FANTASY
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Carmiabell Goldmoon Locks is under an ancient curse that threatens to take her away from the living if she does not decipher the creature that laid it upon her.
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Carmiabell's Mondays ill luck always served the worst on her plate, like...
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At the bottom of a whole page of shrinked names, was Carmiabell’s name in the same sinister, rigid, official font.
A million thoughts a drop would just be an understatement of the pandemonium that occurred in her brain. Hyperventilation crawled into her, panic surging all over her body invasively.
“Who are these people?” Simon asked Wilfred who was about to take his leave to a drunken paradise.
He stretched his hand, Simon giving him a coin.
After returning his glasses on and grazing through the hundreds of names, he only seemed to recognize one. George Snowdust Williams.
“He died in a fatal accident thirty years ago.” That was all he could manage to recall, or all he knew. They couldn't blame him. He probably couldn't recall Simon's name either. Plus, not much of the things that happen in the South were disclosed to the North and vice versa. “His carriage crashed into a tree or something. I can't remember. I don't know these other strangers.” He probably meant even Carmiabell.
Without a glimpse back, Wilfred stumbled out of his overaged tent before Damon stretched a handful of coins. Simon was drops away from getting kicked out of the next bar.
“Don't tell me you stole those,” Zuina was the first to recognize.
“Having a goblin for a cousin teaches you many things.”That could explain how he got the apple in the first place but not his lanera.
Zuina took a bunch for herself while Phoebi borrowed some.
“If we are going to work together, I need to know your laneras,” Carmiabell boldly introduced the topic. As far as she knew, Damon or either of the others but Zuina could be walking them in a stray path just so to get them on a hook. Liking them or not, her life was at stake.
It wasn't the best thing to say to a group that had literally signed up for suspension for her.
“Green,” Zuina didn't sound offended, but Carmiabell knew better. She was always in heels adorned in green gems.
“Yellow.” Hence the admirable pendant around her neck. Phoebi.
Next in the line was Simon. “I'm not working with you, I just want my baby back.” No one blinked. They all stared at him. “Red, okay.” With a candle burning all around, it was clear.
Damon was last. By the sigh, he was not expecting such a question coming his way. “Crimson,” he answered, withdrawing a crimson piece of paper from his pocket. “The school walls are painted crimson, so I don't have to carry anything, sometimes.”
It's a shame Carmiabell had to know it this way. Crimson was not of the highest rank. It had a spot above gray.
If it was a century or so past, he would have been guaranteed failure in life, but the present was changing and man for hard work was a mortal that was working. Even though, some trapped individuals in the past still looked down upon the lowly ranked dreamers.
