GAMBLE ON GREED

Dorothea

Every night she woke up in distress, soaked in her own sweat. Dead bodies floating on calm yet rebellious waters, the deity whispering in her ear, taking her by the hand to greet her own self that stood pale as a corpse, her hair glued to her naked body and the dense fog all around them melting against her touch, like ashes falling from the sky. A creature's calling that she couldn't escape no matter how fast she ran.

Every morning, Dorothea had to drag herself out of her bed and go on with her life. From waking up early, putting on a dress - sometimes clean, other times not so clean - to taming her rebellious hair, and going to work, she did not have the luxury to succumb to the fatigue.

Today, the withered weather fooled them into thinking it would be colder. Although a fresh breeze cooled down the back of her bare neck, Dorothea was still boiling underneath the thin fabric of her dark green dress and an equally delicate undershirt. It was not even the middle of the summer yet, but Hiseans could sense a change. It was slowly becoming more about the extremes rather than the balance. Most saw it as a sign of the times.

As Dorothea walked with Konstantina, she noticed how further from the sea the seagulls were, perched at the very top of buildings crying to those still soaring across the sky. Were she new here, she would think none of it or perhaps that they were simply fed up with fish but being raised near the shore taught her that seagulls were far wiser than people believed them to be. When the waves were hostile, instead of testing their luck, they recoiled, taking shelter along the coast while waiting for the High Sea to allow them in its waters again.

And were she a different person, Dorothea would not know of the temperament of the sea either, but she could feel it. In her skin, in her bones and in the constant murmur invading her mind even though she had been strict with her medicine. Its disquieting was hers, a turmoil with which she was acquainted, a daze from where something wished to set itself free but could not.

The church's bells announced that it was seven o'clock in the morning, but one would look at the town and think them to be mistaken for it was already overflooding with people. As soon as they reached the shop, they opened the windows and the door, allowing the air to circulate within the stuffy room.

A knock on the door brought them both to glance over their shoulders at Aaadil, Konstantina's errands boy who was a year from being welcomed into adulthood and whose charm had conquered several hearts across King's Port. He peeled his hat from his head, exposing unruly curls of the same rich color as his blushed skin, now prickled with sweat. His white shirt was wrinkled beneath the braces attached to his brown trousers, part of his collar sticking him up like he had failed to fix it before leaving his house.

'Good morning, Aaadil. Morning has not been nice to you, I see.' Konstantina did not back away from his gentle kiss upon her temple.

'Just a quick ride to Sommerfugle Avenue.' He waved a letter in his hand which Konstantina took before Dorothea could see it.

Little good came from Sommerfugle Avenue, from where the wealthy took residence. They inhabited the furthest from Market Square, scattered across the upper slopes of King's Port, looking down on common peasants while safeguarded from the whiff of the port.

Even if one with the rest of the town, the disparity between the rich and the poor was as much of an aesthetic shift as it was a societal one. People not only walked differently in Sommerfugle Avenue, but they also breathed, talked, and looked differently too. Truth was that even the flagstones on the ground shone differently, and had she been born any more gullible, she would've believed the sun to light the world in a heterogenous, biased way.

'Go give Aaadil a glass of water, Dorothea.' Konstantina commanded without taking her eyes off the letter, slipping into her office to deal with it. The absence of a frown on her godmother's face was far more unsettling than its presence. Dorothea felt a chill in her arms and back but dismissed it just as fast, not wanting to give it too much relevancy. Things tended to go for the worse when she did.