Aureate Fates

7

                      MY CRICKET IS YOURS

                                  —THEMA—

Thema beheld walls of blood. Blood everywhere, except  for on a pristine dais. It was starkly white, with two chairs of gold presented before the dais. Beating hearts lay beside chests, speaking words of hate as they continued their palpitations.

The smell of death was only interrupted by two lives. A girl, as imperial as the golden chairs was kneeling before the massacre. Living and breathing, but gold eyes as dead as the limp bodies before her. Beside the goddess, a tall male, with eyes like gravestone and hair like black coal, stood. He surveyed the royal room carefully, unfazed. Thema realized he was looking for something—someone.

The pair wore crowns of jewels, gleaming oddly.

A screaming began, and Thema woke to a rawness in her throat. She gasped, and beside her, a spirit lingered. She watched the spirit—a small girl—as she clutched Thema's hand, as if to offer comfort. Solidarity.

Thema could not feel it. She did not feel the warmth that should have been there, nor was she expecting it. The ghost girl opened her mouth wide, revealing bone white teeth. Thema knew that she was not able to hear the spirits.

The ghost girl's voice pierced the air, mouth still opened wide. Thema shut her eyes to be rid of the image. 

Not real not real not real not real—

She began to chant silently in her head.
         
  
      —REESE—

"No, Jaak," Reese said, fastening the laces on the small boy's shoes. "The Shoot and Run is only for older kids."

Jaak tilted his head, making his dark curls sway slightly. "Why?"

Reese turned to Marisol, who was in front of their shared mirror and tying her dark hair with a band. Wisps of stray hairs framed her feminine face, ones that never could be really tucked away. He'd watched her try and fail over the years to keep them out of her sight.

"Because, Jaaky," Marisol interrupted, surely knowing that Reese didn't have a clue about how to answer Jaak, "it's a game with weapons and danger."

Jaak giggled, "Paint isn't a weapon!"

Marisol sighed, and slid on her lilac bracelet, right above the blue bracelet identical to his own. Reese wore it today, too, as he did everyday.

Nyall gave Marisol the lilac one, it was intricately beaded with small yellow pearls. They must've been artificial, because true yellow pearls were worth more than he could fathom. More than even most Reds could afford.

Nyall was far from capable of buying such a luxury. The boy could barely buy shoes. Reese thought highly of Nyall; he was modest, kind, and the most talented healer in Blue Quarter, however, Reese despised the thought of him and Marisol together.

It made his blood flare.

Sure, Nyall might have been handsome, and a better man than Reese, but he was well below Marisol's station. If they wed, Marisol would be trapped in a marriage she could not ascend from.