The Evergreen Thieves

All Businessmen Are Someone's Monster

Sage

He believed me. Sage thought as she rid herself of the foul-smelling gambling den, returning to the streets of the Gambling Square. She had silently borrowed a woman's scarf and wrapped it around her head, covering up her platinum hair. The street was surprisingly bare in the earliest hours of the morning, everyone was either sleeping or gambling, usually no in between. Sage, however, on most mornings was perfecting how to sneak into her own home without getting caught. She limped towards the mansion in the center of the square, looking at its grey bricks overrun with finely trimmed vines. The upper-level lights were still out, her father most likely still sleeping soundly in his finely made silk sheets as the downstairs was bustling with maids and servants preparing the day ahead. Every morning it was the same thing. The milkman would arrive at four in the morning, then the mailman at five, and the last visitor is one being a man who'd always arrive at eight in a peculiar black horse-drawn carriage, wearing a lackluster colored suit. She'd never known what the man would bring, only that he arrived at eight in the morning and left eight at night, every weekday. He was probably only one of her father's spineless business partners, but something about his brown slick back hair and his almond green eyes that looked off; Though, that wasn't odd for any man in Forelaetan. And today was no different. The milkman arrived on schedule, going through the servants' quarter on the south side of the square. He always left the door open long enough for small rodents to get in and today that included herself. She let the man carry his jug of milk to the kitchen. Then as he exited and returned to the flow of the city, she kept the door from closing, by using the scarf to stop it from locking and then slipped through. The door entered a hallway leading to the kitchen, the western dining wing, stairs to the wine cellar, and then the ballroom.

She had to go through the ballroom to get to the main entrance stairs, then to get to her bedroom, she'd have to make it down the endless hallway, up the stairs to the third floor, and pass her father's room. Usually, she would just scale the side of the house, going directly to her room, cloaked by the night's shadows; however, that option was not available to her due to her injuries. Her wrist even hurt just pushing through the lightweight doors to the ballroom. Despite her pain, the ballroom was still her favorite room in the whole house. It had arched windows viewing the square, all framed with golden acanthuses, their vines twisting in perfect shapes. White marbled floors laid across the room and a chandelier hung from the domed ceiling. Her mother requested to have it painted when the house was first built. It was lurid, however, it reminded her of her still. The only thing she hated about the room was the weekly parties her father would throw. He would force her to attend at least once a month, telling her, Don't be fooled by the decor and the drinks. A party is nothing more than a business meeting, dressed to the nines.

For him that might be true, however, every time she would attend, officers would throw themselves her way, trying to flirt their way into the wealthiest family. All of them were handsome suitors, some even good men, but she would never marry a man who'd rather marry her father's money than her.

She quietly made her way through the ballroom, making it to the elegant doors leading to the main entrance. The maids should be preparing the dining hall and the bedrooms near this time, leaving an opportunity for her to carefully open the door and get up the stairs main flight of stairs.

She slipped through the doors, entering the main entrance hall. It was almost identical to the ballroom, the only difference being a set of golden staircases.

Something's off. The chandelier was unlit, there was noticeable dust resting in the air, and the vague smell of champagne lingered. She could only rush up the stairs and hope a maid doesn't come rushing around the corner.

"Do you think I would not notice that my own daughter was missing from her room?" Her father's voice, though deep and raspy, boomed through the empty entrance.