There were only two hours left of her shift before she could collect her pay, mail it off to Hera, and go home to Zack. The thought filled her with both excitement and unease—she could only hope he wouldn’t ask about rent. She’d keep what she could, but she wasn’t making enough as it was.

Weary, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the steamy, metallic air. It smelled hot, like sweat, steam, and cloth, like human oils on metal and like work. The air was damp, plastering her hair against the back of her neck and her clothes to her skin. Sounds of scissors, scraping chairs,  and fabric filled the factory, of sniffles and heavy breaths, but the loudest of all was the silence between the women. 

It would be dark soon, and the cacophony would continue by candlelight.

Sticking her needle into the pincushion, Kiesha wadded up the fabric so it would stay on her desk and collapsed onto her wobbly wooden stool. She just needed a few minutes. She was already working on her second dress of the day, and she had watched nearly every other worker come and go. There were only a few others working shifts as long as hers, and both of them were single women with babies at home. 

As she glanced around, one of them–a war widow with sad brown eyes–shot her a sympathetic smile, brushing her blonde hair away from her glistening face. She opened her mouth as if to speak but snapped it closed as her eyes passed from Kiesha’s face to the space over her shoulder. She turned back to her work, clearing her throat, and pushing her shoulders back. It was a warning as much as a defense. 

Kiesha scrambled to stand, but the foreman had already seen her. He sauntered over with his empty hands shoved in his pockets and that obnoxious, smug look on his face. He looked healthy as ever, and clean. He was free of dirt, black eyes bright, dark hair freshly washed. If he hadn’t been such a tramp, he could have been attractive.

“Looks like we’ve got a slacker on our hands, eh, Ebersol?” His voice was deep, rough, and smoky.

She’d managed to retrieve the needle from the cushion by the time he’d made it to her work table, but he slammed his hand down on the fabric before she could start a new seam. 

“I’ve been here eleven hours,” she said dryly. 

“That’s right, missy. And you’ll be here a lot longer if you don’t pick up the pace, mm?” His fingers rapped against the table, and she closed her eyes as he moved to squeeze her shoulders. Where her dress didn’t cover, his calloused skin brushed hers.

“Get off, would you?”

“You wouldn’t want wind of your little break getting down to the higher-ups,” he reminded her. She could feel his sticky, stale breath against her skin. “It’s payday, Miss Ebersol.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’ve made friends with the higher-ups, Ebersol. You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he whispered, lips so near her ear they brushed it. She jerked away, freeing herself of his hands, but she was still trapped between her table and his body. She’d have to wait this one out. “Just think of your poor brother, Kiesha. Couldn’t he use a few extra shillings?”

“Don’t.”

“I could give you a promotion,” he continued, leaning down so his breath was hot on the back of her neck again, making her wish she hadn’t tied up her hair. His hand brushed her side, and she half-heartedly thrashed, trying to get him off her.

This wasn’t an uncommon situation for her, or for any of the other workers here, and though the foreman usually left after being denied more than three times, he seemed determined today. She glanced around. 

Unsurprisingly, nobody was watching. She could see them listening, heads bowed and ears tuned as they worked, but she knew nobody would do a thing—not even if he dragged her into that closet under the stairs by her hair. 

If there was one thing these workers were good at, it was staying silent about the business of the foreman. 

You talked, and you didn’t get paid. Nobody working here could afford that.

Kiesha felt his fingers grip her shoulders harder, so hard it hurt.

“I’ll let you off early and see you get paid a little tip, missy. How’s that, mm?”

“Let me work, please.”

“I’m offering you a job,” he persisted.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered, throat tight.

He fell silent for a moment, then growled and let her go, thrusting her into the table. She yelped, then once more as the back of his hand struck her cheek. She blinked back tears, face burning from shame and from the blow, but then he was gone, and she was left to work in peace. 

She hung her head and retrieved her needle from the pincushion once more, threading it with shaking hands and pushing it through the fabric, in and out until the monotony took over while the clock ticked away. 

She could already feel the bruise blooming underneath her skin.

 

—

 

Two hours later, Kiesha emerged onto the dark, cobbled streets. The breeze, smoky and cool, ruffled her skirts, sending bright-colored leaves skittering around her ankles. Crisp, rhythmic pounding of a horse’s hooves on the stones sounded somewhere in the distance. The sun had set, and the city lanterns had been lit. They let a warm, dim glow settle over the streets, flickering and uncertain, casting shadows in the very places that needed the most light.

As two well-dressed men passed by, Kiesha tightened her grip on the worn leather strap of her satchel, but they paid her no heed, and her shoulders relaxed, muscles releasing some of the fearful tension. She waited for them to move on, then started away from the dormant factory. 

First, the post office. She’d keep a few shillings for rent and send the rest. She was lucky Zack let her ride the rest of the way on his money—he provided her with food and clothes, neither of which she could afford for herself. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

A little bell above the door tinkled when she pushed it open and stepped into the post office, which was lined on either side with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were packed with novels. She’d been dying to read them ever since she came for the first time. The shop doubled as a bookstore, and the postman’s wife also had a small coffee bar at the back. The place was tinged with a distinct scent of sweet coffee and old paper. 

She approached the counter, where she noticed a sign that indicated the postman was currently busy. 

Probably eating dinner with his wife, she thought.

She selected an envelope anyway and carefully tucked as much of the money inside as she could afford, withdrawing only enough to pay the postman for his services and Zack for rent. Then she wrote a letter to her family that said the same thing they all did, that she missed them all and to please let her know how Kieran was doing. She sealed the envelope, slipped it into the chute in the counter, and dropped the fee into a jar behind the case of envelopes. She’d done this before, often. She trusted the postman, and he trusted her, so neither was constrained to the other’s schedule. 

It was nice to be able to trust someone. That was more than she could say for most people she knew. 

She turned out of the store and back onto the now sparse streets, where the air was colder, and the sky was darker. Few people passed by, and those that did kept their heads ducked. Kiesha mimicked them, dropping her gaze to the stones beneath her feet. Nothing to see. Her hands strayed once more to her satchel, instinctively protective of the money inside. 

The rest of her walk home was quiet and uneventful. She passed few people, and most shops were closing up or had already done so. 

As the sun continued to disappear, the chill of autumn slowly crept out of hiding to take over for the night. Winter was coming, but it was too early to tell if it would be an easy one. Kiesha would have to keep her fingers crossed.

She stepped up onto the stone steps of her and Zack’s small apartment, knocking. She didn’t have a key, but he got off work hours before she did—he was always home to let her inside. After a minute or so, the door cracked open, and he grinned. “Hey, love. Come inside.”

She stepped into the apartment, head bowed. It was warm inside, which was a refreshing change from the chill outside. 

While it was far from fancy, the place was nicely furnished and let in lots of light during the daytime. Most of the furniture was made of dark wood, which matched the deep green paint of the interior, illuminated by the candles in the corners and the fire in the hearth. There were even a few paintings on the wall, as well as a sketched portrait of her and Zack he’d gotten done when she’d first come to the city. It was framed with an admittedly expensive frame and sat proudly on the mantel.

Kiesha slipped her shoes off by the door, then reached out and embraced her boyfriend.

He smelled of paper and ink, like always, but there was a hint of something else today, something almost artificial. It smelled like the fresh air she got too little of—it was almost too sweet to be natural but nice all the same. 

She hugged him a little tighter, inhaling several deep breaths of whatever it was before pulling away and setting down her satchel. “I’ll put dinner on.”

“Good. I’m starving.” He followed her into the kitchen and plopped down in a chair while she fished out the potatoes from the cupboard, along with a knife. She carried them over to the sink to rinse and peel them. He kicked his feet up on the table.

“How was work?” She let the knife slide under the skin of the potato, hands quick and deft. 

“Oh, fine. Boring. You?”

“It was… fine.” She half shrugged, heart thudding heavily in her chest. 

“Today was payday,” he mentioned. He ran his fingers through his soft, dark hair, appraising her with those piercing blues. 

“Yes,” she said softly, rinsing the potato. She set it aside on a cloth. 

He frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“The foreman… docked my pay.”

He groaned. “Come on, Kiesha. Again?? What’d you do this time?”

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, then thought better and closed it. 

Zack stared at her in disbelief. That vein in his forehead twitched as he worked his jaw. “Go on, spit it out.”

“He caught me taking a break,” she murmured.

“You can’t keep getting your pay docked,” he muttered back bitterly. 

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Things have just been a lot lately. And I… haven’t heard from my family in a while…” She rinsed her knife and dried the potatoes.

“Maybe they don’t need your money anymore.”

“I hardly make anything.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been here a long time. You’re sending them everything you don’t pay me for rent, right?”

“Yeah, but… my brother almost died in a wild bear attack, Zack.”

“I know.”

“I have nine siblings and two parents to feed on top of his bills!” Of course, her sister Hera did what she could, but with old, frail parents, two sets of triplets, a toddler, and an older brother in critical condition to worry about, she had enough on her hands. 

“I know.”

Kiesha didn’t have anything else to say, so she prepared the rest of their stew in silence as he watched from his chair, gaze observant. She put it on to simmer, then retreated to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. 

She reached for a candle and a match, illuminating the small room with warm, flickering light. It was a decent space, with a bed and a nightstand and even a soft deerskin rug. Though it was void of any personal belongings save for a hairbrush and a few other necessities, the air was clean, and the blankets were warm, and the bed was comfortable, which was more than enough to be grateful for. It had a small window on the far wall, which she crossed to so she could close the shutters. 

One of the panes was broken, but it let a breeze in throughout the night. It reminded Kiesha of home back on the coast, with the salty ocean air and misty sea spray, so when Zack had noticed and inquired why she hadn’t told him, she’d assured him she didn’t want it fixed, to which he’d replied that he didn’t want anything to happen to her—and why hadn’t she told him his apartment had been damaged. 

It took some convincing, but eventually, he’d agreed to let it stay like that.

She smiled in remembrance as she pulled her dirty work dress up over her head and tossed it onto her bed, then crossed to the basin of water below the mirror.

It was empty. 

She’d forgotten to fetch more water from the square on her way back home… it was too dark to go outside now. 

Frowning, she grabbed her dress and held it against her chest like a shield, then crossed over to the door and poked her head out. “Honey?”

“Hmm?” His response came from the kitchen, but then his chair creaked and the floorboards groaned as he made his way over. 

“Can I use your sink?” 

He frowned, coming close. “What’s wrong with yours?”

“It’s empty.”

“Oh. …I guess.”

She smiled gratefully and pushed past him into his room. Her stomach churned for a second at the sight of his bed, but she pushed the queasiness down. He could see she was tired. He wouldn’t ask tonight, and she wouldn’t have to tell him no.

She turned to the dresser, and with it, the sink. He had a wet sink—there was a pump system that filled the basin straight from the faucet. The water still had to be emptied manually, but that was easy. 

Kiesha set her dress on the rug and pumped some fresh water into the stone bowl, then dipped her hands in. The water was cold, sending wonderful shivers all over her skin. She bent over and brought the water to her face, scrubbing off dirt and sweat, letting it run into her hair and down her neck. 

When she straightened, hands grabbed her shoulders. She flinched, instinctively trying to pull away. But the hands on her were only Zack’s.

Relief flooded through her, easing the tension between her shoulders. She reached up and squeezed one of his hands, closing her eyes for a moment to take in his presence. Her legs still felt like jelly from the fright; she braced against him for support. 

“You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, craning to press his face into her neck as his arms settled around her waist. She stared at him in the mirror, and after a moment, he looked back and cracked that soft smile that gave her the best butterflies. “You’re beautiful.”

Her face tinged pink, and she couldn’t help but smile bashfully. “Thank you.” 

She didn’t know if she really was beautiful, or if he was just saying it. Her hair was a little too dark, and her skin was a little too light. She might have been prettier if she had dark eyes, but they were a pale, worn-out shade of lavender instead, more grey than anything. She was about average height, with slender curves and a slender face, posture heavy from years bent over her sewing. 

She supposed she wasn’t bad-looking, but she didn’t believe she was above average. She had been, once, but… she wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe she’d spent too long looking in the mirror, too long picking apart the imperfections. 

Or maybe she’d just spent too long in this city. 

Sighing, she reached up to take the kerchief and pins out of her hair. The strands fell in soft waves around her face, almost to her waist. She dropped the kerchief to the rug, too, figuring she’d put her things away in a little bit. She leaned back against Zack, reaching one hand up behind her to bury it in his soft, dark hair. He swayed them both in return, closing his eyes and smiling that beautiful smile again.

He paused to kiss her cheek, then opened his eyes and evidently noticed her dress on the rug. His eyes widened, and after a pause, he straightened, holding her in a different sort of way. “Your clothes look good on my floor.”

Kiesha stiffened. “Zack.”

“It was a joke,” he assured her. But the way he leaned down and kissed her neck said otherwise.

“Zack,” she croaked again, terrified to move but more afraid to stay where she was. 

“Shhh,” he murmured, planting several more kisses down the side of her neck.

“Za–”

Before she could finish, he’d turned her to face him and pressed his mouth to hers. 

Panic buzzed in her lungs, and he must have sensed it because he softened. He didn’t hold her so tight, didn’t kiss her so hard. 

His hands were gentler, less possessive, as if he was savoring her rather than ravishing her. 

After a short pause, she melted into the embrace and kissed him in return. His hands, his lips, his hair—everything was soft, even the way she could feel his warmth through her chemise. She draped her arms over his shoulders, one hand running itself through his soft dark waves.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that, warm and content, wrapped in each others’ arms. 

Until he tugged her down with him to sit on the bed. 

Kiesha stiffened and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “Zack, please. We’ve been through this.”

He made a sound of frustration deep in his throat, anger tainting his once gentle face as she managed to break away and stand. “I know, Kiesha! Calm down.”

“I am calm,” she murmured, smoothing back his hair to plant a kiss on his forehead.

He looked up at her with those piercing blues, gaze somehow terrible and wonderful all at once. It sent a dangerous thrill through her body. “You love me, don’t you?” His voice was hardly above a whisper. 

“Of course I do,” she breathed back, still gently caressing his face.

He paused, opening his mouth to speak several times before finally saying, “Then why don’t you act like it?”

Kiesha blinked, pulling her hands away a little. He reached up and grabbed her wrists, as if pleading her not to leave.

She hung her head. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m exhausted, Zack. I’m trying.”

He scowled. “Prove it.”

“I’m not sleeping wi—”

“I know. You’ve made that very clear.” He let go of her, and her hands hovered for a second before she dropped them to her sides. “If you love me, you’ll do what I tell you, won’t you? You trust me.” His eyes searched her face, scrutinizing. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, she prayed he wouldn’t find it. 

“I… yes. Yes, of course.”

“Go over to the window.”

Kiesha frowned but unwaveringly obeyed.

“Open up the shutters and break one of the panes for me,” he murmured.

She thought that was a strange thing to ask, but she wasn’t here to question him. She had to prove to him… 

She opened the shutters and appraised the window. “...what am I supposed to break it with?”

“Your hand.”

A heavy, thick silence fell over them, and she must have hesitated a few seconds too long, because he exploded, storming over to the window and slamming his fist through one, two, three of the panes. Shards of glass stuck from his flesh, tinted by his blood. 

Kiesha gasped, reaching out and hauling him away from the window. “Zack! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”

“Look what you made me do, Kiesha!” He shoved his bloodied hand at her, eyes teary from the pain. “Look at what you did to me!”

Hot tears welled up in her own eyes, along with a tight lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I should have just… I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Give me your hand.”

She didn’t want to hurt him again. She held out a trembling hand to him.

He took it, turning it over in his own and tracing the lines, and then he guided it to the window. His touch was gentle, but that didn’t stop her heart from pounding. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated again. Her voice was swallowed up as soon as the words came out.

He stared her in the eyes, his stare dangerous and wild. He guided her hand to broken shards, and her stomach fell to her feet. “Zack, w…”

“Shh.”

“No, wait, please. Please, I need my hands to work. I can’t pay you if I can’t work!”

His gaze stayed level with her. He frowned. “That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” 

She nodded desperately. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

“Well, I’m not the one that doesn’t trust me, am I? This isn’t my fault,” Zack said, eyes wide with bewilderment, voice surprised. “There are consequences for every action,” he told her gently. “It’s the natural way of things.”

She opened her mouth to apologize again, to beg him to give her some other punishment, but he forced her hand down on one of the sharp, jagged pieces of glass that stuck up from the windowsill before she could. Her hand convulsed, and she screamed. It faded into quieter yelps and whimpers.

“This is what happens when you don’t trust me, Kiesha,” he whispered. “Bad things happen.”

She moaned as the glass dug deeper into her flesh. She could see it pressing against the skin on the top of her hand, eager to break it. Her fingers jerked, twitching spasmodically.  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zack,” she sobbed.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I forgive you.” 

He paused, then pulled her hand slowly off of the jagged shard. She whimpered, trembling from the pain; dark and glistening blood pooled in her palm. Tears swam in her eyes as she nodded. 

Zack broke off the bloodied shard from the window and placed it in her wounded hand, and then he let go of her. “I forgive you.”

Kiesha nodded again, watching through warped vision as he drew glass shards out of his knuckles and set them aside on the nightstand. 

She stood there for a while, frozen in shock, letting the hot sticky redness collect in her palm, staining her white skin. Her hand trembled, waves of pain radiating through to the tips of her fingers and up her arm. 

It took her several moments to process before moving to get some bandages from the lockbox in Zack’s closet. The crude key was where he always kept it, tucked into the pocket of that jacket she’d bought him a year ago. 

The one he never really wore.

She fished out the key with her good hand, unlocked the box, and withdrew a smaller wooden chest that contained rolls of bandages, gauze, and other similar articles. She nearly dropped it.

After hastily wrapping her hand in some gauze using her good hand and her teeth, she brought the kit out and sat on the bed next to him. Opening the lid, she procured a cloth and a glass bottle of alcohol. It was silent as she cleaned his wounds and just as silent as she wrapped a length of bandage around his hand. She tied it off, then kissed his exposed fingers.

He smiled at her.

The medical kit was returned to the lockbox in the closet, and, suddenly, Kiesha remembered the stew over the fire.

“I’m going to finish making dinner,” she told him, moving back over to where he was perched on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“...okay. That’s fine. I’ll just…” She took a deep breath, then moved back over to the sink to collect her dress and kerchief. He called to her as she reached for the door.

“Kiesha.”

“Yeah?”

“We match now. Our windows.” He held up his bandaged hand.

A small smile spread across her face despite herself, and she turned to face him. “We do, don’t we?”

He grinned back—that perfect smile that melted those icy blue eyes into something gentler. 

“Goodnight, Zack.”

“Goodnight, Kiesha. You know I love you, right?”

She offered another soft smile and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied, so she fled to her room to find a needle and thread. She had several spools in the nightstand, and she withdrew a strong, black cotton reel, as well as the pincushion she kept at the back of the drawer. 

Carrying her supplies in her good hand, Kiesha made her way over to one of the candles on the windowsill, threaded the needle, and bathed it in the flame. This would sterilize it and hopefully cauterize the pokes she would need to make. 

Though… she wasn’t sure it’d be hot enough. 

Still holding the needle in one hand, she carefully unwrapped the bandages around her wound. The white gauze had already turned startlingly red, and her stomach twisted with sudden, violent nausea. She had to look away to keep from vomiting.

Her eyes watered as she glanced back down at her wound; she took a deep breath to steel herself. Using the unstained areas of the gauze to mop up the blood surrounding the wound, she poked her needle through the flesh of her hand before she could think too hard. 

Her knees nearly buckled, and she bit her tongue to stifle her cry.

She forced herself to keep going, though, and after a few unfathomably long moments, she’d made enough stitches to keep her hand closed. Her fingers tingled like pins and needles, twitching sporadically as she tied off the thread and snapped it with her teeth, jaw trembling. She used the rest of the gauze to absorb the remaining blood and smeared her tear-stained face on the back of her sleeve. 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she put her supplies away and wrapped a length of cotton around the wound. She secured it with a pin, bent the end to keep it from poking her, and moved to the kitchen to eat and put away the soup Zack hadn’t touched.

@Through The Living Glass

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

3 minutes ago, kajsa said:

hello lovely humans! this took me a while to get up lol but here is the revised first chapter of kiesha's story! i'm currently calling the novella either To Walk Again or To Live Again, but i'd love suggestions  

  Reveal hidden contents

ONE

 

 

 

 

Kiesha passed the back of her hand across her slick forehead. It smudged sweat, and she paused to press the heel against an oncoming headache, clutching the blue fabric that cascaded down onto her work table and threatened to drop onto the dirty floor. 

There were only two hours left of her shift before she could collect her pay, mail it off to Hera, and go home to Zack. The thought filled her with both excitement and unease—she could only hope he wouldn’t ask about rent. She’d keep what she could, but she wasn’t making enough as it was.

Weary, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the steamy, metallic air. It smelled hot, like sweat, steam, and cloth, like human oils on metal and like work. The air was damp, plastering her hair against the back of her neck and her clothes to her skin. Sounds of scissors, scraping chairs,  and fabric filled the factory, of sniffles and heavy breaths, but the loudest of all was the silence between the women. 

It would be dark soon, and the cacophony would continue by candlelight.

Sticking her needle into the pincushion, Kiesha wadded up the fabric so it would stay on her desk and collapsed onto her wobbly wooden stool. She just needed a few minutes. She was already working on her second dress of the day, and she had watched nearly every other worker come and go. There were only a few others working shifts as long as hers, and both of them were single women with babies at home. 

As she glanced around, one of them–a war widow with sad brown eyes–shot her a sympathetic smile, brushing her blonde hair away from her glistening face. She opened her mouth as if to speak but snapped it closed as her eyes passed from Kiesha’s face to the space over her shoulder. She turned back to her work, clearing her throat, and pushing her shoulders back. It was a warning as much as a defense. 

Kiesha scrambled to stand, but the foreman had already seen her. He sauntered over with his empty hands shoved in his pockets and that obnoxious, smug look on his face. He looked healthy as ever, and clean. He was free of dirt, black eyes bright, dark hair freshly washed. If he hadn’t been such a tramp, he could have been attractive.

“Looks like we’ve got a slacker on our hands, eh, Ebersol?” His voice was deep, rough, and smoky.

She’d managed to retrieve the needle from the cushion by the time he’d made it to her work table, but he slammed his hand down on the fabric before she could start a new seam. 

“I’ve been here eleven hours,” she said dryly. 

“That’s right, missy. And you’ll be here a lot longer if you don’t pick up the pace, mm?” His fingers rapped against the table, and she closed her eyes as he moved to squeeze her shoulders. Where her dress didn’t cover, his calloused skin brushed hers.

“Get off, would you?”

“You wouldn’t want wind of your little break getting down to the higher-ups,” he reminded her. She could feel his sticky, stale breath against her skin. “It’s payday, Miss Ebersol.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’ve made friends with the higher-ups, Ebersol. You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he whispered, lips so near her ear they brushed it. She jerked away, freeing herself of his hands, but she was still trapped between her table and his body. She’d have to wait this one out. “Just think of your poor brother, Kiesha. Couldn’t he use a few extra shillings?”

“Don’t.”

“I could give you a promotion,” he continued, leaning down so his breath was hot on the back of her neck again, making her wish she hadn’t tied up her hair. His hand brushed her side, and she half-heartedly thrashed, trying to get him off her.

This wasn’t an uncommon situation for her, or for any of the other workers here, and though the foreman usually left after being denied more than three times, he seemed determined today. She glanced around. 

Unsurprisingly, nobody was watching. She could see them listening, heads bowed and ears tuned as they worked, but she knew nobody would do a thing—not even if he dragged her into that closet under the stairs by her hair. 

If there was one thing these workers were good at, it was staying silent about the business of the foreman. 

You talked, and you didn’t get paid. Nobody working here could afford that.

Kiesha felt his fingers grip her shoulders harder, so hard it hurt.

“I’ll let you off early and see you get paid a little tip, missy. How’s that, mm?”

“Let me work, please.”

“I’m offering you a job,” he persisted.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered, throat tight.

He fell silent for a moment, then growled and let her go, thrusting her into the table. She yelped, then once more as the back of his hand struck her cheek. She blinked back tears, face burning from shame and from the blow, but then he was gone, and she was left to work in peace. 

She hung her head and retrieved her needle from the pincushion once more, threading it with shaking hands and pushing it through the fabric, in and out until the monotony took over while the clock ticked away. 

She could already feel the bruise blooming underneath her skin.

 

—

 

Two hours later, Kiesha emerged onto the dark, cobbled streets. The breeze, smoky and cool, ruffled her skirts, sending bright-colored leaves skittering around her ankles. Crisp, rhythmic pounding of a horse’s hooves on the stones sounded somewhere in the distance. The sun had set, and the city lanterns had been lit. They let a warm, dim glow settle over the streets, flickering and uncertain, casting shadows in the very places that needed the most light.

As two well-dressed men passed by, Kiesha tightened her grip on the worn leather strap of her satchel, but they paid her no heed, and her shoulders relaxed, muscles releasing some of the fearful tension. She waited for them to move on, then started away from the dormant factory. 

First, the post office. She’d keep a few shillings for rent and send the rest. She was lucky Zack let her ride the rest of the way on his money—he provided her with food and clothes, neither of which she could afford for herself. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

A little bell above the door tinkled when she pushed it open and stepped into the post office, which was lined on either side with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were packed with novels. She’d been dying to read them ever since she came for the first time. The shop doubled as a bookstore, and the postman’s wife also had a small coffee bar at the back. The place was tinged with a distinct scent of sweet coffee and old paper. 

She approached the counter, where she noticed a sign that indicated the postman was currently busy. 

Probably eating dinner with his wife, she thought.

She selected an envelope anyway and carefully tucked as much of the money inside as she could afford, withdrawing only enough to pay the postman for his services and Zack for rent. Then she wrote a letter to her family that said the same thing they all did, that she missed them all and to please let her know how Kieran was doing. She sealed the envelope, slipped it into the chute in the counter, and dropped the fee into a jar behind the case of envelopes. She’d done this before, often. She trusted the postman, and he trusted her, so neither was constrained to the other’s schedule. 

It was nice to be able to trust someone. That was more than she could say for most people she knew. 

She turned out of the store and back onto the now sparse streets, where the air was colder, and the sky was darker. Few people passed by, and those that did kept their heads ducked. Kiesha mimicked them, dropping her gaze to the stones beneath her feet. Nothing to see. Her hands strayed once more to her satchel, instinctively protective of the money inside. 

The rest of her walk home was quiet and uneventful. She passed few people, and most shops were closing up or had already done so. 

As the sun continued to disappear, the chill of autumn slowly crept out of hiding to take over for the night. Winter was coming, but it was too early to tell if it would be an easy one. Kiesha would have to keep her fingers crossed.

She stepped up onto the stone steps of her and Zack’s small apartment, knocking. She didn’t have a key, but he got off work hours before she did—he was always home to let her inside. After a minute or so, the door cracked open, and he grinned. “Hey, love. Come inside.”

She stepped into the apartment, head bowed. It was warm inside, which was a refreshing change from the chill outside. 

While it was far from fancy, the place was nicely furnished and let in lots of light during the daytime. Most of the furniture was made of dark wood, which matched the deep green paint of the interior, illuminated by the candles in the corners and the fire in the hearth. There were even a few paintings on the wall, as well as a sketched portrait of her and Zack he’d gotten done when she’d first come to the city. It was framed with an admittedly expensive frame and sat proudly on the mantel.

Kiesha slipped her shoes off by the door, then reached out and embraced her boyfriend.

He smelled of paper and ink, like always, but there was a hint of something else today, something almost artificial. It smelled like the fresh air she got too little of—it was almost too sweet to be natural but nice all the same. 

She hugged him a little tighter, inhaling several deep breaths of whatever it was before pulling away and setting down her satchel. “I’ll put dinner on.”

“Good. I’m starving.” He followed her into the kitchen and plopped down in a chair while she fished out the potatoes from the cupboard, along with a knife. She carried them over to the sink to rinse and peel them. He kicked his feet up on the table.

“How was work?” She let the knife slide under the skin of the potato, hands quick and deft. 

“Oh, fine. Boring. You?”

“It was… fine.” She half shrugged, heart thudding heavily in her chest. 

“Today was payday,” he mentioned. He ran his fingers through his soft, dark hair, appraising her with those piercing blues. 

“Yes,” she said softly, rinsing the potato. She set it aside on a cloth. 

He frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“The foreman… docked my pay.”

He groaned. “Come on, Kiesha. Again?? What’d you do this time?”

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, then thought better and closed it. 

Zack stared at her in disbelief. That vein in his forehead twitched as he worked his jaw. “Go on, spit it out.”

“He caught me taking a break,” she murmured.

“You can’t keep getting your pay docked,” he muttered back bitterly. 

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Things have just been a lot lately. And I… haven’t heard from my family in a while…” She rinsed her knife and dried the potatoes.

“Maybe they don’t need your money anymore.”

“I hardly make anything.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been here a long time. You’re sending them everything you don’t pay me for rent, right?”

“Yeah, but… my brother almost died in a wild bear attack, Zack.”

“I know.”

“I have nine siblings and two parents to feed on top of his bills!” Of course, her sister Hera did what she could, but with old, frail parents, two sets of triplets, a toddler, and an older brother in critical condition to worry about, she had enough on her hands. 

“I know.”

Kiesha didn’t have anything else to say, so she prepared the rest of their stew in silence as he watched from his chair, gaze observant. She put it on to simmer, then retreated to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. 

She reached for a candle and a match, illuminating the small room with warm, flickering light. It was a decent space, with a bed and a nightstand and even a soft deerskin rug. Though it was void of any personal belongings save for a hairbrush and a few other necessities, the air was clean, and the blankets were warm, and the bed was comfortable, which was more than enough to be grateful for. It had a small window on the far wall, which she crossed to so she could close the shutters. 

One of the panes was broken, but it let a breeze in throughout the night. It reminded Kiesha of home back on the coast, with the salty ocean air and misty sea spray, so when Zack had noticed and inquired why she hadn’t told him, she’d assured him she didn’t want it fixed, to which he’d replied that he didn’t want anything to happen to her—and why hadn’t she told him his apartment had been damaged. 

It took some convincing, but eventually, he’d agreed to let it stay like that.

She smiled in remembrance as she pulled her dirty work dress up over her head and tossed it onto her bed, then crossed to the basin of water below the mirror.

It was empty. 

She’d forgotten to fetch more water from the square on her way back home… it was too dark to go outside now. 

Frowning, she grabbed her dress and held it against her chest like a shield, then crossed over to the door and poked her head out. “Honey?”

“Hmm?” His response came from the kitchen, but then his chair creaked and the floorboards groaned as he made his way over. 

“Can I use your sink?” 

He frowned, coming close. “What’s wrong with yours?”

“It’s empty.”

“Oh. …I guess.”

She smiled gratefully and pushed past him into his room. Her stomach churned for a second at the sight of his bed, but she pushed the queasiness down. He could see she was tired. He wouldn’t ask tonight, and she wouldn’t have to tell him no.

She turned to the dresser, and with it, the sink. He had a wet sink—there was a pump system that filled the basin straight from the faucet. The water still had to be emptied manually, but that was easy. 

Kiesha set her dress on the rug and pumped some fresh water into the stone bowl, then dipped her hands in. The water was cold, sending wonderful shivers all over her skin. She bent over and brought the water to her face, scrubbing off dirt and sweat, letting it run into her hair and down her neck. 

When she straightened, hands grabbed her shoulders. She flinched, instinctively trying to pull away. But the hands on her were only Zack’s.

Relief flooded through her, easing the tension between her shoulders. She reached up and squeezed one of his hands, closing her eyes for a moment to take in his presence. Her legs still felt like jelly from the fright; she braced against him for support. 

“You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, craning to press his face into her neck as his arms settled around her waist. She stared at him in the mirror, and after a moment, he looked back and cracked that soft smile that gave her the best butterflies. “You’re beautiful.”

Her face tinged pink, and she couldn’t help but smile bashfully. “Thank you.” 

She didn’t know if she really was beautiful, or if he was just saying it. Her hair was a little too dark, and her skin was a little too light. She might have been prettier if she had dark eyes, but they were a pale, worn-out shade of lavender instead, more grey than anything. She was about average height, with slender curves and a slender face, posture heavy from years bent over her sewing. 

She supposed she wasn’t bad-looking, but she didn’t believe she was above average. She had been, once, but… she wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe she’d spent too long looking in the mirror, too long picking apart the imperfections. 

Or maybe she’d just spent too long in this city. 

Sighing, she reached up to take the kerchief and pins out of her hair. The strands fell in soft waves around her face, almost to her waist. She dropped the kerchief to the rug, too, figuring she’d put her things away in a little bit. She leaned back against Zack, reaching one hand up behind her to bury it in his soft, dark hair. He swayed them both in return, closing his eyes and smiling that beautiful smile again.

He paused to kiss her cheek, then opened his eyes and evidently noticed her dress on the rug. His eyes widened, and after a pause, he straightened, holding her in a different sort of way. “Your clothes look good on my floor.”

Kiesha stiffened. “Zack.”

“It was a joke,” he assured her. But the way he leaned down and kissed her neck said otherwise.

“Zack,” she croaked again, terrified to move but more afraid to stay where she was. 

“Shhh,” he murmured, planting several more kisses down the side of her neck.

“Za–”

Before she could finish, he’d turned her to face him and pressed his mouth to hers. 

Panic buzzed in her lungs, and he must have sensed it because he softened. He didn’t hold her so tight, didn’t kiss her so hard. 

His hands were gentler, less possessive, as if he was savoring her rather than ravishing her. 

After a short pause, she melted into the embrace and kissed him in return. His hands, his lips, his hair—everything was soft, even the way she could feel his warmth through her chemise. She draped her arms over his shoulders, one hand running itself through his soft dark waves.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that, warm and content, wrapped in each others’ arms. 

Until he tugged her down with him to sit on the bed. 

Kiesha stiffened and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “Zack, please. We’ve been through this.”

He made a sound of frustration deep in his throat, anger tainting his once gentle face as she managed to break away and stand. “I know, Kiesha! Calm down.”

“I am calm,” she murmured, smoothing back his hair to plant a kiss on his forehead.

He looked up at her with those piercing blues, gaze somehow terrible and wonderful all at once. It sent a dangerous thrill through her body. “You love me, don’t you?” His voice was hardly above a whisper. 

“Of course I do,” she breathed back, still gently caressing his face.

He paused, opening his mouth to speak several times before finally saying, “Then why don’t you act like it?”

Kiesha blinked, pulling her hands away a little. He reached up and grabbed her wrists, as if pleading her not to leave.

She hung her head. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m exhausted, Zack. I’m trying.”

He scowled. “Prove it.”

“I’m not sleeping wi—”

“I know. You’ve made that very clear.” He let go of her, and her hands hovered for a second before she dropped them to her sides. “If you love me, you’ll do what I tell you, won’t you? You trust me.” His eyes searched her face, scrutinizing. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, she prayed he wouldn’t find it. 

“I… yes. Yes, of course.”

“Go over to the window.”

Kiesha frowned but unwaveringly obeyed.

“Open up the shutters and break one of the panes for me,” he murmured.

She thought that was a strange thing to ask, but she wasn’t here to question him. She had to prove to him… 

She opened the shutters and appraised the window. “...what am I supposed to break it with?”

“Your hand.”

A heavy, thick silence fell over them, and she must have hesitated a few seconds too long, because he exploded, storming over to the window and slamming his fist through one, two, three of the panes. Shards of glass stuck from his flesh, tinted by his blood. 

Kiesha gasped, reaching out and hauling him away from the window. “Zack! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”

“Look what you made me do, Kiesha!” He shoved his bloodied hand at her, eyes teary from the pain. “Look at what you did to me!”

Hot tears welled up in her own eyes, along with a tight lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I should have just… I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Give me your hand.”

She didn’t want to hurt him again. She held out a trembling hand to him.

He took it, turning it over in his own and tracing the lines, and then he guided it to the window. His touch was gentle, but that didn’t stop her heart from pounding. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated again. Her voice was swallowed up as soon as the words came out.

He stared her in the eyes, his stare dangerous and wild. He guided her hand to broken shards, and her stomach fell to her feet. “Zack, w…”

“Shh.”

“No, wait, please. Please, I need my hands to work. I can’t pay you if I can’t work!”

His gaze stayed level with her. He frowned. “That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” 

She nodded desperately. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

“Well, I’m not the one that doesn’t trust me, am I? This isn’t my fault,” Zack said, eyes wide with bewilderment, voice surprised. “There are consequences for every action,” he told her gently. “It’s the natural way of things.”

She opened her mouth to apologize again, to beg him to give her some other punishment, but he forced her hand down on one of the sharp, jagged pieces of glass that stuck up from the windowsill before she could. Her hand convulsed, and she screamed. It faded into quieter yelps and whimpers.

“This is what happens when you don’t trust me, Kiesha,” he whispered. “Bad things happen.”

She moaned as the glass dug deeper into her flesh. She could see it pressing against the skin on the top of her hand, eager to break it. Her fingers jerked, twitching spasmodically.  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zack,” she sobbed.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I forgive you.” 

He paused, then pulled her hand slowly off of the jagged shard. She whimpered, trembling from the pain; dark and glistening blood pooled in her palm. Tears swam in her eyes as she nodded. 

Zack broke off the bloodied shard from the window and placed it in her wounded hand, and then he let go of her. “I forgive you.”

Kiesha nodded again, watching through warped vision as he drew glass shards out of his knuckles and set them aside on the nightstand. 

She stood there for a while, frozen in shock, letting the hot sticky redness collect in her palm, staining her white skin. Her hand trembled, waves of pain radiating through to the tips of her fingers and up her arm. 

It took her several moments to process before moving to get some bandages from the lockbox in Zack’s closet. The crude key was where he always kept it, tucked into the pocket of that jacket she’d bought him a year ago. 

The one he never really wore.

She fished out the key with her good hand, unlocked the box, and withdrew a smaller wooden chest that contained rolls of bandages, gauze, and other similar articles. She nearly dropped it.

After hastily wrapping her hand in some gauze using her good hand and her teeth, she brought the kit out and sat on the bed next to him. Opening the lid, she procured a cloth and a glass bottle of alcohol. It was silent as she cleaned his wounds and just as silent as she wrapped a length of bandage around his hand. She tied it off, then kissed his exposed fingers.

He smiled at her.

The medical kit was returned to the lockbox in the closet, and, suddenly, Kiesha remembered the stew over the fire.

“I’m going to finish making dinner,” she told him, moving back over to where he was perched on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“...okay. That’s fine. I’ll just…” She took a deep breath, then moved back over to the sink to collect her dress and kerchief. He called to her as she reached for the door.

“Kiesha.”

“Yeah?”

“We match now. Our windows.” He held up his bandaged hand.

A small smile spread across her face despite herself, and she turned to face him. “We do, don’t we?”

He grinned back—that perfect smile that melted those icy blue eyes into something gentler. 

“Goodnight, Zack.”

“Goodnight, Kiesha. You know I love you, right?”

She offered another soft smile and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied, so she fled to her room to find a needle and thread. She had several spools in the nightstand, and she withdrew a strong, black cotton reel, as well as the pincushion she kept at the back of the drawer. 

Carrying her supplies in her good hand, Kiesha made her way over to one of the candles on the windowsill, threaded the needle, and bathed it in the flame. This would sterilize it and hopefully cauterize the pokes she would need to make. 

Though… she wasn’t sure it’d be hot enough. 

Still holding the needle in one hand, she carefully unwrapped the bandages around her wound. The white gauze had already turned startlingly red, and her stomach twisted with sudden, violent nausea. She had to look away to keep from vomiting.

Her eyes watered as she glanced back down at her wound; she took a deep breath to steel herself. Using the unstained areas of the gauze to mop up the blood surrounding the wound, she poked her needle through the flesh of her hand before she could think too hard. 

Her knees nearly buckled, and she bit her tongue to stifle her cry.

She forced herself to keep going, though, and after a few unfathomably long moments, she’d made enough stitches to keep her hand closed. Her fingers tingled like pins and needles, twitching sporadically as she tied off the thread and snapped it with her teeth, jaw trembling. She used the rest of the gauze to absorb the remaining blood and smeared her tear-stained face on the back of her sleeve. 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she put her supplies away and wrapped a length of cotton around the wound. She secured it with a pin, bent the end to keep it from poking her, and moved to the kitchen to eat and put away the soup Zack hadn’t touched.

@Through The Living Glass

hehehe :3

I'll read it in a minute

hehehehehe

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

okie so i did a little writing today

im estimating chapter two will be up at some point in the next couple of days

so

yep

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

3 minutes ago, kajsa said:

okie so i did a little writing today

im estimating chapter two will be up at some point in the next couple of days

so

yep

hehehehehehehe :3

OH it was amazing btw

Chapter 1 :3

. . . stupid Zack

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now I have to wait for him to die all over again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

1 minute ago, Through The Living Glass said:

hehehehehehehe :3

OH it was amazing btw

Chapter 1 :3

. . . stupid Zack

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now I have to wait for him to die all over again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

oh thanks   this just made my day a little better

yeah he’s dumb

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heh lol unfortunately yes but trust it will be worth it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

2 minutes ago, kajsa said:

oh thanks   this just made my day a little better

yeah he’s dumb

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heh lol unfortunately yes but trust it will be worth it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

awwww I'm glad

SUPER DUMB

MEH! >>:(

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Don't I know it :3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[CoderDrag0n8 He/They]

On 5/8/2024 at 3:15 PM, kajsa said:

hello, children. if you've ended up here, you're in for craziness. I'll be posting art and writing here, because I've been wanting to have a thread for this stuff specifically but absolutely hated my old thread (oof old work), so I deleted it! Hehehehehehehe. This is where my nice work will go. So yep. I'll probably post in a bit with some character death things, either a write® or an art® or both. We'll see. But anyway if y'all are new to my work, here's a bit of a sneak peek. 

this is one of the seven thousand prefaces for my book:

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PREFACE

 

“...”

 

“When the lost bird falls, surely the rain will cease.

Every drop of broken blood will spill and touch the breeze,

When the skies are grey, and

No one’s around

To settle the sound

Of shattered calls

That’ll be when the lost bird falls.”

 

 

The bard sets aside his lute and takes a long swig of alcohol from a clay mug, setting it down on a wobbly, three-legged stool that matches his own. The tavern is alive with applause and chatter, illuminated by the warm firelight. Somebody calls out, asking where did the song come from, and the bard replies simply:

 

“Elysia.”

 

I have a good view of our entertainer from my seat at the counter. He’s old and crinkled with age, face like a fingerprint, but that doesn’t stop him from looking alive. His dark eyes shine with resilience, bushy white eyebrows more expressive than I’ve ever seen, gravelly voice somehow more beautiful than that of a siren. The stool he sits on is old and creaky, one I assume he carries with him wherever he goes. Backed by the firelight, he has an aura of kindness and mystery.

He catches me looking at him and smiles, so I quickly turn away, staring at my hot drink. He’s probably thinking I’m too young to be here, wasting my earnings on spiked cider and hard bread. But he visits this tavern frequently, and I like to hear the songs he brings while I still can, especially the ones from Elysia. Though I grew up there, I’ve never heard this song before. It must be newer.

If I’ve understood the song right, I consider myself to be a sort of lost bird. Though they don’t know it yet, I’ve done everything to protect them.

That was always my job. I was never going to be queen, not at first. I was never going to lead armies. I was never going to be great, remembered, fearless.

I was never going to have what I wanted. But that was okay because I could keep them safe.

I always knew I would protect them. 

So here I sit in a tavern, waiting for my target, tapping my own clay mug with my fingernails. 

 

Clink, clink, clink.

 

Here I sit with knives strapped to my belts and inside my boots, poisonous vials in my satchel, death carved in between the letters of my name, syncopated to the beats of my heart. 

I have become the kind of dangerous nobody sees, the kind nobody expects, even after death sweeps through the town and leaves no trace. No man would expect a girl like me to pull a dagger from the waistband of her skirt and drop him dead within moments. 

No man would expect a highborn to be a monster.

But if I stop, if I drop it all, just to be the person my world wants me to be, it will fall apart.

My kills are the one thing keeping my people alive.

Emptying my cup, I shake off my thoughts and push the mug towards the bartender. He fills it back up and adds its price to my final tab; nothing I can’t pay for. 

The bard leisurely picks up his lute once more, clearing his throat and carrying on to the second verse. I rest my head on my arms and listen.

 

“When the sky burns red, bleeding crimson tears

Blue flames will flow across the earth, and when the grey smoke clears

Purple will be the color that scrapes against the skies

Dancing across our deathbeds and relishing our demise…”

this is the antagonist of said book after she is too far gone to save:

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and yep, that's all i have for now but i will be back later with more, hehe. 

On 4/30/2025 at 12:02 PM, kajsa said:

hello lovely humans! this took me a while to get up lol but here is the revised first chapter of kiesha's story! i'm currently calling the novella either To Walk Again or To Live Again, but i'd love suggestions  

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ONE

 

 

 

 

Kiesha passed the back of her hand across her slick forehead. It smudged sweat, and she paused to press the heel against an oncoming headache, clutching the blue fabric that cascaded down onto her work table and threatened to drop onto the dirty floor. 

There were only two hours left of her shift before she could collect her pay, mail it off to Hera, and go home to Zack. The thought filled her with both excitement and unease—she could only hope he wouldn’t ask about rent. She’d keep what she could, but she wasn’t making enough as it was.

Weary, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the steamy, metallic air. It smelled hot, like sweat, steam, and cloth, like human oils on metal and like work. The air was damp, plastering her hair against the back of her neck and her clothes to her skin. Sounds of scissors, scraping chairs,  and fabric filled the factory, of sniffles and heavy breaths, but the loudest of all was the silence between the women. 

It would be dark soon, and the cacophony would continue by candlelight.

Sticking her needle into the pincushion, Kiesha wadded up the fabric so it would stay on her desk and collapsed onto her wobbly wooden stool. She just needed a few minutes. She was already working on her second dress of the day, and she had watched nearly every other worker come and go. There were only a few others working shifts as long as hers, and both of them were single women with babies at home. 

As she glanced around, one of them–a war widow with sad brown eyes–shot her a sympathetic smile, brushing her blonde hair away from her glistening face. She opened her mouth as if to speak but snapped it closed as her eyes passed from Kiesha’s face to the space over her shoulder. She turned back to her work, clearing her throat, and pushing her shoulders back. It was a warning as much as a defense. 

Kiesha scrambled to stand, but the foreman had already seen her. He sauntered over with his empty hands shoved in his pockets and that obnoxious, smug look on his face. He looked healthy as ever, and clean. He was free of dirt, black eyes bright, dark hair freshly washed. If he hadn’t been such a tramp, he could have been attractive.

“Looks like we’ve got a slacker on our hands, eh, Ebersol?” His voice was deep, rough, and smoky.

She’d managed to retrieve the needle from the cushion by the time he’d made it to her work table, but he slammed his hand down on the fabric before she could start a new seam. 

“I’ve been here eleven hours,” she said dryly. 

“That’s right, missy. And you’ll be here a lot longer if you don’t pick up the pace, mm?” His fingers rapped against the table, and she closed her eyes as he moved to squeeze her shoulders. Where her dress didn’t cover, his calloused skin brushed hers.

“Get off, would you?”

“You wouldn’t want wind of your little break getting down to the higher-ups,” he reminded her. She could feel his sticky, stale breath against her skin. “It’s payday, Miss Ebersol.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’ve made friends with the higher-ups, Ebersol. You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he whispered, lips so near her ear they brushed it. She jerked away, freeing herself of his hands, but she was still trapped between her table and his body. She’d have to wait this one out. “Just think of your poor brother, Kiesha. Couldn’t he use a few extra shillings?”

“Don’t.”

“I could give you a promotion,” he continued, leaning down so his breath was hot on the back of her neck again, making her wish she hadn’t tied up her hair. His hand brushed her side, and she half-heartedly thrashed, trying to get him off her.

This wasn’t an uncommon situation for her, or for any of the other workers here, and though the foreman usually left after being denied more than three times, he seemed determined today. She glanced around. 

Unsurprisingly, nobody was watching. She could see them listening, heads bowed and ears tuned as they worked, but she knew nobody would do a thing—not even if he dragged her into that closet under the stairs by her hair. 

If there was one thing these workers were good at, it was staying silent about the business of the foreman. 

You talked, and you didn’t get paid. Nobody working here could afford that.

Kiesha felt his fingers grip her shoulders harder, so hard it hurt.

“I’ll let you off early and see you get paid a little tip, missy. How’s that, mm?”

“Let me work, please.”

“I’m offering you a job,” he persisted.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered, throat tight.

He fell silent for a moment, then growled and let her go, thrusting her into the table. She yelped, then once more as the back of his hand struck her cheek. She blinked back tears, face burning from shame and from the blow, but then he was gone, and she was left to work in peace. 

She hung her head and retrieved her needle from the pincushion once more, threading it with shaking hands and pushing it through the fabric, in and out until the monotony took over while the clock ticked away. 

She could already feel the bruise blooming underneath her skin.

 

—

 

Two hours later, Kiesha emerged onto the dark, cobbled streets. The breeze, smoky and cool, ruffled her skirts, sending bright-colored leaves skittering around her ankles. Crisp, rhythmic pounding of a horse’s hooves on the stones sounded somewhere in the distance. The sun had set, and the city lanterns had been lit. They let a warm, dim glow settle over the streets, flickering and uncertain, casting shadows in the very places that needed the most light.

As two well-dressed men passed by, Kiesha tightened her grip on the worn leather strap of her satchel, but they paid her no heed, and her shoulders relaxed, muscles releasing some of the fearful tension. She waited for them to move on, then started away from the dormant factory. 

First, the post office. She’d keep a few shillings for rent and send the rest. She was lucky Zack let her ride the rest of the way on his money—he provided her with food and clothes, neither of which she could afford for herself. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

A little bell above the door tinkled when she pushed it open and stepped into the post office, which was lined on either side with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were packed with novels. She’d been dying to read them ever since she came for the first time. The shop doubled as a bookstore, and the postman’s wife also had a small coffee bar at the back. The place was tinged with a distinct scent of sweet coffee and old paper. 

She approached the counter, where she noticed a sign that indicated the postman was currently busy. 

Probably eating dinner with his wife, she thought.

She selected an envelope anyway and carefully tucked as much of the money inside as she could afford, withdrawing only enough to pay the postman for his services and Zack for rent. Then she wrote a letter to her family that said the same thing they all did, that she missed them all and to please let her know how Kieran was doing. She sealed the envelope, slipped it into the chute in the counter, and dropped the fee into a jar behind the case of envelopes. She’d done this before, often. She trusted the postman, and he trusted her, so neither was constrained to the other’s schedule. 

It was nice to be able to trust someone. That was more than she could say for most people she knew. 

She turned out of the store and back onto the now sparse streets, where the air was colder, and the sky was darker. Few people passed by, and those that did kept their heads ducked. Kiesha mimicked them, dropping her gaze to the stones beneath her feet. Nothing to see. Her hands strayed once more to her satchel, instinctively protective of the money inside. 

The rest of her walk home was quiet and uneventful. She passed few people, and most shops were closing up or had already done so. 

As the sun continued to disappear, the chill of autumn slowly crept out of hiding to take over for the night. Winter was coming, but it was too early to tell if it would be an easy one. Kiesha would have to keep her fingers crossed.

She stepped up onto the stone steps of her and Zack’s small apartment, knocking. She didn’t have a key, but he got off work hours before she did—he was always home to let her inside. After a minute or so, the door cracked open, and he grinned. “Hey, love. Come inside.”

She stepped into the apartment, head bowed. It was warm inside, which was a refreshing change from the chill outside. 

While it was far from fancy, the place was nicely furnished and let in lots of light during the daytime. Most of the furniture was made of dark wood, which matched the deep green paint of the interior, illuminated by the candles in the corners and the fire in the hearth. There were even a few paintings on the wall, as well as a sketched portrait of her and Zack he’d gotten done when she’d first come to the city. It was framed with an admittedly expensive frame and sat proudly on the mantel.

Kiesha slipped her shoes off by the door, then reached out and embraced her boyfriend.

He smelled of paper and ink, like always, but there was a hint of something else today, something almost artificial. It smelled like the fresh air she got too little of—it was almost too sweet to be natural but nice all the same. 

She hugged him a little tighter, inhaling several deep breaths of whatever it was before pulling away and setting down her satchel. “I’ll put dinner on.”

“Good. I’m starving.” He followed her into the kitchen and plopped down in a chair while she fished out the potatoes from the cupboard, along with a knife. She carried them over to the sink to rinse and peel them. He kicked his feet up on the table.

“How was work?” She let the knife slide under the skin of the potato, hands quick and deft. 

“Oh, fine. Boring. You?”

“It was… fine.” She half shrugged, heart thudding heavily in her chest. 

“Today was payday,” he mentioned. He ran his fingers through his soft, dark hair, appraising her with those piercing blues. 

“Yes,” she said softly, rinsing the potato. She set it aside on a cloth. 

He frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“The foreman… docked my pay.”

He groaned. “Come on, Kiesha. Again?? What’d you do this time?”

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, then thought better and closed it. 

Zack stared at her in disbelief. That vein in his forehead twitched as he worked his jaw. “Go on, spit it out.”

“He caught me taking a break,” she murmured.

“You can’t keep getting your pay docked,” he muttered back bitterly. 

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Things have just been a lot lately. And I… haven’t heard from my family in a while…” She rinsed her knife and dried the potatoes.

“Maybe they don’t need your money anymore.”

“I hardly make anything.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been here a long time. You’re sending them everything you don’t pay me for rent, right?”

“Yeah, but… my brother almost died in a wild bear attack, Zack.”

“I know.”

“I have nine siblings and two parents to feed on top of his bills!” Of course, her sister Hera did what she could, but with old, frail parents, two sets of triplets, a toddler, and an older brother in critical condition to worry about, she had enough on her hands. 

“I know.”

Kiesha didn’t have anything else to say, so she prepared the rest of their stew in silence as he watched from his chair, gaze observant. She put it on to simmer, then retreated to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. 

She reached for a candle and a match, illuminating the small room with warm, flickering light. It was a decent space, with a bed and a nightstand and even a soft deerskin rug. Though it was void of any personal belongings save for a hairbrush and a few other necessities, the air was clean, and the blankets were warm, and the bed was comfortable, which was more than enough to be grateful for. It had a small window on the far wall, which she crossed to so she could close the shutters. 

One of the panes was broken, but it let a breeze in throughout the night. It reminded Kiesha of home back on the coast, with the salty ocean air and misty sea spray, so when Zack had noticed and inquired why she hadn’t told him, she’d assured him she didn’t want it fixed, to which he’d replied that he didn’t want anything to happen to her—and why hadn’t she told him his apartment had been damaged. 

It took some convincing, but eventually, he’d agreed to let it stay like that.

She smiled in remembrance as she pulled her dirty work dress up over her head and tossed it onto her bed, then crossed to the basin of water below the mirror.

It was empty. 

She’d forgotten to fetch more water from the square on her way back home… it was too dark to go outside now. 

Frowning, she grabbed her dress and held it against her chest like a shield, then crossed over to the door and poked her head out. “Honey?”

“Hmm?” His response came from the kitchen, but then his chair creaked and the floorboards groaned as he made his way over. 

“Can I use your sink?” 

He frowned, coming close. “What’s wrong with yours?”

“It’s empty.”

“Oh. …I guess.”

She smiled gratefully and pushed past him into his room. Her stomach churned for a second at the sight of his bed, but she pushed the queasiness down. He could see she was tired. He wouldn’t ask tonight, and she wouldn’t have to tell him no.

She turned to the dresser, and with it, the sink. He had a wet sink—there was a pump system that filled the basin straight from the faucet. The water still had to be emptied manually, but that was easy. 

Kiesha set her dress on the rug and pumped some fresh water into the stone bowl, then dipped her hands in. The water was cold, sending wonderful shivers all over her skin. She bent over and brought the water to her face, scrubbing off dirt and sweat, letting it run into her hair and down her neck. 

When she straightened, hands grabbed her shoulders. She flinched, instinctively trying to pull away. But the hands on her were only Zack’s.

Relief flooded through her, easing the tension between her shoulders. She reached up and squeezed one of his hands, closing her eyes for a moment to take in his presence. Her legs still felt like jelly from the fright; she braced against him for support. 

“You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, craning to press his face into her neck as his arms settled around her waist. She stared at him in the mirror, and after a moment, he looked back and cracked that soft smile that gave her the best butterflies. “You’re beautiful.”

Her face tinged pink, and she couldn’t help but smile bashfully. “Thank you.” 

She didn’t know if she really was beautiful, or if he was just saying it. Her hair was a little too dark, and her skin was a little too light. She might have been prettier if she had dark eyes, but they were a pale, worn-out shade of lavender instead, more grey than anything. She was about average height, with slender curves and a slender face, posture heavy from years bent over her sewing. 

She supposed she wasn’t bad-looking, but she didn’t believe she was above average. She had been, once, but… she wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe she’d spent too long looking in the mirror, too long picking apart the imperfections. 

Or maybe she’d just spent too long in this city. 

Sighing, she reached up to take the kerchief and pins out of her hair. The strands fell in soft waves around her face, almost to her waist. She dropped the kerchief to the rug, too, figuring she’d put her things away in a little bit. She leaned back against Zack, reaching one hand up behind her to bury it in his soft, dark hair. He swayed them both in return, closing his eyes and smiling that beautiful smile again.

He paused to kiss her cheek, then opened his eyes and evidently noticed her dress on the rug. His eyes widened, and after a pause, he straightened, holding her in a different sort of way. “Your clothes look good on my floor.”

Kiesha stiffened. “Zack.”

“It was a joke,” he assured her. But the way he leaned down and kissed her neck said otherwise.

“Zack,” she croaked again, terrified to move but more afraid to stay where she was. 

“Shhh,” he murmured, planting several more kisses down the side of her neck.

“Za–”

Before she could finish, he’d turned her to face him and pressed his mouth to hers. 

Panic buzzed in her lungs, and he must have sensed it because he softened. He didn’t hold her so tight, didn’t kiss her so hard. 

His hands were gentler, less possessive, as if he was savoring her rather than ravishing her. 

After a short pause, she melted into the embrace and kissed him in return. His hands, his lips, his hair—everything was soft, even the way she could feel his warmth through her chemise. She draped her arms over his shoulders, one hand running itself through his soft dark waves.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that, warm and content, wrapped in each others’ arms. 

Until he tugged her down with him to sit on the bed. 

Kiesha stiffened and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “Zack, please. We’ve been through this.”

He made a sound of frustration deep in his throat, anger tainting his once gentle face as she managed to break away and stand. “I know, Kiesha! Calm down.”

“I am calm,” she murmured, smoothing back his hair to plant a kiss on his forehead.

He looked up at her with those piercing blues, gaze somehow terrible and wonderful all at once. It sent a dangerous thrill through her body. “You love me, don’t you?” His voice was hardly above a whisper. 

“Of course I do,” she breathed back, still gently caressing his face.

He paused, opening his mouth to speak several times before finally saying, “Then why don’t you act like it?”

Kiesha blinked, pulling her hands away a little. He reached up and grabbed her wrists, as if pleading her not to leave.

She hung her head. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m exhausted, Zack. I’m trying.”

He scowled. “Prove it.”

“I’m not sleeping wi—”

“I know. You’ve made that very clear.” He let go of her, and her hands hovered for a second before she dropped them to her sides. “If you love me, you’ll do what I tell you, won’t you? You trust me.” His eyes searched her face, scrutinizing. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, she prayed he wouldn’t find it. 

“I… yes. Yes, of course.”

“Go over to the window.”

Kiesha frowned but unwaveringly obeyed.

“Open up the shutters and break one of the panes for me,” he murmured.

She thought that was a strange thing to ask, but she wasn’t here to question him. She had to prove to him… 

She opened the shutters and appraised the window. “...what am I supposed to break it with?”

“Your hand.”

A heavy, thick silence fell over them, and she must have hesitated a few seconds too long, because he exploded, storming over to the window and slamming his fist through one, two, three of the panes. Shards of glass stuck from his flesh, tinted by his blood. 

Kiesha gasped, reaching out and hauling him away from the window. “Zack! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”

“Look what you made me do, Kiesha!” He shoved his bloodied hand at her, eyes teary from the pain. “Look at what you did to me!”

Hot tears welled up in her own eyes, along with a tight lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I should have just… I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Give me your hand.”

She didn’t want to hurt him again. She held out a trembling hand to him.

He took it, turning it over in his own and tracing the lines, and then he guided it to the window. His touch was gentle, but that didn’t stop her heart from pounding. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated again. Her voice was swallowed up as soon as the words came out.

He stared her in the eyes, his stare dangerous and wild. He guided her hand to broken shards, and her stomach fell to her feet. “Zack, w…”

“Shh.”

“No, wait, please. Please, I need my hands to work. I can’t pay you if I can’t work!”

His gaze stayed level with her. He frowned. “That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” 

She nodded desperately. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

“Well, I’m not the one that doesn’t trust me, am I? This isn’t my fault,” Zack said, eyes wide with bewilderment, voice surprised. “There are consequences for every action,” he told her gently. “It’s the natural way of things.”

She opened her mouth to apologize again, to beg him to give her some other punishment, but he forced her hand down on one of the sharp, jagged pieces of glass that stuck up from the windowsill before she could. Her hand convulsed, and she screamed. It faded into quieter yelps and whimpers.

“This is what happens when you don’t trust me, Kiesha,” he whispered. “Bad things happen.”

She moaned as the glass dug deeper into her flesh. She could see it pressing against the skin on the top of her hand, eager to break it. Her fingers jerked, twitching spasmodically.  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zack,” she sobbed.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I forgive you.” 

He paused, then pulled her hand slowly off of the jagged shard. She whimpered, trembling from the pain; dark and glistening blood pooled in her palm. Tears swam in her eyes as she nodded. 

Zack broke off the bloodied shard from the window and placed it in her wounded hand, and then he let go of her. “I forgive you.”

Kiesha nodded again, watching through warped vision as he drew glass shards out of his knuckles and set them aside on the nightstand. 

She stood there for a while, frozen in shock, letting the hot sticky redness collect in her palm, staining her white skin. Her hand trembled, waves of pain radiating through to the tips of her fingers and up her arm. 

It took her several moments to process before moving to get some bandages from the lockbox in Zack’s closet. The crude key was where he always kept it, tucked into the pocket of that jacket she’d bought him a year ago. 

The one he never really wore.

She fished out the key with her good hand, unlocked the box, and withdrew a smaller wooden chest that contained rolls of bandages, gauze, and other similar articles. She nearly dropped it.

After hastily wrapping her hand in some gauze using her good hand and her teeth, she brought the kit out and sat on the bed next to him. Opening the lid, she procured a cloth and a glass bottle of alcohol. It was silent as she cleaned his wounds and just as silent as she wrapped a length of bandage around his hand. She tied it off, then kissed his exposed fingers.

He smiled at her.

The medical kit was returned to the lockbox in the closet, and, suddenly, Kiesha remembered the stew over the fire.

“I’m going to finish making dinner,” she told him, moving back over to where he was perched on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“...okay. That’s fine. I’ll just…” She took a deep breath, then moved back over to the sink to collect her dress and kerchief. He called to her as she reached for the door.

“Kiesha.”

“Yeah?”

“We match now. Our windows.” He held up his bandaged hand.

A small smile spread across her face despite herself, and she turned to face him. “We do, don’t we?”

He grinned back—that perfect smile that melted those icy blue eyes into something gentler. 

“Goodnight, Zack.”

“Goodnight, Kiesha. You know I love you, right?”

She offered another soft smile and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied, so she fled to her room to find a needle and thread. She had several spools in the nightstand, and she withdrew a strong, black cotton reel, as well as the pincushion she kept at the back of the drawer. 

Carrying her supplies in her good hand, Kiesha made her way over to one of the candles on the windowsill, threaded the needle, and bathed it in the flame. This would sterilize it and hopefully cauterize the pokes she would need to make. 

Though… she wasn’t sure it’d be hot enough. 

Still holding the needle in one hand, she carefully unwrapped the bandages around her wound. The white gauze had already turned startlingly red, and her stomach twisted with sudden, violent nausea. She had to look away to keep from vomiting.

Her eyes watered as she glanced back down at her wound; she took a deep breath to steel herself. Using the unstained areas of the gauze to mop up the blood surrounding the wound, she poked her needle through the flesh of her hand before she could think too hard. 

Her knees nearly buckled, and she bit her tongue to stifle her cry.

She forced herself to keep going, though, and after a few unfathomably long moments, she’d made enough stitches to keep her hand closed. Her fingers tingled like pins and needles, twitching sporadically as she tied off the thread and snapped it with her teeth, jaw trembling. She used the rest of the gauze to absorb the remaining blood and smeared her tear-stained face on the back of her sleeve. 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she put her supplies away and wrapped a length of cotton around the wound. She secured it with a pin, bent the end to keep it from poking her, and moved to the kitchen to eat and put away the soup Zack hadn’t touched.

@Through The Living Glass

This is cool. I like reading things. What would you recommend I start with of the things here? Should I start with the chapter above?

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

1 hour ago, CoderDrag0n8 said:

This is cool. I like reading things. What would you recommend I start with of the things here? Should I start with the chapter above?

hey!! happy to see you here  

okay, so the chapter above is from a novella i’m currently working on. i have the full novella posted already; i’m just in the editing/revising stages. so the chapter above is the revised first chapter of the novella. you can start with that or with the old stuff. i don’t care much, but there are going to be some relatively major differences between the first draft and the second draft. also, the post with the very first chapter (first draft) has all the trigger warnings and everything (it’s a darker story). here’s the link to that first post. thank you for checking out this thread! it means a lot

1 hour ago, Through The Living Glass said:

awwww I'm glad

SUPER DUMB

MEH! >>:(

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Don't I know it :3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT RETURNS

INDEED D:<

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

2 minutes ago, kajsa said:

hey!! happy to see you here  

okay, so the chapter above is from a novella i’m currently working on. i have the full novella posted already; i’m just in the editing/revising stages. so the chapter above is the revised first chapter of the novella. you can start with that or with the old stuff. i don’t care much, but there are going to be some relatively major differences between the first draft and the second draft. also, the post with the very first chapter (first draft) has all the trigger warnings and everything (it’s a darker story). here’s the link to that first post. thank you for checking out this thread! it means a lot

IT RETURNS

INDEED D:<

IT DOES :D:D

GRR >>:(

[CoderDrag0n8 He/They]

13 hours ago, kajsa said:

hey!! happy to see you here  

okay, so the chapter above is from a novella i’m currently working on. i have the full novella posted already; i’m just in the editing/revising stages. so the chapter above is the revised first chapter of the novella. you can start with that or with the old stuff. i don’t care much, but there are going to be some relatively major differences between the first draft and the second draft. also, the post with the very first chapter (first draft) has all the trigger warnings and everything (it’s a darker story). here’s the link to that first post. thank you for checking out this thread! it means a lot

IT RETURNS

INDEED D:<

Of course! Ill check it out in a sec!

[𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖊]

This seems interesting. I'll read it when I have time.

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

1 hour ago, CoderDrag0n8 said:

Of course! Ill check it out in a sec!

30 minutes ago, 𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖊 said:

This seems interesting. I'll read it when I have time.

cool!  

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

GUYS I FINALLY FINISHED CHAPTER TWO

that thing was a MONSTER 

(it’s only 12 pages but dude slugging my way through that editing was awful )

ENJOY

(also i haven’t read this whole thing through after editing so i apologize if it makes no sense lol)

@Through The Living Glass @Edema Rue

Spoiler

TWO

 

 

 

 

Kiesha slipped her punch card into its slot and made her way over to her workspace, tightening her apron around her waist. Six forty AM. Stifling a yawn, she produced the same baby blue fabric as always from the wooden crate underneath the table, as well as a spool of thread, heavy steel scissors, and her pincushion, trying to ignore the incessant throbbing in her hand. 

Morning light, tinted golden by the sunrise, streamed in through the windows high in the factory walls. They sat just above the walkway the foreman often occupied, large and clean, and they were sometimes propped open during the hot seasons. In here, though, it always seemed to be hot.

Kiesha drew a length of thread from the spool and cut it.

The factory was mostly empty, and quiet. Many of the workers wouldn’t arrive for a while longer. They all had families and children to get taken care of before they could leave to work. Kiesha was grateful she only had Zack to worry about. 

He’d been mellower this morning, quieter and a bit subdued. She’d changed his bandages and made sure he had something to eat before she left, and he’d seemed satisfied enough. 

She threaded the needle, which was made unnecessarily difficult by the tremors in her injured hand. She grit her teeth, half against the pain and half in frustration, then began to stitch along the seam she’d pinned last night. 

Light spilled onto her desk and scattered across the blue fabric under her hands, warming the soft weave of sky. 

Skirts rustled as women entered and passed by her, settling at their work tables and drawing out their own tools. 

Little by little, the factory filled up with life. 

Kiesha’s hand throbbed in time with the clock as she pushed and pulled the needle through her work, and she was so focused on ignoring the pain that she didn’t hear the voice next to her. Not until a soft hand laid itself on her shoulder did she jump and glance up.

The war widow’s soft face looked down at her, framed by small blonde wisps of hair. She pulled her hand away carefully and motioned to Kiesha’s hand. “What’d you do to it?”

“I…” she glanced away. “I was cooking. My knife got wet and slipped right out of my hand,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. She looked around, as if searching for the foreman. 

The widow frowned. “Did you go to a doctor?”

Kiesha shook her head. “W-we’ve got a kit. I stitched it up on my own.”

“Do y–”

“I’m fine,” Kiesha said, squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t afford to be in this woman’s debt. “But thank you.”

“Well… if I can—”

“Thank you.”

The widow studied Kiesha, then nodded, sighed, and moved away. 

Silence fell again as time crawled slowly on by. Kiesha glanced up at the large clock on the far wall, set into the building below the foreman’s balcony. Six fifty-seven. The briefing would start any minute now. 

She turned back to her work. 

Just a few moments later, the foreman’s voice sliced through the factory silence. All eyes lifted up to the balcony. 

“Good morning, ladies. Today is going to be a little different. The head of department has an announcement for you. Mr. Livingston.” He nodded to a small, well-dressed man next to him wearing a top hat and a pocket watch. 

Mr. Livingston stepped forward. “Hello, girls. As we move into winter, it’s only natural for us to get more young ladies looking for work. However, as there isn’t any room for new employees, we’ve decided to run an observation. Over the next two weeks, additional overseers will be placed in your department. They’ll inspect your quality and quantity of work, note your hours, and ultimately decide who will be leaving and who will be moving to another department. I recommend you all be on your best behavior, because there will be many of you who must go.”

There was silence. 

“Do we understand each other?” Mr. Livingston prompted, apparently fishing for an answer. 

The women assented with murmurs of “yes sir”. 

“Good,” he said, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Please turn to Mr. Slicker if you have questions or concerns.”

The foreman smirked as Mr. Livingston turned and walked away. Then he scowled at the women and clapped his hands. “GET TO WORK!”

His voice echoed throughout the room, and a sudden rush of movement followed—swishing fabric, the clatter of scissors against wooden desks, the drawing of thread from fresh spools. 

The foreman leaned against the balcony railing, and several men with small pocketbooks and pencils filtered through the door, each occupying a row of tables. 

Kiesha bowed her head as she worked, her usually efficient hands hesitant and sluggish. The bandage was thick and hard to work around, and the pain. It was as if the glass was still lodged in her palm, tearing at her flesh anew with each small movement. Her vision was hot and hazy from tears, and it became difficult to stitch in straight lines. She cursed herself for not having listened to Zack. 

You fool, she swore. You absolute fool. 

She wouldn’t have been half so hurt if she’d just listened to him in the first place. She’d still be able to work. 

A man passed by, paused to appraise her work, scribbled something down in his pocketbook, and continued on. Her face flushed with heat. 

I promise I can work, she wanted to scream. I promise I can do it. Please don’t let me go. I need this job. I need the money.

Instead, she remained quiet and dutiful, stitching away at the sky-born swatches of cotton. 

 

—

 

The hours passed slowly. They dragged and dragged and dragged, until Kiesha was numb to the pain and her sewing came back to her. She thought vaguely of home, of the bread she needed to make that night, and of how Zack had been saving up to take her to the fall festival over the weekend. Only when the dinner bell rang did she jolt out of her trance, shaking out the stiffness in her knuckles and massaging the sore muscles in her arm. 

The workers had twenty minutes to eat before they returned to work. 

Women tied off their threads, folded up the garments, tucked them under their desks, and from their bags brought out hard black bread, coarse cheese, and even dried fruit, wrapped in old newspapers. 

Kiesha realized dully she’d forgotten to pack her own food, but she was so used to living on empty already that it hardly mattered. Besides, this could be a good time to check on her hand. 

She pulled her satchel out from underneath her desk, rummaging inside it to make sure she had everything before standing and making her way over to the washroom. They were lucky enough to have a pump sink, and the separate room would offer some privacy. 

Crossing to the bench on the far wall, she sat and unwrapped her hand, wincing at the way her skin tugged from the blood that had dried onto the bandage. Fresh blood spattered her hand, and she closed her eyes against nausea. 

The thread had broken. She’d have to do it all over again. 

Just another reason why you should have trusted him, she thought, opening her eyes again to wet the bandage in the sink and mop up the blood. Don’t you ever question him. Never again.

The skin around the wound had turned purple and green, tender to the touch and more painful the closer it got to the laceration. Stars, this was going to hurt. 

As she reached to pull the rest of the stitches out, the door behind her creaked, and as she whirled around to see who it was, she nearly slammed straight into the foreman’s chest. He clamped a hand over her mouth, making it even harder to breathe than it already was, and she thrashed. His dark hair fell over his darker eyes, which were gleaming with sick excitement, and his breath was stale. She tried to wrench away. 

“Shh,” he snapped, snatching her hand. “Stop it.” He pressed on the cut, where the flesh was broken. Blood seeped from the wound and dripped onto the floor.

Kiesha cried out against his hand, little black spots peppering her vision. Tears formed in her eyes, and she felt the fight leave her body.

“You need help with those stitches, Ebersol?”

She shook her head, hard, but he just pressed harder on the wound. Her knees nearly buckled from the pressure in her head, and she whimpered against his dirty, smothering hand.

“That’s what I thought,” he hissed, forcing her to turn and face away from him. “You’re not gonna make a sound, you understand me? No paycheck for the tattlers.”

Kiesha hardly heard what he’d said. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out a way out of this as the foreman started yanking on the ties of her apron. She had to brace herself against the wall to keep from stumbling and falling over.

She couldn’t hit him. She wasn’t strong enough to do the damage she needed if she wanted to escape. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t just try to run. He’d surely hurt her if she tried. She needed to wound him—but how, she didn’t know. 

And she couldn’t cry for help. 

Nobody would come—every girl in this godforsaken place knew not to mess with the foreman’s affairs if she wanted to keep her job. And here, nobody could afford to lose theirs. These were the hopeless, the lonely, the quiet sufferers at the mercy of man and the mercy of God.

Nobody would come. Besides, the foreman didn’t take well to criers. 

Her apron hit the floor with a dull thud, and she felt the back of her dress rip open. Tears flowed faster down her face as he worked her out of the dingy blue fabric and forced her back to face him. As she turned, though, something came to her.

The needle. Of course. If she could just get to it! But her bag was several feet away on the bench, too far to reach…

The foreman reached out and grabbed Kiesha’s waist in his hands, tore off her jump, and pushed her back toward the wall–or tried. She let her knees crumple under her, and she landed right on the bench. Her hand searched blindly for the strap of her bag, and she nearly grabbed it right as he slapped her with terrible force. 

“Get up,” he growled.

“I have weak knees,” she lied, voice trembling. She closed her hand around the strap of her bag. “Th-that’s why I take so many breaks…”

He frowned, scowling at her. His dark eyes searched her pale ones, an abyss of hatred and loathing trying to read her soul. “I said get up.”

She managed to stand–her knees really did feel weak–and he lunged, pushing her into the wall. His face was just breaths away, and his hands were closing around her shift, ready to tear, and suddenly, she knew where to hurt him. 

At the same time the neck of her chemise ripped, he leaned forward and kissed her, harsh and hard, so hard it hurt. Her hands trembled as they moved through her bag slowly, deliberately, trying not to go too fast. What would he do if he caught her?

Something pricked her, and she jumped. The needle! Her hand closed around it, but the foreman grabbed her arm.

Kiesha’s heart stopped. She froze, the hairs on her neck raising.

The foreman pulled back from her, forcing her hand up out of the satchel. His eyes immediately locked on the needle, which was trembling between Kiesha’s fingers. 

He sneered at her. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“N-nothing!” She tried to wrench away, to no avail. Her breaths felt shallow as she thrashed. 

Suddenly, her feet were swept from beneath her, and she hit the ground with a tremendous force. The air was forced from her lungs, and as the foreman’s hand closed around her throat, she was unable to draw another breath. The needle clinked against the stone floor, and she scrambled for it, but before she could reach it, his weight loomed over her, threatening to drop and crush her at any moment. His face came within inches of her, and he sneered. 

“You don’t ever threaten me,” he growled. “Ever. Are we clear?”

“I—I…” Kiesha scraped, gasping uselessly for air like a fish out of water. She clawed at his hand and kicked, trying to get him off her. She could feel the blood pooling in her veins, cut off by his hand, threatening to burst if she didn’t breathe. 

His hand tightened, and her vision spotted. Her head spun, spun, spun, sight getting darker and darker and darker until suddenly air flooded back into her, burning, but she gulped it down anyway, heedless of the pain.

“Glad we understand each other,” he growled. His hands reached for the torn neck of her chemise, and panic struck her in the stomach. She couldn’t let him do this to her! She couldn’t let this happen!

Her mind raced, and she put her hands up in a desperate plea for mercy. Blood from her hand dripped down onto her lip. She closed her eyes as she felt her chemise tear farther, down past her ribcage…

And then an idea occurred to her.

Before she could hardly think, she’d smashed her wounded hand against one of his eyes, rubbing the blood into it, and he started yelling, and she reached for the needle with her other hand, and she felt the thin splinter of metal against her fingers, and she grasped for it, pushing harder against his face as his hands once again found her neck, and then the needle had speared itself through one of his terrible black eyes. Blood spurted from the wound, and he jerked away, howling in pain. He rolled off her, clutching his damaged eye.

Stomach churning, Kiesha scrambled to her feet and lunged for her work dress, holding it to her chest as she bolted for the door.

The foreman was still screaming and yowling, rolling on the ground, blood-stained hands covering his wounded eye. 

She reached for the knob, but it flung open before she could get out.

She sucked in a breath. Stars! 

A tall, middle-aged man stood in the doorway, wearing expensive clothes and expensive spectacles. His face was panicked, but it hardened when he saw her. 

The department manager.

Her heart sank. Stars, she was in deep trouble. 

“What’s going on here?” He demanded, pushing past her to see the foreman stumbling to his feet. He clutched the edge of the sink with one hand, the other trembling one trying to find and extract the needle. Blood dribbled down his face, and the manager’s face purpled. He whirled on Kiesha.

The blood drained from her face as she stammered, “I–he—I was in here to fix my hand, and—and he came in, and–and, well, I—he tried to–so I stabbed him with the needle, I had to—”

“Liar,” the foreman spat. The sink water was slowly staining red, drop by drop. “This whore was in here waiting for me! She attacked me!”

Angry tears streamed down Kiesha’s face, and then she dropped her dress and really did attack the foreman, punching and scratching and screaming horrible things at him. His fist struck her brow in retaliation, and she stumbled back, seeing stars. The manager caught her and hauled her away from the foreman, restraining her. She kicked and fought, still screaming at the foreman, who was stumbling and swaying.

The manager grabbed Kiesha’s work dress off the floor, shoved it into her arms, and ordered her to wait in his office. She blinked at him, and slowly, the adrenaline and rage faded into shame, and her breathing slowed down. She bowed her head and nodded, then held her shredded dress to her chest and made her way out of the washroom.

There was a different kind of silence in the main workspace, and several young women stared at Kiesha with wide, curious eyes. 

Her face flushed, hot with embarrassment and shame, and she fled upstairs to the manager’s office, waiting anxiously. There was a nameplate on his desk that read Charles Livingston.

Books lined the walls, save for one of them, on which was hung a large cork board with all kinds of papers hung up. Some were lists or little notes and reminders, but most were drawings and sketches of the establishment. She hadn’t realized he was an architect.

The door opened, and Kiesha flinched, but it wasn’t Charles.

It was the blonde war widow. She held a needle and thread in her hands, as well as a roll of bandages.

Tears welled up in Kiesha’s eyes as the widow gently pulled the tattered dress from her arms and set it down on a stool. She threaded the needle and quietly started to stitch the front of Kiesha’s chemise, having handed her the bandages. Kiesha started to wrap her damaged hand. She’d lost the stomach for stitches; she couldn’t do it anymore. Not now.

“You’re very brave,” the widow eventually whispered, eyes focused on the tear she was repairing.

Kiesha looked away. “...not very. I… I was terrified.”

“That makes you all the braver.”

“.............thank you,” she whispered.

The widow smiled. She finished mending Kiesha’s chemise, then moved to her dress. She held it up and frowned. The entire back was torn straight down, and she bunched it up. “I’ll be right back.”

Kiesha nodded, watching her go. 

Her gaze fell back down to Charles’ gold nameplate, and she wrapped her arms around her barely-clothed body. Tears slipped down her face. It wasn’t fair. All she wanted was to keep her job so she could have money to send home. She just wanted–no, needed–to save her twin brother. Why did it have to be so hard?

After a while, the widow returned, brushing blonde tendrils of hair away from her face. She carried a new work dress with her, probably one she’d made. Kiesha’s stomach churned as she handed over the bundle of baby blue linen.

“You don’t have to help me,” Kiesha whispered, staring down at the dress.

“I know,” she responded softly. “But I’d like to.”

Her eyes glistened, and she nodded. “Thank you, um…” 

She looked up at the widow, realizing she didn’t know her name.

“Bella. I’m Bella.”

Kiesha smiled. “Thank you, Bella.”

Bella just smiled at her, her soft face shining even in the dim office, the only source of light the window on the far wall. Then, she took a deep breath. “My shift is over. I’ll see you later, Kiesha.”

She was gone before Kiesha could ask how she knew her name.

 

—

 

Kiesha waited for nearly half an hour, noticing small things about the department manager’s office, before he appeared, spattered with the foreman’s blood, his clothes and hair rumpled. His hat was nowhere to be seen, and he looked solemn. Kiesha swallowed, throat suddenly very dry.

He motioned for her to sit at the stool in front of his desk, and he took his place in his chair across from her. He folded his hands on top of his desk and appraised her through polished spectacles. 

“Miss Ebersol… you’ve been working here a long time. I think it’s strange you’ve never moved up in the world—you work long shifts, and you’re a good employee. Skilled. Thorough. But… I’m afraid I’ve been enlightened.” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. 

Kiesha blinked, and when he didn’t continue, swallowed “Sir?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just examined her through those shiny, expensive glasses. She probably wouldn’t have been able to afford something like them with an entire month’s wages. Bitterness swirled in her chest, bubbling under her ribs.

He sighed. “I’d rather not spell it out for you. I’m sure you’re aware.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Livingston. I don’t—see, it’s my brother. My twin brother. He got in an accident a year ago, and he’s been in the hospital ever since. The doctors are doing everything they can, but it’s really very expensive, and I have eight other siblings, and my parents’ jobs aren’t bringing in hardly any money, see, and I’ve got rent to pay, and at the end of the day I’ve got nothing at all.”

“A completely logical reason for a girl like you to turn to your line of work,” he assured her. “I’m not judging you, Miss Ebersol. How long have you been working in that industry?”

“What industry?”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then he cleared his throat. “Mr. Slicker… he told me—why, he said you had a second job. One that… you work at night.”

Kiesha stared at him, incredulous.

“So,” Livingston continued, “I’ll ask you again, now that we seem to be on the same page. How long have you been working in your industry?”

“I–why, I haven’t,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it, Mr. Livingston.”

“Then why were you waiting in the washroom for Mr. Slicker, Kiesha?”

“W–I wasn’t waiting for him. I went in there because… see, my hand.” She set her bandaged hand on the desk for him to see. “I had an accident at home, and I was going to change the bandages under the water when the foreman–”

“Mr. Slicker.”

“–came inside and threatened me. He hurt me and… and he said if I tried to scream, he’d take my money, and I can’t afford that, Mr. Livingston—I need that money for my family and my brother, and I have to pay my rent, and I don’t have anywhere else to go if I can’t pay, and—”

“Miss Ebersol. I understand. Get back to your story, please.”

Kiesha took a deep breath, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Well, he tore my dress, and he tore my chemise, but I’d… I’d brought a needle to fix my stitches, so I… I used it to protect myself. Mr. Livingston, sir, he’s assaulted so many girls working down there… I couldn’t just let him do what he wanted to me and allow him to keep hurting us.”

Charles frowned, then wet his lips. He looked pensive. 

“He’ll never admit to it, but he’s done horrible things. We’ve all seen how it goes, and—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because he threatened me,” Kiesha burst, throat tight. How could this man be so blind? She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “He said he’d take my wages, and I was… I was afraid I’d be next. He’s had it out for me ever since I got here, Mr. Livingston.” She wrapped her arms around herself, gaze frozen on the rich mahogany of his desk and the gold in his nameplate. 

Such simple things. 

It made her angry. He probably never thought about them. Never thought about that fancy pocket watch on his corduroy suit or his room full of books or those spectacles on his nose. They were just things he had.

She would have done anything for them. 

The simple, everyday amenities that merely existed in his life would have changed her entire world.

“What would the other girls in your department say about this, Miss Ebersol?”

“I… I’m not sure. Some might admit. Others will be too afraid.”

“Look me in the face, Kiesha.”

“Miss Ebersol,” Kiesha whispered.

“Miss Ebersol,” he amended.

She brought her gaze up to meet his eyes.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Of course I am. Do you take me for a liar, sir?”

He studied her face, then shook his head, gaze falling to the papers on his desk, which he shuffled aimlessly around. “No. No, Miss Ebersol. I don’t.”

Kiesha nodded. That was good—but she didn’t think her credibility would go far here. It was very unlikely the manager would believe a bottom-of-the-rung employee—a woman—over his foreman. 

“Why don’t you go home for the day,” he suggested. “Get some rest. I’m going to chat with some people and figure out what the best course of action is here.”

She wanted to protest; she needed all the money she could get her hands on. Hera’s last letter had been absolutely desperate. But she was exhausted and scared, and all she wanted was to go home to Zack and let him hold her in his strong, warm arms—that was, if he was home yet.

Kiesha nodded. “Alright,” she murmured, standing from the stool. She brushed her hands off on her skirt, and Charles stood to walk her out of his office. She gave him a half-hearted smile, which he returned in his own respect, and she went back down the stairs. 

She kept her head ducked, so her hair formed a sort of curtain around her face, blocking it from view. 

She updated her punch card, then pushed out the door, noticing for the first time how sore she was. During their skirmish, the foreman had hit her in more places than she’d originally thought, and she noted a split lip in her reflection as she passed the window of a bakery.

Her stomach twisted painfully at the smell of warm bread coming through the open door, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten well for several days. She paused to watch a plump woman place fresh loaves on a rack. The woman noticed her and smiled through the window. She smiled tightly back. 

Kiesha had–like usual–sent her entire paycheck back home to Hera, and recently, the food in the pantry had been disappearing faster than usual. Zack insisted otherwise, but Kiesha wasn’t so sure. They were buying groceries all the time.

It was getting cooler outside every day, but with the sun shining down on the city and the warmth coming from the shops, it felt really nice, though it was strange to be out on the streets this early. She took a deep breath of the crisp air, suddenly glad the city she lived in was known for its clean nature. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much better than other cities she’d heard of. 

She didn’t have much, but at least she had that.

A vague thought crossed her mind as she passed the post office, and she decided to go see if she’d received anything from Hera in the past couple of days. The postman smiled when he saw her and immediately retrieved a letter from her sister, holding it out to her. “Miss Ebersol.”

Kiesha smiled at him and took it. 

He was a sturdy man, if a bit round, with a kind face and greying hair. He wore spectacles, presumably for reading, and his eyes crinkled around the corners when he smiled. 

“Thank you,” Kiesha said, turning the envelope over in her hands and breaking the seal. She moved over to a bench to read it. 

The handwriting was shaky, and it was more of a note than a letter.  

 

Kiesha,

 

I hope things are going okay in the city. It’s been bad here. 

I know you’re doing as much as you can, but half of them are sick with scarlet fever. We don’t have enough money for medicine. I’ll keep you updated.

Mom died this morning. I’m so sorry.

 

- Hera

 

Kiesha stared at the letter in disbelief, gripping the page with both hands. 

She read the words over and over again, trying to find her mistake, trying to stumble upon what she’d read wrong, but the words didn’t change. They stayed right where they were, no matter how hard she tried to make them rearrange themselves.

She raised a hand to the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut to discourage the hot tears forming, trying to force the words out of her mind. She brought her other hand to her head, too, the unfolded letter hanging limply between her fingers.

If she hadn’t read it, it hadn’t happened. It wasn’t true. 

She’d done everything she could. 

Surely…

Surely…

“Miss Ebersol?”

Kiesha looked up to see the postman standing over her, brow furrowed in concern. He eased himself onto the bench next to her, with at least a foot of space between them. That was refreshing, at least.

“Is everything alright?”

“Uh… um….” she blinked a few times, and some of the tears fell loose. She immediately scrubbed them away, standing suddenly. “I need to go home.” She shoved the letter into her bag, not caring how crumpled it got. 

The postman watched as she fled the shop, tearing her hands through her hair and trying to think of somewhere to go. She couldn’t face Zack like this. She spun around, surveying her surroundings, but there wasn’t anywhere she could go. She didn’t know anyone in this city aside from Zack, a few of her coworkers, the postman, and the baker. She only knew the streets she used to get to and from work, since she didn’t have any free time to spend at the park or in a cafe or a tavern. The only place she could go was home. 

She realized vaguely she was already walking in that direction. 

It felt like she was watching everything happen around her from behind some sort of warped veil, and the sounds weren’t quite right, and the smells weren’t hardly as strong. She felt like she was floating above it all, an actor in a show she didn’t know the script of. 

It took her twice as long to get home than usual, but she was still hours ahead of her normal schedule. It was late afternoon, though, so she had hope he would be home. Her knuckles rapped softly against the door, and the knocking felt strangely as hollow as she felt. She clutched her bag a little tighter.

The door swung open, but it wasn’t Zack.

It was Bella.

She had long golden hair with eyes that matched, fair skin, and a dusting of freckles across a button nose. She looked surprised to see Kiesha, and she smelled like… like that too-sweet-fresh-air scent she’d picked up on Zack for the past couple of weeks.

Kiesha stared at her in utter disbelief.

He couldn’t be… he wasn’t really…

Her throat tightened, and her chest constricted, and her stomach heaved, and she thought she was going to be sick. 

She’d trusted him. Because bad things happened when she didn’t. 

She pushed past Bella. Maybe this wasn’t what she thought. Her non-work clothes were too fine, she wore one too many necklaces, she was too well-kempt to be with Zack. 

Zack couldn’t afford things like that. He could hardly afford to feed himself, let alone Kiesha.

Zack was inside, leaning on the kitchen table and eating some leftover soup she’d made the night before. His face turned bone white as soon as he saw her, and he choked on the soup. “K-Kiesha! You’re back early.”

“Looks like you were, too,” Kiesha said softly, just a bite of bitterness behind the words. 

“Kiesha, it’s not—we’re hanging out, that’s all.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” she said quietly. She didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with this today, and she was tired of giving him the benefit of the doubt. She loved him, of course, but he could be utterly exhausting.

“You trust me, don’t you?” For some reason, it sounded like a threat, and Kiesha was noticing it for the first time.

“O-of course.”

“Good. How was your day?”

She bit the inside lining of her cheek, so hard she was sure she would draw blood. 

His face melted into something that almost looked like genuine concern. He led her into her bedroom, which Kiesha thought was strange because usually they had private conversations in his. 

He sat her down on the bed and settled next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, the foreman has been harrassing me for months and finally decided to try his luck, so I stabbed him through the eye with a needle, and then I got in trouble, and I think I’m going to lose my job, and I just got a letter from my sister that my mom died.”

Zack was silent for a second, apparently trying to absorb all that information at once. “The foreman,” he began. “Is that why your face is…”

“Busted up?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“So… so let me get this straight. Y-you stabbed the foreman because he tried to kiss you—”

“He tried to rape me.”

“—same thing. And now you’re losing your job.”

“I… I don’t know that yet,” she stammered timidly, taken aback at how quickly he’d dismissed that news. 

Zack sighed, running his hands through his hair and giving her that look he always did whenever she talked about her job or anything to do with money. 

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

He cut her off, wrapping her in a sudden, tight hug that felt realer than she’d expected it to. “We’ll figure this out once your boss gets back to you, okay?”

“...okay,” she whispered. 

“It’s going to be fine.”

She nodded, trying her very best to believe him.