Kajsa does arts® and writes® :D

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

2 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

random doodles from school!

  Reveal hidden contents

…i don’t get to eat lunch for two more hours… help… 

Ooooooooooo cool

[Edema Rue she/her]

33 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

random doodles from school!

  Reveal hidden contents

…i don’t get to eat lunch for two more hours… help… 

SURVIVE

STEAL FOOD

HERE *gives chocolate*

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

ok so i already posted this on my profile but i wanted to put it here too 

this is Everett and Hadley in what is quite possibly the saddest romantic scene in my entire book series 

Spoiler

i think it took about 3 hours in total?

Edited May 27, 2024 by Kajsa
wrong version of the drawing lmao 😂😂😂

[Cash67]

1 hour ago, Kajsa said:

ok so i already posted this on my profile but i wanted to put it here too 

this is Everett and Hadley in what is quite possibly the saddest romantic scene in my entire book series 

  Hide contents

i think it took about 3 hours in total?

excuse me only 3 HOURS??!?! Loving the lighting, it makes the scene feel more real to me. 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

3 minutes ago, Cash67 said:

excuse me only 3 HOURS??!?! Loving the lighting, it makes the scene feel more real to me. 

aw thanks Cash

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

hi again, it’s me

i found this old drawing i did 2 years ago of characters from my novel, Quialla and Blade, and wanted to do a redraw. these are two years apart. 

(best viewed at full screen brightness as that’s how i paint)

Spoiler

 

 

 

both were done in procreate

the first one took 2 hrs 28 mins

and the second one took 3 hrs 45 mins

anyway enjoy!

Edited May 29, 2024 by Kajsa

[Going_North_cal]

DAAAAAANG

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

Oh they're so cute!! Good job! 

[Cash67]

1 hour ago, Kajsa said:

hi again, it’s me

i found this old drawing i did 2 years ago of characters from my novel, Quialla and Blade, and wanted to do a redraw. these are two years apart. 

(best viewed at full screen brightness as that’s how i paint)

  Hide contents

 

FullSizeRender.MOV 13.64 MB · 2 downloads

 

 

 

both were done in procreate

the first one took 2 hrs 28 mins

and the second one took 3 hrs 45 mins

anyway enjoy!

 

1 hour ago, Medium said:

DAAAAAANG

*dittos Covro* That's incredible! 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

thanks everybody!! i’m really happy with how it turned out. here it is again as a picture instead of in the video

Spoiler

 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

ok so i'm working on a thing

and i'd like detailed feedback (please be harsh--not mean, but like, ykwim)

because i feel like my prose is really lacking and dry lately

and it's making me frustrated T-T 

this is the introduction/prologue thingie for Highborn, the first book in my series. yes, some of it may seem familiar, but i promise it's not the same thing!!!

it's obviously not done, but i'm struggling to move on without fixing what i have so far first. the transitions/thoughts feel choppy and chaotic and very all-over-the-place without having emotion, and the prose is dry, and uhhhhh... yeah, maybe i should stop talking it down so y'all will read it

and if you do read it PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know what's been done well and what could be improved on! thank you, loveliesssssss!!!!!!!!!

Spoiler

INTRODUCTION

MIRA

 

 

 

 

I didn’t mean to kill her.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that they’re vulnerable to the one thing that makes me whole; that they’re not like me and Arson. 

But it’s not hard to remember her screams. 

In fact, they’re the one thing in this world that’s hard to forget. 

For hours, I’ve lain awake, and for hours, sleep has refused me; I can still hear her wails, her gut-wrenching shrieks of agony ringing in my ears.

I blame the restlessness on my stiff, poorly made cot, though I know my bed is the least of my problems. Even if it were comfortable, even if I were laying on royal silks and goose down, I would not sleep. Tomorrow is the first of the season: the day criminals are punished and usually hanged, though we don’t get a lot of crime around here. I can only pray to the Gods that I won't be among the corpses tomorrow. 

This town wouldn’t miss me and Arson, though; it would probably cheer as the life was squeezed from our throats–cry for joy, sing a song, do a little dance. 

All but two.

No, Everett and Mama would be the only grim-faced spectators. I can see it now, Ev’s bronze eyes hard and cold, face red with anger. Or maybe his eyes would be blurred out with tears, and his jaw would fall slack as he lost the energy to fight for the girl he loved. Mama’s blue eyes would cloud over, face streaked with salt. She would weep into that baby blue shawl as her children suffocated at the hands of rope, blinded by her grief as she lost her children to the same monster that took her lover.

Or perhaps neither of them would come at all. Perhaps the pain would be too much, and we would be left to face our deaths all alone.

Feeling wretched and empty, I kick my blankets to the foot of my cot, leaving them in tangled heaps. I can feel my heartbeat pounding angrily in my chest as I stand to pace, knots in my gut twisting tighter. 

Mama says it wasn’t actually my fault, and it wasn’t Arson’s fault. But in a place like this, with people like this, that’s hard to believe. If I’m not to blame, who is? 

My scrawny twin stirs across the room, cot creaking under the weight of his irregular breaths. I watch him as I move around the room, for so long his features twist into a startling resemblance of the woman I accidentally murdered. 

In horror, I watch for the thousandth time the moment that will always haunt me. I try to block it out before it can happen again, try to cover my eyes and ears, but the memory is only louder under my skin.

Her screams are real now, animalistic and inhuman, like a hundred thousand bats scattering in all directions and beating me from all sides, tearing at my clothes and hair. Her face melts into something awful, blackening as my own flame devours her body from the inside out. I can feel it happening; I can feel every one of her nerves frying, her muscles spasming and bones melting. It claws up her throat and out her eyes, charring her skin and hair, gnawing at her until she’s merely a pile of ashes. 

I’m not pacing anymore. My own threadbare screams have cut through the night, and I’m on the floor without exactly knowing how I got there. Mama bursts through the canvas flap that connects our room to hers, eyes wide and panicked. 

“Mama,” I whimper from the cold, hard ground. Tears spill over onto my cheeks, even though I try to keep them in. I hate crying. 

“Mei kaija, my sweet Mira,” she coos, taking me in her arms and settling on the edge of my cot. She gently combs her fingers through my long curls, pulling me close to her heart. Instead of asking what’s the matter, she sings to me softly in her clear, glossy voice. My frightened brother, woken by my terror, climbs from his bed to curl against my mother’s opposite side. He sings along dryly as she strokes his hair with her free hand.

The song is one I’ve heard many times, one Mama learned just for me and Arson. It’s an Eldinese lullaby, something we would have listened to if Laili had kept us. It’s beautiful, a ballad of clear skies and songbirds in harmonious balance with rain and lightning and wind.

My racing heartbeat slows, returning to a more steady pace, in sync with my mother’s which pounds softly beneath my cheek. She smells like lavender and winter, like warm furs, bread, and the fire. Life flows through every part of her–beautiful, bright life that hums like a song and lights her up like an angel. In her arms, I am safe, and that’s all that matters. Here, the woman I murdered cannot attack me, and here, the authorities cannot find me. Here, maybe tomorrow will never come, and I will never have to find out if my life will be cut short.

Ignoring the fact that this could be my last safe moment, I drift into some semblance of sleep.

 

-

 

“Mira and Arson Dethridge.”

The man on the gallows is grizzled and ugly, voice harsh as he announces mine and my twin brother’s names. My name. I can’t take my eyes off the soldiers clearing away the bodies of the last people called.

That’s going to be me.

Mama screams to my right, but the rest of the crowd falls silent, and even the gut-wrenching weeping of the last victims’ mothers stifles. The people around us part to let the soldiers through.

I knew this was coming, though I can’t stop the shock and panic from setting in anyway.

I wish I could take everything back, start over from the beginning. I didn’t mean to kill her, it just happened! I was only trying to protect my brother!

Four armored men clank their way toward us, seizing us by the arms and dragging us toward the gallows. 

“Wait!” Mama shrieks, bursting from the crowd that has already closed behind us. Her shawl–sheer, baby blue–flutters to the ground in her haste, soaking with the autumn rain and still fresh on the ground. “Please, those are my children! You can’t take them! They’re hardly teenagers; you can’t blame them for what happened!” She falls to her knees at the soldiers’ feet, begging. 

“We can, and we do. You’d be better not to question authority.” One of the men at Arson’s side shoves her out of the way, and the crowd starts to shout. Some cheer, hungry for death, and others mock my mother as she struggles to her feet, soaked and muddy, while still others stay completely silent. 

A familiar voice rings through the air, calling my name, though I can hardly process it as my brother and I are hauled up the steps to the gallows. Even though I can’t see him, I know who it is; a boy, slightly older than I am, with messy blonde hair and metallic amber eyes. He’s basically gorgeous, though I could be biased in that opinion.

My boyfriend–the only person in this town besides Mama and Arson who cares a lick about me–pushes out of the mob, his usually subdued face red and angry. He bends down to help my mother to her feet. “You can’t kill her!”

“Ev,” I choke out, the first word I’ve said since we got here, “Stop.” My soldiers give me a stern look and tighten their grip on me but don’t speak.

Everett ignores me, making his way to the base of the gallows with Mama to face the man with death’s to-do list.

( @Edema Rue )

[Edema Rue she/her]

On 5/30/2024 at 9:30 PM, Kajsa said:

ok so i'm working on a thing

and i'd like detailed feedback (please be harsh--not mean, but like, ykwim)

because i feel like my prose is really lacking and dry lately

and it's making me frustrated T-T 

this is the introduction/prologue thingie for Highborn, the first book in my series. yes, some of it may seem familiar, but i promise it's not the same thing!!!

it's obviously not done, but i'm struggling to move on without fixing what i have so far first. the transitions/thoughts feel choppy and chaotic and very all-over-the-place without having emotion, and the prose is dry, and uhhhhh... yeah, maybe i should stop talking it down so y'all will read it

and if you do read it PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know what's been done well and what could be improved on! thank you, loveliesssssss!!!!!!!!!

  Reveal hidden contents

INTRODUCTION

MIRA

 

 

 

 

I didn’t mean to kill her.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that they’re vulnerable to the one thing that makes me whole; that they’re not like me and Arson. 

But it’s not hard to remember her screams. 

In fact, they’re the one thing in this world that’s hard to forget. 

For hours, I’ve lain awake, and for hours, sleep has refused me; I can still hear her wails, her gut-wrenching shrieks of agony ringing in my ears.

I blame the restlessness on my stiff, poorly made cot, though I know my bed is the least of my problems. Even if it were comfortable, even if I were laying on royal silks and goose down, I would not sleep. Tomorrow is the first of the season: the day criminals are punished and usually hanged, though we don’t get a lot of crime around here. I can only pray to the Gods that I won't be among the corpses tomorrow. 

This town wouldn’t miss me and Arson, though; it would probably cheer as the life was squeezed from our throats–cry for joy, sing a song, do a little dance. 

All but two.

No, Everett and Mama would be the only grim-faced spectators. I can see it now, Ev’s bronze eyes hard and cold, face red with anger. Or maybe his eyes would be blurred out with tears, and his jaw would fall slack as he lost the energy to fight for the girl he loved. Mama’s blue eyes would cloud over, face streaked with salt. She would weep into that baby blue shawl as her children suffocated at the hands of rope, blinded by her grief as she lost her children to the same monster that took her lover.

Or perhaps neither of them would come at all. Perhaps the pain would be too much, and we would be left to face our deaths all alone.

Feeling wretched and empty, I kick my blankets to the foot of my cot, leaving them in tangled heaps. I can feel my heartbeat pounding angrily in my chest as I stand to pace, knots in my gut twisting tighter. 

Mama says it wasn’t actually my fault, and it wasn’t Arson’s fault. But in a place like this, with people like this, that’s hard to believe. If I’m not to blame, who is? 

My scrawny twin stirs across the room, cot creaking under the weight of his irregular breaths. I watch him as I move around the room, for so long his features twist into a startling resemblance of the woman I accidentally murdered. 

In horror, I watch for the thousandth time the moment that will always haunt me. I try to block it out before it can happen again, try to cover my eyes and ears, but the memory is only louder under my skin.

Her screams are real now, animalistic and inhuman, like a hundred thousand bats scattering in all directions and beating me from all sides, tearing at my clothes and hair. Her face melts into something awful, blackening as my own flame devours her body from the inside out. I can feel it happening; I can feel every one of her nerves frying, her muscles spasming and bones melting. It claws up her throat and out her eyes, charring her skin and hair, gnawing at her until she’s merely a pile of ashes. 

I’m not pacing anymore. My own threadbare screams have cut through the night, and I’m on the floor without exactly knowing how I got there. Mama bursts through the canvas flap that connects our room to hers, eyes wide and panicked. 

“Mama,” I whimper from the cold, hard ground. Tears spill over onto my cheeks, even though I try to keep them in. I hate crying. 

“Mei kaija, my sweet Mira,” she coos, taking me in her arms and settling on the edge of my cot. She gently combs her fingers through my long curls, pulling me close to her heart. Instead of asking what’s the matter, she sings to me softly in her clear, glossy voice. My frightened brother, woken by my terror, climbs from his bed to curl against my mother’s opposite side. He sings along dryly as she strokes his hair with her free hand.

The song is one I’ve heard many times, one Mama learned just for me and Arson. It’s an Eldinese lullaby, something we would have listened to if Laili had kept us. It’s beautiful, a ballad of clear skies and songbirds in harmonious balance with rain and lightning and wind.

My racing heartbeat slows, returning to a more steady pace, in sync with my mother’s which pounds softly beneath my cheek. She smells like lavender and winter, like warm furs, bread, and the fire. Life flows through every part of her–beautiful, bright life that hums like a song and lights her up like an angel. In her arms, I am safe, and that’s all that matters. Here, the woman I murdered cannot attack me, and here, the authorities cannot find me. Here, maybe tomorrow will never come, and I will never have to find out if my life will be cut short.

Ignoring the fact that this could be my last safe moment, I drift into some semblance of sleep.

 

-

 

“Mira and Arson Dethridge.”

The man on the gallows is grizzled and ugly, voice harsh as he announces mine and my twin brother’s names. My name. I can’t take my eyes off the soldiers clearing away the bodies of the last people called.

That’s going to be me.

Mama screams to my right, but the rest of the crowd falls silent, and even the gut-wrenching weeping of the last victims’ mothers stifles. The people around us part to let the soldiers through.

I knew this was coming, though I can’t stop the shock and panic from setting in anyway.

I wish I could take everything back, start over from the beginning. I didn’t mean to kill her, it just happened! I was only trying to protect my brother!

Four armored men clank their way toward us, seizing us by the arms and dragging us toward the gallows. 

“Wait!” Mama shrieks, bursting from the crowd that has already closed behind us. Her shawl–sheer, baby blue–flutters to the ground in her haste, soaking with the autumn rain and still fresh on the ground. “Please, those are my children! You can’t take them! They’re hardly teenagers; you can’t blame them for what happened!” She falls to her knees at the soldiers’ feet, begging. 

“We can, and we do. You’d be better not to question authority.” One of the men at Arson’s side shoves her out of the way, and the crowd starts to shout. Some cheer, hungry for death, and others mock my mother as she struggles to her feet, soaked and muddy, while still others stay completely silent. 

A familiar voice rings through the air, calling my name, though I can hardly process it as my brother and I are hauled up the steps to the gallows. Even though I can’t see him, I know who it is; a boy, slightly older than I am, with messy blonde hair and metallic amber eyes. He’s basically gorgeous, though I could be biased in that opinion.

My boyfriend–the only person in this town besides Mama and Arson who cares a lick about me–pushes out of the mob, his usually subdued face red and angry. He bends down to help my mother to her feet. “You can’t kill her!”

“Ev,” I choke out, the first word I’ve said since we got here, “Stop.” My soldiers give me a stern look and tighten their grip on me but don’t speak.

Everett ignores me, making his way to the base of the gallows with Mama to face the man with death’s to-do list.

( @Edema Rue )

Okay!! First, please know that I really liked that!!!

And next…hmm. For the most part, you managed to give background without feeling too exposition-dumpy, but there were a couple places where it felt forced. I noticed it when she was talking about her mom and Ev. Maybe if you leave that off to the end of the scene it’ll feel better?

Speaking of the end, your tone started to change a lot there and I think it took away from the actual scene. She called Ev her boyfriend, and said he was basically gorgeous, and that was like a reminder that it’s you telling the story, not Mira. So maybe work on the tone there. 

As far as jumping all over the place, it kind of works because she’s in a “ohmychasmsimactuallygonnadieitsmyfaultisitmyfaultnoonewillcare” kind of mindset. 

Anyway, it still needs some polishing but it’s a really good scene and an awesome starting place!! It might help to set it aside for a bit, then come back once you’ve had time not thinking about it, but up to you. I love your characters though, please share more!!

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

2 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Okay!! First, please know that I really liked that!!!

And next…hmm. For the most part, you managed to give background without feeling too exposition-dumpy, but there were a couple places where it felt forced. I noticed it when she was talking about her mom and Ev. Maybe if you leave that off to the end of the scene it’ll feel better?

Speaking of the end, your tone started to change a lot there and I think it took away from the actual scene. She called Ev her boyfriend, and said he was basically gorgeous, and that was like a reminder that it’s you telling the story, not Mira. So maybe work on the tone there. 

As far as jumping all over the place, it kind of works because she’s in a “ohmychasmsimactuallygonnadieitsmyfaultisitmyfaultnoonewillcare” kind of mindset. 

Anyway, it still needs some polishing but it’s a really good scene and an awesome starting place!! It might help to set it aside for a bit, then come back once you’ve had time not thinking about it, but up to you. I love your characters though, please share more!!

thank you so much, i can’t tell you how helpful this is!!!!!

[Through the Living Questio he/him]

I need to read this later

Gimme 9 hours and I’ll be back

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

ok so i already posted these on my profile

BUT

i need to put more arts here so

this is my OC Chan

Spoiler

these are his .5s

Spoiler

hehe

i wanna do more art today but idk what to do…

OOH MAYBE I SHOULD DO A TAN AND ESTEE 

hmmmmmm

we shall see :3 

OH ALSO sorry for the double post but i have a write to post and that’s slightly different from draws soooo

merited, imo

this is a thing i wrote FOREVER AGO, but i revised it on wednesday and honestly :333

trigger warnings: domestic violence, mention of murder

Spoiler

My silky black mourning gown swishes against the marble floor delicately with each step, embellished with diamond stars. Gold finery drapes itself over my body anywhere it can, an emerald crown forcing me to keep my head high. The dark makeup that lines my eyes contrasts their pale blue, making me look cold and unfeeling. 

They have become windows into my grief-ravaged soul. 

With lips painted the color of blood to match my hair, freshly washed and silky, I glare at my faint reflection in the vigorously polished marble floors. I look like a queen, and I hate it.

I feel like a traitor.

This is the life my brother was supposed to have. And he was good at it. It’s my fault he’s dead, my fault for loving the man who took his crown.

I should have seen the signs. I should have protected him. But instead I stood by while the Crothan prince destroyed my kingdom’s security.

My heeled shoes make a loud, terrible sound, bouncing off of pillars and high, arched ceilings. The noise is almost as empty as I am; it echoes hollowly under my rib cage as I head for the chambers of the man who killed my brother.

Jaeger Yergensen was once the man I loved. When my own father wouldn’t support my dreams, he breathed life and passion into my lungs, promising to give me the things the law wouldn’t allow me to acquire myself. He promised to let me lead armies if that’s what I desired, promised to love me, to care for me, to fix me when I broke.

And then he went and shattered me.

To him, peace was never an option. An alliance through marriage was the perfect solution to the Silver war, but he decided to use his closeness to me as an advantage instead. To learn our tactics. To buy time for his armies to grow. To put himself in line for Elysia’s crown.

In other words, he used me as an advantage to win. And I was stupid enough to let him.

I should have known.

The Crothans are not easily coaxed into submission.

Jaeger is a madman who must be removed from the picture before he sinks Elysia entirely. He is not afraid to ruin our world, and I am the instrument through which he plans to destroy us. My fate will be sealed next week if my plan fails today. A white dress is my noose, a crown my cage, a ring my brand.

The worst part is I don’t think there’s another way out. 

He must die.

I’ve laced a bracer onto my wrist, hidden by my dress’s long sleeves; there’s a small sheath sewn into the leather, the perfect size for my dagger. It shouldn’t be hard. I’ve been trained for this. But still my gut churns, and beads of sweat pool at the nape of my neck. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Before I realize it, I’m at his door. He’s moved into Turner’s old room, a cold slap to the face. 

Another power play. 

It serves as a subtle reminder that Jaeger is in control, that he doesn’t care what I think, and that I am merely a tool; I don’t have feelings. 

A reminder that he is the king.

Without knocking, I turn the doorknob and slip into a wolverine’s territory. I walk slowly, each step careful and measured, head dipped low, eyes on the lavish carpet meant for the true king. Turner’s carpet… I dig my fingernails into my skin to keep my tears away. The room looks almost untouched, save for the absence of little things I took for myself after Turner’s death. I think most of his clothes are still here, as well as his sword, mounted on the wall, a portrait of Mom and Dad, and… one of me. Laughing. 

It’s hard to breathe in here. The air is thick, and goosebumps prickle my arms. Nausea wrenches my gut.

Jaeger knows what he’s doing, and I hate to admit it, but he’s doing a very good job. Biting my lip, I close the door behind me and take a few steps toward the man behind my misery. He meets me halfway, taking my hands gently and kissing my cheek. His touch is so warm and tender I want to fall into his arms and cry. It’s almost hard to remember that he’s the devil. 

Sometimes I do forget, and he becomes the man I loved. But today, I must remember.

“My beautiful Hadley.” Jaeger caresses my cheek, and I let him touch me, but I don’t lean into the gesture. His blonde hair is perfectly disheveled, his blue eyes dazzling, reflecting the dancing light from a fire in the hearth. 

I turn my gaze back to the carpet, and he leads me to a chair, letting my hands slip out of his grasp as I sit. “Is this about our wedding?”

Jaeger smiles tenderly, and my heart leaps, beating hummingbird wings that I quickly crush. Don’t look at him.

“What else?” He settles on a chaise across from me, lounging comfortably on the red velvet. “I wanted to talk about our color scheme.” 

I watch the fire blankly. “Oh. You’re thinking of changing it?” Currently, our color scheme matches Elysia’s royal colors–gold, green, and white. 

“Yes. I think we should do something a bit different. Break some barriers. You like that kind of thing.”

“What exactly were you thinking?” 

Jaeger frowns a little; he must’ve expected me to argue. A few months ago, I would have. “I was thinking,” he stands to pace, “White, blue, and silver. To match your eyes.” He flashes another beautiful smile, and suddenly I’m angry. 

“You mean your colors. The Crothan ones.”

He nods. “I believe it’s more appropriate, seeing as how we’re marrying our two kingdoms. If we’d had the wedding in Crotha, I would have suggested Elysian colors.”

No, you wouldn’t have. His words are as empty as the bedside table, the one that was always crowded with books and loose papers. Sometimes a rogue shirt or a boot would lie beside it, evidence of the exhausting hours my brother endured.

I stay silent. 

Jaeger frowns. “Hadley. Are you okay?”

I don’t respond. He needs to get close, so I can win. He crosses the room to take my hands, lifting me to my feet. I’m shaking. 

I want to yell, to scream, but it wouldn’t be enough. My grief and my fury can not be expressed. I don’t say anything, just stare blankly past his shoulder at the patterned wall, so he takes his fragile princess into his arms.

His guard cracks as I melt against him, burying my face in his neck. He smells delicious, like fresh air and mountaingrass…

I hug him back, reaching around him to draw my weapon. My hands shake, and I think a sob slips out of me.

I grab the hilt of my dagger, ready to end it all, but the unnatural movement does not escape Jaeger’s notice. A yelp bursts from my chest as I suddenly slam into the wall, hands pinned above my head. My crown, lost by inertia, clatters to the floor. 

Jaeger is inches from me, breathing calmly, but he’s seething. His face is red, jaw working, that one vein in his neck popping. I can feel his hot breath on my neck, and it’s disgusting. His fingers slip inside my sleeve, carefully extracting my slightly dislodged weapon. 

“What are you carrying this for?” His voice is suddenly dangerous, edged with a warning. He examines the glinting blade with his free hand, his other still pinning me. 

My breaths come in spasms, and I feel hysterical. Blood drains from my face, my ears ring, and I have to shut my eyes from sudden nausea, words becoming foreign. I struggle to think of anything to say, and when I feel him press closer, I squeak, “...emergencies.”

He scoffs. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be unprotected. We wouldn’t want another heir dead, now, would we? This kingdom can’t take any more tragedy.” His tone is venomous, and the flat of my own cold dagger traces the contours of my cheek. “Look at me, Hadley.”

I squeeze my eyes tighter, and the knife makes its way from my jaw to my throat. My heart stutters even though I know he can’t hurt me like that, not until next week, anyway. So I keep my eyes closed in spite, mostly to hide the tears that would let him win.

Jaeger’s voice drops, lethal and dripping with malice. “I can give you what you want, Hadley, but don’t you ever cross me, do you understand?” His body presses against mine, chest to chest, lips brushing my ear.

“I can take everything away from you.”

A shiver crawls down my spine. I want him to leave, to get off me, so I nod even though I don’t mean it. He seems satisfied, so he slips the dagger back inside my bracer and kisses my lips, slow and gentle. “Promise you’ll think about the color scheme?” All traces of danger are now absent from his voice, and he releases me.

I nod slowly. “...I’ll see you at luncheon.”

I leave his room in a daze, ignoring my crown on his floor, leaving a shred of what I hope is evidence. 

I have to get away. 

 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

i haven't posted here in

like

a while

so uhhhhhhhhhhh here's some stuff i've done recently! (as in the last few months lol)

Spoiler

birb (samdoesarts fan art basically lol)

FLOWER TATTOO CUZ BOREDOM

also eyeballs

and last one IF YOU GET THIS REFERENCE I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND WE WILL BE BEST FRIENDS

 

anyway yep

i'm prolly gonna doodle some doodles later today  

possibly of @The Halcyon Girl's OC Annette :3

[Wittles he/him]

DOODLES

GOOD DOODLESI approve

Also...

Spoiler

Spoiler

Spoiler

Is the draws and writes trademark mine?

Spoiler

I am perfectly concise and on time, I don't know what you're talking about

 

 

 

 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

I DID MORE ARTS AND WRITES. WILL POST TOMORROW after i do more studies/drawings and edit the scene that goes with them

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

as promised

i present to you

anastasia lysenko

Spoiler

 

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

so uh i did more art things and was inspired by JM to actually post them

 even though i’m pretty sure nobody reads this thread haha

;-; 

ANYWAY

these are some recent traditional ones

Spoiler

this is my OC ana (this one’s kinda old but i didn’t ever put it here so)

this is another OC from the same thing

she has a problem with trying to steal ana’s boyfriend

uhhh doodles

this was a piece i did for my friend who’s also a writer (this was more of a concept sketch; the actual piece was done digitally)

uhhhh squidward ornament :3

i painted this mug for my mom for christmas

 

 

aaand then some digital ones 

Spoiler

this one was just birthed from my boredom one night

took like 30 minutes cuz i found the pose online and was like

cyber robot 0)-(0

MORE MIRA BECAUSE I WILL NEVER EVER STOP DRAWING HER. EVER.

this is that pirate from up above 

uhhh slight spice warning on this one

Spoiler

this is kiesha and callum

thwyre adorable

 

 

oooh nail art tooooooo i’ll post those here

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uhhh yeah! working on another nail set rn actually lol  

[Cinnamon]

1 hour ago, Kajsa said:

so uh i did more art things and was inspired by JM to actually post them

 even though i’m pretty sure nobody reads this thread haha

;-; 

ANYWAY

these are some recent traditional ones

  Hide contents

this is my OC ana (this one’s kinda old but i didn’t ever put it here so)

this is another OC from the same thing

she has a problem with trying to steal ana’s boyfriend

uhhh doodles

this was a piece i did for my friend who’s also a writer (this was more of a concept sketch; the actual piece was done digitally)

uhhhh squidward ornament :3

i painted this mug for my mom for christmas

 

 

aaand then some digital ones 

  Hide contents

this one was just birthed from my boredom one night

took like 30 minutes cuz i found the pose online and was like

cyber robot 0)-(0

MORE MIRA BECAUSE I WILL NEVER EVER STOP DRAWING HER. EVER.

this is that pirate from up above 

uhhh slight spice warning on this one

  Hide contents

this is kiesha and callum

thwyre adorable

 

 

oooh nail art tooooooo i’ll post those here

  Hide contents

uhhh yeah! working on another nail set rn actually lol  

Woah this are all so awesome!

camila is so pretty and that mug is beautiful:)

Also, the thumb on the second nail set (with the sword) is SO COOL

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

hello my dear humans!

for context, i've had this character for a few years now, and my subconscious mind has very conveniently been working on her backstory for that time (as well as my conscious mind lol), but i've never really taken the time to write until roughly this past week. it's not edited yet, but i'm excited for people to read it and give feedback. i'll continue to update as i write more installments! thanks for taking the time to check this out.

here are the first several installments of Kiesha Ebersol's tragedy  

Spoiler

TRIGGER WARNINGS: THIS NARRATIVE INCLUDES DEPICTIONS AND/OR MENTIONS OF THE FOLLOWING: VIOLENCE, ABUSE, GASLIGHTING, MANIPULATION, SEXUAL ASSAULT, DEPRESSIVE THEMES/THOUGHTS, HOPELESSNESS, AND PROBABLY MORE THAT I'M FORGETTING. IT'S OVERALL VERY SAD AND HAS MANY MATURE THEMES SO UH YEAH THIS IS MY DISCLAIMER. also it's like completely unedited/very minimally edited so i apologize for that--

Also, unfortunately, most of my formatting has been removed during the copy/paste over to the shard, so I apologize, but what can ya do haha. I'm not about to go through the whole thing and italicize everything again xD
alright i'll stop blabbering now ENJOY!!!!! let me know what you think :3:D

edit: the first portion of this first scene is actually now edited, and the second portion is new  

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, 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’d be willing to pull some of their strings if you’d let me pull just a few of 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, being 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 to her satchel, instinctively protective of the money inside. 

Kiesha let habit take her the rest of the way home.

 

—

 

Two and a half hours later, Kiesha knocked on the door to hers and Zack’s apartment. She didn’t have a key, but he got off work hours before her—he was always home to let her in. After a minute or so, he opened the door and grinned. “Hey, babe. Come inside.”

She stepped into the apartment, head bowed. It was cool inside, which was a refreshing change from the sweltering heat of the factory. While it wasn’t anything fancy, the place was nicely furnished and let in lots of light during the daytime. Now, though, the shutters were closed, and candles flickered in the corners.

Zack 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 too sweet to be natural but nice all the same. 

She embraced him, inhaling several deep breaths of whatever it was before pulling away and setting down her knapsack. “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. 

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

“Oh, fine. Boring. You?”

“Fine,” she told him in a manner that wouldn’t have been convincing to anyone else.

“Today was payday,” he mentioned.

“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. 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. “Go on, spit it out.”

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

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

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Things have just been weird lately. And I… haven’t heard from my family in a while.”

“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.”

“My brother almost died in a wild bear attack, Zack. You know this.”

“I know.”

“I have nine siblings and two parents to feed on top of his bills!” Of course, Hera did what she could, but with two sets of triplets not yet in their teens, 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. 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 room, with a bed and a nightstand and even a 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 in order to pull the curtains shut so she could undress. 

One of the panes was broken, but it let a breeze in throughout the night, which 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 she should always let him know about any damage that occurred to his apartment. 

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. Peeling her chemise away from her sticky skin, she crossed to the basin of water below the mirror.

It was empty.

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 into his room. His basin was full.

Kiesha set her dress on the rug and 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 shoulders were only Zack’s.

She closed her eyes, relaxing, reaching up to squeeze one of his hands. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, leaning down to press his face into her neck. His arms wrapped 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 grin. “Thank you.” She reached up to take the kerchief and pins out of her hair. It fell in soft, dark 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.

“You’re welcome.” He paused to kiss her cheek, then opened his eyes and evidently noticed her dress on the rug. 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, scared 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, but realizing how gentle he was, 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. 

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

He growled deep in his throat, frustration soiling his expression as she stood. “I know, Kiesha! Calm down!”

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

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

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

Kiesha blinked. But… 

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

He scowled. “Prove it.”

“I’m not having—”

“I know. You’ve made that very clear.” He let go of her. “If you love me, you’ll do what I tell you, won’t you? You trust me.”

“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.

“With what?”

“Your hand.”

An unsettling 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. “Look at what you did to me!”

Hot tears welled up in her 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 hesitate this time. She didn’t want to hurt him again. 

He took her hand, 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 forced her hand down on one of the sharp, jagged pieces of glass that stuck up from the windowsill, and she screamed, fading 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. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zack.”

“I know. And I forgive you.” He let go of her hand, and she pulled it away from the window, trembling from the pain. Blood pooled in her palm, dark and glistening. Tears swam in her eyes from the pain as she nodded. Zac broke off the bloodied shard from the window and placed it in her wounded hand. “I forgive you.”

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

She watched for a while, frozen, before moving to get some bandages from the lockbox in his 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 wore.

She unlocked the box and withdrew a smaller wooden chest that contained rolls of bandages, gauze, and other similar articles. She hastily wrapped her hand in some gauze, then 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 wrapped a length of bandage around his hand. She tied it off, then kissed his exposed fingers.

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.”

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

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, nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied, so she left and moved to the kitchen to eat and put away the soup he hadn’t touched. 

—

 

Kiesha straightened, tying off the thread and appraising her work. Due to her long hours, skill, and efficiency, she’d been given a special project, something far more elaborate than the basic shifts, work dresses, and other garments her department usually made. If this came out right… well, she’d be earning a much better salary. She’d be given a better working area upstairs, and she might even be able to afford a new pair of shoes. 

She looked down at the ones she wore now before glancing back up at her creation on her table. The difference was startling; her boots were a musty sort of greyish-brown and dirtier than the devil, not to mention they were wearing through in several places. Her blue work dress wasn’t blue anymore, faded and patched in so many places it was hardly the same thing it had been when she’d first got it. Her apron had holes in it and had, over time, turned from white to off-white to limp shade of grey.

The work in front of her, however, was a different story. 

For the past several weeks, she’d designed, drafted, and sewn a real dress, one a proper lady would wear if it was deemed fit. The embroidery and beadwork was unlike anything she’d done before, and the materials she’d worked with would have taken her years to afford. It was, by far, the best thing she’d ever made. 

It had been difficult at first, with the condition of her hand, but over time, it had healed, and she’d regained full dexterity; she got pain like pins and needles and cramps in her fingers sometimes, and there was a large, jagged scar in her palm from the wound, but she’d learned to work with it, and it served as a good reminder to trust Zack. 

Bad things happen when you don’t, she would remind herself. He’s testing you.

Blind obedience was better than painful consequence, right?

Sighing, she took the dress and draped it neatly over her arm. The client, conveniently, had similar measurements to Kiesha’s, so it was easy to judge the fit by putting it on. 

She moved to the washroom, which was the only room in the establishment with a mirror. Besides, it was usually very clean, so there wasn’t a risk of wrecking the gown. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, then carefully set her project on a wooden bench. 

She couldn’t believe the way it glittered like that, even in the dim light of the washroom. She stared at it, mesmerized by the shimmer of the fabric and the sparkling beadwork, then glanced at her own reflection. Dirty, faded, tired. 

The bags under her eyes and their redness had repelled the foreman, at least. 

She sighed, scrubbing her apron over her dirty face, trying to scour away the misery there before she could think too hard about the squalor and poverty she’d been consigned to. Then she untied it, placing it on the bench. She stripped her waistless work dress, too, and swapped it with the wine red gown, which she pulled carefully over her head and managed to get cinched in the back on her own. She’d accidentally left a pin in it, which poked her painfully. She plucked it out and set it on top of her work dress, then appraised her work in the mirror. 

The skirt was a little too long, and the waist was a bit too tight, but it had been designed to be worn over a crinoline and a corset. It fit everywhere else, and it moved stunningly.

To see the full effect, she reached up and pulled off her kerchief, unpinning her hair. It was a bit wrinkled, and she hadn’t washed it for a few days, but after running her fingers through it, it cascaded over her shoulders in waves, messy and textured and dark but somehow pretty. It made her dark circles look less pronounced, her skin smoother, her lips softer. If she’d been wearing makeup, she would have been completely unrecognizable. Beautiful. Powerful. Rich.

She twisted around to see a few more angles of it, making note of a few seams to pick and straighten, a few beads to take off and some to add—small details to fix, really, but overall, she was satisfied. 

As she started to untie the ribbons in the back, the door behind her creaked. 

She’d forgotten to lock it.

Stars.

Kiesha whirled around and 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.

“Shh,” he snapped, snatching her hand. “Stop it.” He pressed on the scar, where the flesh was still tender. 

She stopped struggling, little black spots peppering her vision. Tears formed in her eyes.

“You need help with those laces?”

She shook her head, hard, but he just pressed harder on the scar. Her knees nearly buckled from the pressure in her head, and she whimpered against his dirty 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. She had to brace herself against the wall to keep from stumbling and falling.

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. 

The dress hit the floor with a dull thud, and the foreman let out a breath that almost sounded like wonder. 

As if he hadn’t seen a million women in their chemises before.

He ordered her to face him again, and Kiesha didn’t have much of a choice. As she turned, though, something glinted in the shifting light.

The pin. Of course. If she could just get to it…

The foreman reached out and grabbed her waist in his hands, pushing her back toward the wall–or trying. She let her knees crumple under her, and she landed right on the bench. Her hand searched for the pin, and she nearly grabbed it right as his hand made contact with her face in a hard, shocking slap. 

“Get up,” he growled.

“I have weak knees,” she lied, voice soft, hand closing around the pin. “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, she speared the pin through one of his terrible black eyes. Her stomach churned as blood spurted from the wound and he jerked away, howling in pain. She scrambled for her work dress, holding it to her chest as she bolted for the door, gown forgotten.

He was still screaming and yowling, doubled over, hands covering his blood-logged eye.

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

A tall, middle-aged man stood in the doorway, wearing a tailcoat and a top hat and an expensive-looking pocket watch. His face was panicked, but it hardened when he saw her. He had grizzly stubble, but otherwise, he looked generally well-kempt and put together. 

She recognized him as the department manager–he’d given her the opportunity to sew that dress–the one at the foreman’s feet.

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

“I–he—I was in here to make sure that dress would fit her, and—and he came in, and–and, well, I had a pin I forgot to take out of the dress, and he tried to–so I stabbed him with the pin—”

“Liar,” the foreman spat. The sink water was rapidly staining red. “This whore was in here waiting for me! She practically flung herself at me, and what was I supposed to do? Before I knew it, she’d driven a needle into my eye!”

Angry tears streamed down Kiesha’s face, and then she really did fling herself at 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 heart slowed down. She bowed her head and nodded, then pulled her dress over her head 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.

She was there for nearly half an hour, noticing other things about him and his office, before he appeared, spattered with the foreman’s blood, 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 spectacles she hadn’t noticed before. 

“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 very good employee. Skilled. Thorough. But I see why now. How long have you been working as a whore?”

Kiesha blinked, staring at him incredulously. “I’m sorry?”

He didn’t say anything, 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.

“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?”

“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?”

“Miss Ebersol will do fine,” she corrected, taking a breath. “I wasn’t waiting for him. I went in there because there’s a mirror, and I needed to make sure the dress was going to fit the client. We have very similar measurements, and I was just about to leave when the foreman–”

“Mr. Slicker.”

“–came inside and threatened me. He hurt me and 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 boyfriend, see, he’s letting me stay in an extra room in his apartment, and I don’t have anywhere else to go if I can’t pay him, and—”

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

Kiesha took a deep breath, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Well, he took the dress off me, and he… he tore my chemise, but I’d accidentally left a pin in one of the sleeves on the dress, 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. 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.”

“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, Mr. Livingston?”

He studied her face, then shook his head, gaze falling to the papers on his desk, which he shuffled aimlessly around. “No. No, 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, though she wasn’t sure if he’d be back from work 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. 

On her way out, she took a spool of thread and a needle from her work desk to fix her chemise when she got home, trying to avoid the curious eyes of the other girls. She kept her head ducked, so her hair formed a sort of curtain around her face, blocking it from view. 

She shoved the materials in her satchel and pushed out the door, noticing for the first time how sore she was. During their skirmish, he’d hit her in more places than she’d originally thought, and she noted a split lip as she passed the window of a bakery.

Her stomach growled painfully, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for several days. She had–like usual–sent her entire paycheck back home to Hera, and recently, Zack had started refusing to let her eat what he paid for—or use anything he paid for, for that matter. She supposed it was fair, since she didn’t share any of her money with him. 

It felt strange to be out on the streets this early, while it was still light outside and the sun was high. 

It was getting cooler outside by the day, but with the sun shining down on the city and the warmth coming from the shops, it felt really nice. She took a deep breath of the crisp air, suddenly glad the city she lived in was known for its cleanliness. 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. “Ma’am.”

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 know you’re doing as much as you can, but it’s not enough. You need to find a better job. Half of them are sick with scarlet fever. 

Mom’s dead.

 

- 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 or screen, and the sounds weren’t quite as vivid, 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. 

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 the girl. Maybe this wasn’t what she thought. The girl’s 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. 

“Honey, it’s not like that. This is Bella. She’s a friend from work.”

“You said you only worked with men.”

“Yeah, until recently. She’s more educated than most girls. She passed the entrance exam.”

Bella flashed an obnoxiously bright smile. Kiesha noticed resentfully that her eyes were slightly off-kilter, and her lips were too big for her face, and though slender, her nose was too long. 

“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 tasted 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 pin, 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.”

“—whatever. 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. 

 

—

 

Things didn’t end up being fine. She’d gone back to work the next day and received the news that it would be her last. Because of her actions, she was considered a ‘danger to other employees’ and had to be ‘removed from the environment’. She’d collected her last paycheck, which had a bonus attached to keep her afloat until she could find her next job, and left that afternoon for good. 

What her next job would be, she didn’t know.

She wasn’t good at much besides domestic pursuits, like baking and sewing and cooking, but there wasn’t exactly demand for seamstresses or bakers, and she wasn’t on the market to get married. 

Zack had given her a week to find a new job, and the week had passed, and now she stood in her room, pretending to pack the personal belongings she didn’t have. 

She was almost certain Bella would be moving in as soon as the door shut behind her. 

Kiesha covered her face in her hands, trying not to sob. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? 

A knock sounded at the door. “Time’s up, Kiesha.”

She closed her eyes, letting her hands drop to her sides. She grabbed her mostly empty bag off the nightstand and nodded. “Alright,” she murmured, barely a whisper. She glanced at the window. The broken pane had newly been replaced, and she could already smell that sickly sweet perfume filling up the room, making it near impossible to breathe. 

He tried to hug her as she moved over to the door, but she bristled and pushed him gently away. “Don’t.”

“Kiesha–”

“Please don’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he scowled. “Fine.”

She brushed past him, out into the main room, toward the front door, but she paused as she reached for the knob. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“What?”

“Bella.”

He took a deep breath, and she could see in his face that he was steeling himself to lie.

“Tell me the truth.”

“F…. four months.”

Kiesha closed her eyes. Four months. “You’ve been using my rent to pay for that jewelry she was wearing,” she accused.

He didn’t deny it.

“Oh my stars, Zack.” She turned to face him, eyes filling with salt. Her grip on her bag slackened, and her knees felt weak, and she felt her last bit of strength melt away, sliding between her fingers. “Do you understand how messed up that is?”

He was still silent.

“Nothing to say, huh?” She scoffed, and it nearly turned into a sob. She hung her head, pressing the back of her hand to her brow, trying to keep it together.

 “My mom’s dead because of you. My siblings are dying –and for what?? Those gold chains on her neck?! Gild you, Zack! Gild you to the stars and back!”

“You got anything else to say?” He growled, advancing on her.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” she spat back, raising her gaze to look at him and backing against the door. “But I won’t give you anything to use against me. I’ve been everything you could ask for and more, Zack. And this—this—is how you decide to repay me.”

He scowled silently, absolutely seething. 

“You did this to yourself,” she whispered, and then she slipped out the door and closed it softly. She heard the lock click behind her. 

Kiesha nearly crumpled as she stared out at the cobbled streets, feeling weaker than ever. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the front steps and sob until Bella got here, and he opened the door, and she would beg him with everything in her to take her back, to just give her a little more time, and she would scrounge something up–but she knew now. She knew what he was. 

He’d never loved her. 

She’d been nothing more than a convenience, someone who made dinner for him and loved him and kissed and held him and took care of him, all while paying him to stay in the house she maintained, and she would have married him in time if he’d asked her to. 

It was, in part, her own fault. If she hadn’t been so naive, maybe she would have seen the signs and escaped before it was too late. Before, she could have done something. 

Now, she was penniless, homeless, and aimless. 

She had nowhere to go.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to do.

 

—

 

Start here

oh and here's a playlist i've made for Kiesha in case you're into that kind of thing

Spoiler

 

Spoiler

@Edema Rue @Through The Living Glass @Wittles @Cash67 @The cheeseman

 

Edited February 27, 2025 by Kajsa

[Through The Living Glass She/They]

1 minute ago, Kajsa said:

hello my dears and darlings!

for context, i've had this character for a few years now, and my subconscious mind has very conveniently been working on her backstory for that time (as well as my conscious mind lol), but i've never really taken the time to write until roughly this past week. it's not edited yet, but i'm excited for people to read it and give feedback. i'll continue to update as i write more installments! thanks for taking the time to check this out.

here are the first several installments of Kiesha Ebersol's tragedy  

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TRIGGER WARNINGS: THIS NARRATIVE INCLUDES DEPICTIONS AND/OR MENTIONS OF THE FOLLOWING: VIOLENCE, ABUSE, GASLIGHTING, MANIPULATION, SEXUAL ASSAULT, DEPRESSIVE THEMES/THOUGHTS, HOPELESSNESS, AND PROBABLY MORE THAT I'M FORGETTING. IT'S OVERALL VERY SAD AND HAS MANY MATURE THEMES SO UH YEAH THIS IS MY DISCLAIMER.

Also, unfortunately, most of my formatting has been removed during the copy/paste over to the shard, so I apologize, but what can ya do haha. I'm not about to go through the whole thing and italicize everything again xD
alright i'll stop blabbering now ENJOY!!!!! let me know what you think :3:D

Kiesha swiped the back of her hand across her slick forehead, pausing to press it against an oncoming headache. She still clutched the blue fabric in her hands; it cascaded down onto her work table and threatened to drop onto the dirty floor. 

She only had two hours left of her shift, and then she could collect her pay, mail it off to Kieran, 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 wasn’t making enough as it was.

Weary, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the steamy, metallic air and collapsed into her wobbly wooden chair. Sticking her needle into the pincushion, she wadded up the fabric so it would stay on her desk. She just needed a few minutes. 

She was already working on her second dress of the day and 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 face. She opened her mouth as if to speak but snapped it closed just as suddenly. She turned back to her work, clearing her throat.

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. 

“Looks like we’ve got a slacker on our hands, eh, Ebersol?”

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. 

“Get off, would you?”

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

“I said get off, would you?”

“I’d be willing to pull some of their strings if you’d let me pull just a few of 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. “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 as they worked, but she knew nobody would do a thing 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.”

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

“I don’t want it.”

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 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 and a half hours later, Kiesha knocked on the door to hers and Zack’s apartment. She didn’t have a key, but he got off work hours before her—he was always home to let her in. After a minute or so, he opened the door and grinned. “Hey, babe. Come inside.”

She stepped into the apartment, head bowed. It was cool inside, which was a refreshing change from the sweltering heat of the factory. While it wasn’t anything fancy, the place was nicely furnished and let in lots of light during the daytime. Now, though, the shutters were closed, and candles flickered in the corners.

Zack 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 too sweet to be natural but nice all the same. 

She embraced him, inhaling several deep breaths of whatever it was before pulling away and setting down her knapsack. “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. 

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

“Oh, fine. Boring. You?”

“Fine,” she told him in a manner that wouldn’t have been convincing to anyone else.

“Today was payday,” he mentioned.

“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. 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. “Go on, spit it out.”

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

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

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Things have just been weird lately. And I… haven’t heard from my family in a while.”

“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.”

“My brother almost died in a wild bear attack, Zack. You know this.”

“I know.”

“I have nine siblings and two parents to feed on top of his bills!” Of course, Hera did what she could, but with two sets of triplets not yet in their teens, 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. 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 room, with a bed and a nightstand and even a 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 in order to pull the curtains shut so she could undress. 

One of the panes was broken, but it let a breeze in throughout the night, which 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 she should always let him know about any damage that occurred to his apartment. 

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. Peeling her chemise away from her sticky skin, she crossed to the basin of water below the mirror.

It was empty.

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 into his room. His basin was full.

Kiesha set her dress on the rug and 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 shoulders were only Zack’s.

She closed her eyes, relaxing, reaching up to squeeze one of his hands. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, leaning down to press his face into her neck. His arms wrapped 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 grin. “Thank you.” She reached up to take the kerchief and pins out of her hair. It fell in soft, dark 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.

“You’re welcome.” He paused to kiss her cheek, then opened his eyes and evidently noticed her dress on the rug. 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, scared 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, but realizing how gentle he was, 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. 

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

He growled deep in his throat, frustration soiling his expression as she stood. “I know, Kiesha! Calm down!”

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

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

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

Kiesha blinked. But… 

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

He scowled. “Prove it.”

“I’m not having—”

“I know. You’ve made that very clear.” He let go of her. “If you love me, you’ll do what I tell you, won’t you? You trust me.”

“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.

“With what?”

“Your hand.”

An unsettling 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. “Look at what you did to me!”

Hot tears welled up in her 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 hesitate this time. She didn’t want to hurt him again. 

He took her hand, 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 forced her hand down on one of the sharp, jagged pieces of glass that stuck up from the windowsill, and she screamed, fading 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. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zack.”

“I know. And I forgive you.” He let go of her hand, and she pulled it away from the window, trembling from the pain. Blood pooled in her palm, dark and glistening. Tears swam in her eyes from the pain as she nodded. Zac broke off the bloodied shard from the window and placed it in her wounded hand. “I forgive you.”

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

She watched for a while, frozen, before moving to get some bandages from the lockbox in his 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 wore.

She unlocked the box and withdrew a smaller wooden chest that contained rolls of bandages, gauze, and other similar articles. She hastily wrapped her hand in some gauze, then 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 wrapped a length of bandage around his hand. She tied it off, then kissed his exposed fingers.

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.”

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

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, nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied, so she left and moved to the kitchen to eat and put away the soup he hadn’t touched. 

—

 

Kiesha straightened, tying off the thread and appraising her work. Due to her long hours, skill, and efficiency, she’d been given a special project, something far more elaborate than the basic shifts, work dresses, and other garments her department usually made. If this came out right… well, she’d be earning a much better salary. She’d be given a better working area upstairs, and she might even be able to afford a new pair of shoes. 

She looked down at the ones she wore now before glancing back up at her creation on her table. The difference was startling; her boots were a musty sort of greyish-brown and dirtier than the devil, not to mention they were wearing through in several places. Her blue work dress wasn’t blue anymore, faded and patched in so many places it was hardly the same thing it had been when she’d first got it. Her apron had holes in it and had, over time, turned from white to off-white to limp shade of grey.

The work in front of her, however, was a different story. 

For the past several weeks, she’d designed, drafted, and sewn a real dress, one a proper lady would wear if it was deemed fit. The embroidery and beadwork was unlike anything she’d done before, and the materials she’d worked with would have taken her years to afford. It was, by far, the best thing she’d ever made. 

It had been difficult at first, with the condition of her hand, but over time, it had healed, and she’d regained full dexterity; she got pain like pins and needles and cramps in her fingers sometimes, and there was a large, jagged scar in her palm from the wound, but she’d learned to work with it, and it served as a good reminder to trust Zack. 

Bad things happen when you don’t, she would remind herself. He’s testing you.

Blind obedience was better than painful consequence, right?

Sighing, she took the dress and draped it neatly over her arm. The client, conveniently, had similar measurements to Kiesha’s, so it was easy to judge the fit by putting it on. 

She moved to the washroom, which was the only room in the establishment with a mirror. Besides, it was usually very clean, so there wasn’t a risk of wrecking the gown. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, then carefully set her project on a wooden bench. 

She couldn’t believe the way it glittered like that, even in the dim light of the washroom. She stared at it, mesmerized by the shimmer of the fabric and the sparkling beadwork, then glanced at her own reflection. Dirty, faded, tired. 

The bags under her eyes and their redness had repelled the foreman, at least. 

She sighed, scrubbing her apron over her dirty face, trying to scour away the misery there before she could think too hard about the squalor and poverty she’d been consigned to. Then she untied it, placing it on the bench. She stripped her waistless work dress, too, and swapped it with the wine red gown, which she pulled carefully over her head and managed to get cinched in the back on her own. She’d accidentally left a pin in it, which poked her painfully. She plucked it out and set it on top of her work dress, then appraised her work in the mirror. 

The skirt was a little too long, and the waist was a bit too tight, but it had been designed to be worn over a crinoline and a corset. It fit everywhere else, and it moved stunningly.

To see the full effect, she reached up and pulled off her kerchief, unpinning her hair. It was a bit wrinkled, and she hadn’t washed it for a few days, but after running her fingers through it, it cascaded over her shoulders in waves, messy and textured and dark but somehow pretty. It made her dark circles look less pronounced, her skin smoother, her lips softer. If she’d been wearing makeup, she would have been completely unrecognizable. Beautiful. Powerful. Rich.

She twisted around to see a few more angles of it, making note of a few seams to pick and straighten, a few beads to take off and some to add—small details to fix, really, but overall, she was satisfied. 

As she started to untie the ribbons in the back, the door behind her creaked. 

She’d forgotten to lock it.

Stars.

Kiesha whirled around and 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.

“Shh,” he snapped, snatching her hand. “Stop it.” He pressed on the scar, where the flesh was still tender. 

She stopped struggling, little black spots peppering her vision. Tears formed in her eyes.

“You need help with those laces?”

She shook her head, hard, but he just pressed harder on the scar. Her knees nearly buckled from the pressure in her head, and she whimpered against his dirty 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. She had to brace herself against the wall to keep from stumbling and falling.

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. 

The dress hit the floor with a dull thud, and the foreman let out a breath that almost sounded like wonder. 

As if he hadn’t seen a million women in their chemises before.

He ordered her to face him again, and Kiesha didn’t have much of a choice. As she turned, though, something glinted in the shifting light.

The pin. Of course. If she could just get to it…

The foreman reached out and grabbed her waist in his hands, pushing her back toward the wall–or trying. She let her knees crumple under her, and she landed right on the bench. Her hand searched for the pin, and she nearly grabbed it right as his hand made contact with her face in a hard, shocking slap. 

“Get up,” he growled.

“I have weak knees,” she lied, voice soft, hand closing around the pin. “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, she speared the pin through one of his terrible black eyes. Her stomach churned as blood spurted from the wound and he jerked away, howling in pain. She scrambled for her work dress, holding it to her chest as she bolted for the door, gown forgotten.

He was still screaming and yowling, doubled over, hands covering his blood-logged eye.

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

A tall, middle-aged man stood in the doorway, wearing a tailcoat and a top hat and an expensive-looking pocket watch. His face was panicked, but it hardened when he saw her. He had grizzly stubble, but otherwise, he looked generally well-kempt and put together. 

She recognized him as the department manager–he’d given her the opportunity to sew that dress–the one at the foreman’s feet.

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

“I–he—I was in here to make sure that dress would fit her, and—and he came in, and–and, well, I had a pin I forgot to take out of the dress, and he tried to–so I stabbed him with the pin—”

“Liar,” the foreman spat. The sink water was rapidly staining red. “This whore was in here waiting for me! She practically flung herself at me, and what was I supposed to do? Before I knew it, she’d driven a needle into my eye!”

Angry tears streamed down Kiesha’s face, and then she really did fling herself at 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 heart slowed down. She bowed her head and nodded, then pulled her dress over her head 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.

She was there for nearly half an hour, noticing other things about him and his office, before he appeared, spattered with the foreman’s blood, 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 spectacles she hadn’t noticed before. 

“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 very good employee. Skilled. Thorough. But I see why now. How long have you been working as a whore?”

Kiesha blinked, staring at him incredulously. “I’m sorry?”

He didn’t say anything, 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.

“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?”

“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?”

“Miss Ebersol will do fine,” she corrected, taking a breath. “I wasn’t waiting for him. I went in there because there’s a mirror, and I needed to make sure the dress was going to fit the client. We have very similar measurements, and I was just about to leave when the foreman–”

“Mr. Slicker.”

“–came inside and threatened me. He hurt me and 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 boyfriend, see, he’s letting me stay in an extra room in his apartment, and I don’t have anywhere else to go if I can’t pay him, and—”

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

Kiesha took a deep breath, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Well, he took the dress off me, and he… he tore my chemise, but I’d accidentally left a pin in one of the sleeves on the dress, 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. 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.”

“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, Mr. Livingston?”

He studied her face, then shook his head, gaze falling to the papers on his desk, which he shuffled aimlessly around. “No. No, 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, though she wasn’t sure if he’d be back from work 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. 

On her way out, she took a spool of thread and a needle from her work desk to fix her chemise when she got home, trying to avoid the curious eyes of the other girls. She kept her head ducked, so her hair formed a sort of curtain around her face, blocking it from view. 

She shoved the materials in her satchel and pushed out the door, noticing for the first time how sore she was. During their skirmish, he’d hit her in more places than she’d originally thought, and she noted a split lip as she passed the window of a bakery.

Her stomach growled painfully, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for several days. She had–like usual–sent her entire paycheck back home to Hera, and recently, Zack had started refusing to let her eat what he paid for—or use anything he paid for, for that matter. She supposed it was fair, since she didn’t share any of her money with him. 

It felt strange to be out on the streets this early, while it was still light outside and the sun was high. 

It was getting cooler outside by the day, but with the sun shining down on the city and the warmth coming from the shops, it felt really nice. She took a deep breath of the crisp air, suddenly glad the city she lived in was known for its cleanliness. 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. “Ma’am.”

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 know you’re doing as much as you can, but it’s not enough. You need to find a better job. Half of them are sick with scarlet fever. 

Mom’s dead.

 

- 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 or screen, and the sounds weren’t quite as vivid, 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. 

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 the girl. Maybe this wasn’t what she thought. The girl’s 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. 

“Honey, it’s not like that. This is Bella. She’s a friend from work.”

“You said you only worked with men.”

“Yeah, until recently. She’s more educated than most girls. She passed the entrance exam.”

Bella flashed an obnoxiously bright smile. Kiesha noticed resentfully that her eyes were slightly off-kilter, and her lips were too big for her face, and though slender, her nose was too long. 

“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 tasted 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 pin, 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.”

“—whatever. 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. 

 

—

 

Things didn’t end up being fine. She’d gone back to work the next day and received the news that it would be her last. Because of her actions, she was considered a ‘danger to other employees’ and had to be ‘removed from the environment’. She’d collected her last paycheck, which had a bonus attached to keep her afloat until she could find her next job, and left that afternoon for good. 

What her next job would be, she didn’t know.

She wasn’t good at much besides domestic pursuits, like baking and sewing and cooking, but there wasn’t exactly demand for seamstresses or bakers, and she wasn’t on the market to get married. 

Zack had given her a week to find a new job, and the week had passed, and now she stood in her room, pretending to pack the personal belongings she didn’t have. 

She was almost certain Bella would be moving in as soon as the door shut behind her. 

Kiesha covered her face in her hands, trying not to sob. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? 

A knock sounded at the door. “Time’s up, Kiesha.”

She closed her eyes, letting her hands drop to her sides. She grabbed her mostly empty bag off the nightstand and nodded. “Alright,” she murmured, barely a whisper. She glanced at the window. The broken pane had newly been replaced, and she could already smell that sickly sweet perfume filling up the room, making it near impossible to breathe. 

He tried to hug her as she moved over to the door, but she bristled and pushed him gently away. “Don’t.”

“Kiesha–”

“Please don’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he scowled. “Fine.”

She brushed past him, out into the main room, toward the front door, but she paused as she reached for the knob. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“What?”

“Bella.”

He took a deep breath, and she could see in his face that he was steeling himself to lie.

“Tell me the truth.”

“F…. four months.”

Kiesha closed her eyes. Four months. “You’ve been using my rent to pay for that jewelry she was wearing,” she accused.

He didn’t deny it.

“Oh my stars, Zack.” She turned to face him, eyes filling with salt. Her grip on her bag slackened, and her knees felt weak, and she felt her last bit of strength melt away, sliding between her fingers. “Do you understand how messed up that is?”

He was still silent.

“Nothing to say, huh?” She scoffed, and it nearly turned into a sob. She hung her head, pressing the back of her hand to her brow, trying to keep it together.

 “My mom’s dead because of you. My siblings are dying –and for what?? Those gold chains on her neck?! Gild you, Zack! Gild you to the stars and back!”

“You got anything else to say?” He growled, advancing on her.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” she spat back, raising her gaze to look at him and backing against the door. “But I won’t give you anything to use against me. I’ve been everything you could ask for and more, Zack. And this—this—is how you decide to repay me.”

He scowled silently, absolutely seething. 

“You did this to yourself,” she whispered, and then she slipped out the door and closed it softly. She heard the lock click behind her. 

Kiesha nearly crumpled as she stared out at the cobbled streets, feeling weaker than ever. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the front steps and sob until Bella got here, and he opened the door, and she would beg him with everything in her to take her back, to just give her a little more time, and she would scrounge something up–but she knew now. She knew what he was. 

He’d never loved her. 

She’d been nothing more than a convenience, someone who made dinner for him and loved him and kissed and held him and took care of him, all while paying him to stay in the house she maintained, and she would have married him in time if he’d asked her to. 

It was, in part, her own fault. If she hadn’t been so naive, maybe she would have seen the signs and escaped before it was too late. Before, she could have done something. 

Now, she was penniless, homeless, and aimless. 

She had nowhere to go.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to do.

 

—

 

Start here

oh and here's a playlist i've made for Kiesha in case you're into that kind of thing

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@Edema Rue @Through The Living Glass @Wittles @Cash67

 

YAY SO GOOD

I already read it BUT AHH

[Bird Furious she/her/un/important]

18 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

hello my dears and darlings!

for context, i've had this character for a few years now, and my subconscious mind has very conveniently been working on her backstory for that time (as well as my conscious mind lol), but i've never really taken the time to write until roughly this past week. it's not edited yet, but i'm excited for people to read it and give feedback. i'll continue to update as i write more installments! thanks for taking the time to check this out.

here are the first several installments of Kiesha Ebersol's tragedy  

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TRIGGER WARNINGS: THIS NARRATIVE INCLUDES DEPICTIONS AND/OR MENTIONS OF THE FOLLOWING: VIOLENCE, ABUSE, GASLIGHTING, MANIPULATION, SEXUAL ASSAULT, DEPRESSIVE THEMES/THOUGHTS, HOPELESSNESS, AND PROBABLY MORE THAT I'M FORGETTING. IT'S OVERALL VERY SAD AND HAS MANY MATURE THEMES SO UH YEAH THIS IS MY DISCLAIMER. also it's like completely unedited/very minimally edited so i apologize for that--

Also, unfortunately, most of my formatting has been removed during the copy/paste over to the shard, so I apologize, but what can ya do haha. I'm not about to go through the whole thing and italicize everything again xD
alright i'll stop blabbering now ENJOY!!!!! let me know what you think :3:D

Kiesha swiped the back of her hand across her slick forehead, pausing to press it against an oncoming headache. She still clutched the blue fabric in her hands; it cascaded down onto her work table and threatened to drop onto the dirty floor. 

She only had two hours left of her shift, and then she could collect her pay, mail it off to Kieran, 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 wasn’t making enough as it was.

Weary, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the steamy, metallic air and collapsed into her wobbly wooden chair. Sticking her needle into the pincushion, she wadded up the fabric so it would stay on her desk. She just needed a few minutes. 

She was already working on her second dress of the day and 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 face. She opened her mouth as if to speak but snapped it closed just as suddenly. She turned back to her work, clearing her throat.

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. 

“Looks like we’ve got a slacker on our hands, eh, Ebersol?”

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. 

“Get off, would you?”

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

“I said get off, would you?”

“I’d be willing to pull some of their strings if you’d let me pull just a few of 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. “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 as they worked, but she knew nobody would do a thing 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.”

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

“I don’t want it.”

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 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 and a half hours later, Kiesha knocked on the door to hers and Zack’s apartment. She didn’t have a key, but he got off work hours before her—he was always home to let her in. After a minute or so, he opened the door and grinned. “Hey, babe. Come inside.”

She stepped into the apartment, head bowed. It was cool inside, which was a refreshing change from the sweltering heat of the factory. While it wasn’t anything fancy, the place was nicely furnished and let in lots of light during the daytime. Now, though, the shutters were closed, and candles flickered in the corners.

Zack 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 too sweet to be natural but nice all the same. 

She embraced him, inhaling several deep breaths of whatever it was before pulling away and setting down her knapsack. “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. 

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

“Oh, fine. Boring. You?”

“Fine,” she told him in a manner that wouldn’t have been convincing to anyone else.

“Today was payday,” he mentioned.

“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. 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. “Go on, spit it out.”

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

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

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Things have just been weird lately. And I… haven’t heard from my family in a while.”

“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.”

“My brother almost died in a wild bear attack, Zack. You know this.”

“I know.”

“I have nine siblings and two parents to feed on top of his bills!” Of course, Hera did what she could, but with two sets of triplets not yet in their teens, 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. 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 room, with a bed and a nightstand and even a 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 in order to pull the curtains shut so she could undress. 

One of the panes was broken, but it let a breeze in throughout the night, which 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 she should always let him know about any damage that occurred to his apartment. 

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. Peeling her chemise away from her sticky skin, she crossed to the basin of water below the mirror.

It was empty.

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 into his room. His basin was full.

Kiesha set her dress on the rug and 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 shoulders were only Zack’s.

She closed her eyes, relaxing, reaching up to squeeze one of his hands. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, leaning down to press his face into her neck. His arms wrapped 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 grin. “Thank you.” She reached up to take the kerchief and pins out of her hair. It fell in soft, dark 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.

“You’re welcome.” He paused to kiss her cheek, then opened his eyes and evidently noticed her dress on the rug. 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, scared 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, but realizing how gentle he was, 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. 

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

He growled deep in his throat, frustration soiling his expression as she stood. “I know, Kiesha! Calm down!”

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

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

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

Kiesha blinked. But… 

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

He scowled. “Prove it.”

“I’m not having—”

“I know. You’ve made that very clear.” He let go of her. “If you love me, you’ll do what I tell you, won’t you? You trust me.”

“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.

“With what?”

“Your hand.”

An unsettling 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. “Look at what you did to me!”

Hot tears welled up in her 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 hesitate this time. She didn’t want to hurt him again. 

He took her hand, 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 forced her hand down on one of the sharp, jagged pieces of glass that stuck up from the windowsill, and she screamed, fading 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. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zack.”

“I know. And I forgive you.” He let go of her hand, and she pulled it away from the window, trembling from the pain. Blood pooled in her palm, dark and glistening. Tears swam in her eyes from the pain as she nodded. Zac broke off the bloodied shard from the window and placed it in her wounded hand. “I forgive you.”

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

She watched for a while, frozen, before moving to get some bandages from the lockbox in his 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 wore.

She unlocked the box and withdrew a smaller wooden chest that contained rolls of bandages, gauze, and other similar articles. She hastily wrapped her hand in some gauze, then 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 wrapped a length of bandage around his hand. She tied it off, then kissed his exposed fingers.

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.”

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

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, nodded. “I know. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied, so she left and moved to the kitchen to eat and put away the soup he hadn’t touched. 

—

 

Kiesha straightened, tying off the thread and appraising her work. Due to her long hours, skill, and efficiency, she’d been given a special project, something far more elaborate than the basic shifts, work dresses, and other garments her department usually made. If this came out right… well, she’d be earning a much better salary. She’d be given a better working area upstairs, and she might even be able to afford a new pair of shoes. 

She looked down at the ones she wore now before glancing back up at her creation on her table. The difference was startling; her boots were a musty sort of greyish-brown and dirtier than the devil, not to mention they were wearing through in several places. Her blue work dress wasn’t blue anymore, faded and patched in so many places it was hardly the same thing it had been when she’d first got it. Her apron had holes in it and had, over time, turned from white to off-white to limp shade of grey.

The work in front of her, however, was a different story. 

For the past several weeks, she’d designed, drafted, and sewn a real dress, one a proper lady would wear if it was deemed fit. The embroidery and beadwork was unlike anything she’d done before, and the materials she’d worked with would have taken her years to afford. It was, by far, the best thing she’d ever made. 

It had been difficult at first, with the condition of her hand, but over time, it had healed, and she’d regained full dexterity; she got pain like pins and needles and cramps in her fingers sometimes, and there was a large, jagged scar in her palm from the wound, but she’d learned to work with it, and it served as a good reminder to trust Zack. 

Bad things happen when you don’t, she would remind herself. He’s testing you.

Blind obedience was better than painful consequence, right?

Sighing, she took the dress and draped it neatly over her arm. The client, conveniently, had similar measurements to Kiesha’s, so it was easy to judge the fit by putting it on. 

She moved to the washroom, which was the only room in the establishment with a mirror. Besides, it was usually very clean, so there wasn’t a risk of wrecking the gown. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, then carefully set her project on a wooden bench. 

She couldn’t believe the way it glittered like that, even in the dim light of the washroom. She stared at it, mesmerized by the shimmer of the fabric and the sparkling beadwork, then glanced at her own reflection. Dirty, faded, tired. 

The bags under her eyes and their redness had repelled the foreman, at least. 

She sighed, scrubbing her apron over her dirty face, trying to scour away the misery there before she could think too hard about the squalor and poverty she’d been consigned to. Then she untied it, placing it on the bench. She stripped her waistless work dress, too, and swapped it with the wine red gown, which she pulled carefully over her head and managed to get cinched in the back on her own. She’d accidentally left a pin in it, which poked her painfully. She plucked it out and set it on top of her work dress, then appraised her work in the mirror. 

The skirt was a little too long, and the waist was a bit too tight, but it had been designed to be worn over a crinoline and a corset. It fit everywhere else, and it moved stunningly.

To see the full effect, she reached up and pulled off her kerchief, unpinning her hair. It was a bit wrinkled, and she hadn’t washed it for a few days, but after running her fingers through it, it cascaded over her shoulders in waves, messy and textured and dark but somehow pretty. It made her dark circles look less pronounced, her skin smoother, her lips softer. If she’d been wearing makeup, she would have been completely unrecognizable. Beautiful. Powerful. Rich.

She twisted around to see a few more angles of it, making note of a few seams to pick and straighten, a few beads to take off and some to add—small details to fix, really, but overall, she was satisfied. 

As she started to untie the ribbons in the back, the door behind her creaked. 

She’d forgotten to lock it.

Stars.

Kiesha whirled around and 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.

“Shh,” he snapped, snatching her hand. “Stop it.” He pressed on the scar, where the flesh was still tender. 

She stopped struggling, little black spots peppering her vision. Tears formed in her eyes.

“You need help with those laces?”

She shook her head, hard, but he just pressed harder on the scar. Her knees nearly buckled from the pressure in her head, and she whimpered against his dirty 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. She had to brace herself against the wall to keep from stumbling and falling.

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. 

The dress hit the floor with a dull thud, and the foreman let out a breath that almost sounded like wonder. 

As if he hadn’t seen a million women in their chemises before.

He ordered her to face him again, and Kiesha didn’t have much of a choice. As she turned, though, something glinted in the shifting light.

The pin. Of course. If she could just get to it…

The foreman reached out and grabbed her waist in his hands, pushing her back toward the wall–or trying. She let her knees crumple under her, and she landed right on the bench. Her hand searched for the pin, and she nearly grabbed it right as his hand made contact with her face in a hard, shocking slap. 

“Get up,” he growled.

“I have weak knees,” she lied, voice soft, hand closing around the pin. “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, she speared the pin through one of his terrible black eyes. Her stomach churned as blood spurted from the wound and he jerked away, howling in pain. She scrambled for her work dress, holding it to her chest as she bolted for the door, gown forgotten.

He was still screaming and yowling, doubled over, hands covering his blood-logged eye.

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

A tall, middle-aged man stood in the doorway, wearing a tailcoat and a top hat and an expensive-looking pocket watch. His face was panicked, but it hardened when he saw her. He had grizzly stubble, but otherwise, he looked generally well-kempt and put together. 

She recognized him as the department manager–he’d given her the opportunity to sew that dress–the one at the foreman’s feet.

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

“I–he—I was in here to make sure that dress would fit her, and—and he came in, and–and, well, I had a pin I forgot to take out of the dress, and he tried to–so I stabbed him with the pin—”

“Liar,” the foreman spat. The sink water was rapidly staining red. “This whore was in here waiting for me! She practically flung herself at me, and what was I supposed to do? Before I knew it, she’d driven a needle into my eye!”

Angry tears streamed down Kiesha’s face, and then she really did fling herself at 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 heart slowed down. She bowed her head and nodded, then pulled her dress over her head 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.

She was there for nearly half an hour, noticing other things about him and his office, before he appeared, spattered with the foreman’s blood, 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 spectacles she hadn’t noticed before. 

“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 very good employee. Skilled. Thorough. But I see why now. How long have you been working as a whore?”

Kiesha blinked, staring at him incredulously. “I’m sorry?”

He didn’t say anything, 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.

“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?”

“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?”

“Miss Ebersol will do fine,” she corrected, taking a breath. “I wasn’t waiting for him. I went in there because there’s a mirror, and I needed to make sure the dress was going to fit the client. We have very similar measurements, and I was just about to leave when the foreman–”

“Mr. Slicker.”

“–came inside and threatened me. He hurt me and 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 boyfriend, see, he’s letting me stay in an extra room in his apartment, and I don’t have anywhere else to go if I can’t pay him, and—”

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

Kiesha took a deep breath, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Well, he took the dress off me, and he… he tore my chemise, but I’d accidentally left a pin in one of the sleeves on the dress, 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. 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.”

“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, Mr. Livingston?”

He studied her face, then shook his head, gaze falling to the papers on his desk, which he shuffled aimlessly around. “No. No, 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, though she wasn’t sure if he’d be back from work 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. 

On her way out, she took a spool of thread and a needle from her work desk to fix her chemise when she got home, trying to avoid the curious eyes of the other girls. She kept her head ducked, so her hair formed a sort of curtain around her face, blocking it from view. 

She shoved the materials in her satchel and pushed out the door, noticing for the first time how sore she was. During their skirmish, he’d hit her in more places than she’d originally thought, and she noted a split lip as she passed the window of a bakery.

Her stomach growled painfully, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for several days. She had–like usual–sent her entire paycheck back home to Hera, and recently, Zack had started refusing to let her eat what he paid for—or use anything he paid for, for that matter. She supposed it was fair, since she didn’t share any of her money with him. 

It felt strange to be out on the streets this early, while it was still light outside and the sun was high. 

It was getting cooler outside by the day, but with the sun shining down on the city and the warmth coming from the shops, it felt really nice. She took a deep breath of the crisp air, suddenly glad the city she lived in was known for its cleanliness. 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. “Ma’am.”

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 know you’re doing as much as you can, but it’s not enough. You need to find a better job. Half of them are sick with scarlet fever. 

Mom’s dead.

 

- 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 or screen, and the sounds weren’t quite as vivid, 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. 

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 the girl. Maybe this wasn’t what she thought. The girl’s 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. 

“Honey, it’s not like that. This is Bella. She’s a friend from work.”

“You said you only worked with men.”

“Yeah, until recently. She’s more educated than most girls. She passed the entrance exam.”

Bella flashed an obnoxiously bright smile. Kiesha noticed resentfully that her eyes were slightly off-kilter, and her lips were too big for her face, and though slender, her nose was too long. 

“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 tasted 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 pin, 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.”

“—whatever. 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. 

 

—

 

Things didn’t end up being fine. She’d gone back to work the next day and received the news that it would be her last. Because of her actions, she was considered a ‘danger to other employees’ and had to be ‘removed from the environment’. She’d collected her last paycheck, which had a bonus attached to keep her afloat until she could find her next job, and left that afternoon for good. 

What her next job would be, she didn’t know.

She wasn’t good at much besides domestic pursuits, like baking and sewing and cooking, but there wasn’t exactly demand for seamstresses or bakers, and she wasn’t on the market to get married. 

Zack had given her a week to find a new job, and the week had passed, and now she stood in her room, pretending to pack the personal belongings she didn’t have. 

She was almost certain Bella would be moving in as soon as the door shut behind her. 

Kiesha covered her face in her hands, trying not to sob. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? 

A knock sounded at the door. “Time’s up, Kiesha.”

She closed her eyes, letting her hands drop to her sides. She grabbed her mostly empty bag off the nightstand and nodded. “Alright,” she murmured, barely a whisper. She glanced at the window. The broken pane had newly been replaced, and she could already smell that sickly sweet perfume filling up the room, making it near impossible to breathe. 

He tried to hug her as she moved over to the door, but she bristled and pushed him gently away. “Don’t.”

“Kiesha–”

“Please don’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he scowled. “Fine.”

She brushed past him, out into the main room, toward the front door, but she paused as she reached for the knob. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“What?”

“Bella.”

He took a deep breath, and she could see in his face that he was steeling himself to lie.

“Tell me the truth.”

“F…. four months.”

Kiesha closed her eyes. Four months. “You’ve been using my rent to pay for that jewelry she was wearing,” she accused.

He didn’t deny it.

“Oh my stars, Zack.” She turned to face him, eyes filling with salt. Her grip on her bag slackened, and her knees felt weak, and she felt her last bit of strength melt away, sliding between her fingers. “Do you understand how messed up that is?”

He was still silent.

“Nothing to say, huh?” She scoffed, and it nearly turned into a sob. She hung her head, pressing the back of her hand to her brow, trying to keep it together.

 “My mom’s dead because of you. My siblings are dying –and for what?? Those gold chains on her neck?! Gild you, Zack! Gild you to the stars and back!”

“You got anything else to say?” He growled, advancing on her.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” she spat back, raising her gaze to look at him and backing against the door. “But I won’t give you anything to use against me. I’ve been everything you could ask for and more, Zack. And this—this—is how you decide to repay me.”

He scowled silently, absolutely seething. 

“You did this to yourself,” she whispered, and then she slipped out the door and closed it softly. She heard the lock click behind her. 

Kiesha nearly crumpled as she stared out at the cobbled streets, feeling weaker than ever. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the front steps and sob until Bella got here, and he opened the door, and she would beg him with everything in her to take her back, to just give her a little more time, and she would scrounge something up–but she knew now. She knew what he was. 

He’d never loved her. 

She’d been nothing more than a convenience, someone who made dinner for him and loved him and kissed and held him and took care of him, all while paying him to stay in the house she maintained, and she would have married him in time if he’d asked her to. 

It was, in part, her own fault. If she hadn’t been so naive, maybe she would have seen the signs and escaped before it was too late. Before, she could have done something. 

Now, she was penniless, homeless, and aimless. 

She had nowhere to go.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to do.

 

—

 

Start here

oh and here's a playlist i've made for Kiesha in case you're into that kind of thing

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  Reveal hidden contents

@Edema Rue @Through The Living Glass @Wittles @Cash67

 

HEY

HEY HEY HEY

GILD YOU IS MY SWEAR AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IT YET >: (

ok but that’s seriously awful 

well written but awful 

good job, you made me mad  

[kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ she/her]

3 minutes ago, Halcyon The Only said:

HEY

HEY HEY HEY

GILD YOU IS MY SWEAR AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IT YET >: (

ok but that’s seriously awful 

well written but awful 

good job, you made me mad  

I KNOW

I NEEDED A PLACEHOLDER WHILE I FIGURE A DIFFERENT ONE OUT

thanks  

i actually hate zack so much

like