"Come on, can't you spare a pack for a pretty girl like me?"
She smiled wide, leaning against him slightly. A part of her died inside, but cigarettes are just as important as her pride. The nicotine calms her, and withdrawal is horrible. Shaky hands, which is damaging for her marionettes, restlessness, which makes her more on edge, irritability, which could make her lash out. She already has to swallow her pride to seduce someone for a damn cigarette, god knows she wouldn't be able to resist slapping someone.
Finally.
Aranea almost yanked the pack from his hands, but kept herself steady. She took out a cigarette, taking a long drag before breathing out. The smoke looked more like smog, heavy looking, gray, billowing out into a shape that could make a spider if you really looked. She slips the pack into her bag, shifting a flashlight around to make room. Her heels clicked against the ground as she walked away, taking deep drags on it, thankful to get one before the aftereffects started.
Now to walk.
Step after step, drag after drag, breath after breath, sometimes Aranea wonders if the tattoo was even worth it. A beautiful ink painting of webs and spiders on her left arm, forever there, but kicked out, left to wander the streets. Walk a path. At least she can sense the invisible web strings leading her like a puppet. Just like one of her marionettes. Not everyone knows they are there. Not everyone can accept them. People can be afraid to know there is no such thing as free will. You can never truly do something with no factors. Addictions, family, friends, work, environment, money, they all affect decisions. But Aranea has let herself walk her path. Like a fly being led to the spider's web. And it's her seventeenth birthday tomorrow. She knows something will happen, though she isn't sure what.
"Can I have a cigarette?"
Aranea stops, hearing the voice. It's flat, empty, and makes her skin crawl. She looks around for the source of the sound, her eyes landing on an alleyway. A man is inside, his hand extending out to take one. He's a few feet in the alleyway, mostly obscured by shadows. The person sways back and forth, ever so slightly. Aranea steps back.
"Can I have a cigarette?"
He speaks again, the words sounding like a repeat. Same tone, same emptiness. But this time, the shadows shift just enough to show-his mouth wasn't moving. Aranea steps back again.
The sun is going down.
"Can I have a cigarette?"
Her eyes move down, and she sees why he seems to be swaying. His feet aren't touching the ground. A cranberry cigarette is by it, rolled up and dropped on the ground. A few posters are dotted around the alleyway, and her eyes focus on them. Missing posters. Only a few are in view, Naming someone called Sarah Baldwin, Daniel Rawlings, Ashley Dobson.
"Can I have a cigarette?"
A puppet.
He's a puppet. Like one of her marionettes.
She steps back again, reaching around for a flashlight. As soon as her hand makes it into her bag, the man is gone. Yanked out of view by something else, hidden by the darkness.
Oh fuck no.
Aranea runs, pulling off her heels and holding them as she sprints.
She runs, and runs, until her side hurts, until Aranea is completely sure she's far enough away from that alleyway.
The sun is down.
Okay, she needs to find a place to rest. A hotel? No, no, it's too expensive. Her puppets haven't been attracting such an audience lately and she never stayed in a place long enough to save up. It was times like these that she missed living with her parents, safe from the dark and what hides within it.
The woods.
That's it, Aranea will sleep in the woods. Not a fancy rest, but she can handle it. Besides, forests always remind her of earlier times. Fun memories of her tent and the crying children inside. Where were they now? Have they forgotten her? Or do they still feel the tightly tied strings stopping them from leaving? Do they still remember the stories she would tell, the insults she would throw, the fear she would inflict to make them cry? So many questions. So little answers. But Aranea doesn't need answers. That's the quest for another. For now, all she has to do is walk her path. And she hopes her path won't lead her to another one of those...things, asking for a cigarette. That human puppet, or that thing holding it like an anglerfishes point of light.
Snap.
A twig breaking interrupts her train of thought, making her stumble. Aranea hits the ground, hard, wincing. She frowns as she feels a few stray branches jut into her, cursing at no one.
"Ouch, fuck..."
Well, might as well stop here. She rolls over onto her back, spreading out her arms and staring at the forest canopy. A few stars peek through, shining bright against a dark sky. Her eyes close, and Aranea takes a deep breath of the forest air, before a hand shoots up. It snatches a fly mid flight, crushing it between her fingers as she falls into sleep.
