*Rodrick*
I shoved open the milky window of the Lonely Widows, hoping the stale air would drift out and take some of my restlessness with it. My hands trembled as I fumbled with a cigar, but the familiar burn and taste steadied me, at least for a moment. Down below, the world spun on, no one bothering to glance up—everyone too busy chasing after a quick coin or the warmth of their favorite girl. A stray breeze slipped in, thick with salt and tar, stinging my nose and reminding me how close the sea always was here. The redlight district stretched from the harbor all the way to the edge of the noble quarter, the only place in the Capital where this kind of business was allowed, as if the city could keep its secrets contained to one crooked street.
They say an old king, hopelessly in love with the sea and loose girls who don't ask questions, carved out this street for himself so he could always find a new face before or after his voyages. People still call it King's Road, half in jest, and the girls here became Mermaids. If the king ever came back late, the story went that he must have thrown himself overboard for a Mermaid's embrace.
I risked a glance at the still shape on my bed, but the sight twisted something sharp inside me, so I looked away. The anger that had been gnawing at me for months threatened to claw its way back up, but it faded as soon as I forced my eyes elsewhere. She was never a Mermaid, not really. She had the same impossibly long legs, hair dark and shining like wet ink, a stubborn love for anything blue, and eyes that used to swallow the night now just empty, dull. Even her voice, when she spoke, had the same gentle, careful warmth. She never looked like she belonged here. She looked just like Olivia did before HE stole her away from me.
Just thinking of him made my fists clench until my nails bit deep, and I felt the sting of blood welling up again. I stared at the split in my rough palm, blood seeping from a wound I had ignored since training days ago. I ground out my cigar in a pot of blue cornflowers on the sill, accidentally crushing the petals. I tore a strip from the thin blanket and wrapped it around my hand, the fabric already stained. With what was left, I gently draped it over her head, hiding the blackened bruises on her neck from the world, as if that could erase what I had done.
I had barely finished tying the makeshift bandage when a sudden gust slipped through the open window, cold and sharp against my skin.
“Aren't you having some fun?”
It was that accursed elf again. As soon as he appeared, the street’s noise died away, silencing the laughter and pleasure that usually leaked through the brothel's thin walls.
“What do you want, elf?”
“What do I want? Well, it's rather simple. I have a new job for you.”
“I'm not interested.”
I reached for a new bottle of Halfling brandy on the nightstand, desperate for the burn to drown out the ache, but another cold gust swept in and snatched it from my grasp.
“I need you sober for this. The job is tonight.”
The elf had vanished from the window frame and now sat cross-legged on the bed, next to…
“Didnt you hear what I said? I said that I'm not interested!” I barked, red blood dripping again from my hands, staining the expensive blue carpet.
“Oh? I think you misunderstand. You don't have a choice," the elf replied, his voice colder. He took a swig, smiled, and set the now-empty bottle on the nightstand, then brushed away the blanket, revealing the battered body that lay beneath.
“Don't touch her!”
I threw myself at the elf, rage blinding me, but something invisible caught me midair and slammed me hard against the wall.
“Now I get it. She really does look like her, but I guess in the end she just couldn't compare to the real deal?”
I tried to push myself up, but something unseen pressed me even harder into the wall, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“I mean the real Olivia…”
“Don't you dare say her name!”
“Hehehe, the real O-l-i-v-i-a had way smaller TITS than her didnt she?” Thereupon, the elf cupped her cold breast with his hand, tracing over the bite marks I had left there. He giggled to himself like a kid who had just found a new toy.
“But enough playing around, SIR Rodrick. I do like you, you know. Your pathetic struggles, your boundless anger, I especially enjoy whenever you pretend to be better. But I have a job to do, and so do you. And I would recommend finishing it, or you will end up like her. But instead of your hands, it will be mine choking the life out of you.”