Sylvie's lament

dust ball (01)

Dust swirled around Sylvie's ankles as she walked down the street alone. The usual symphony of groans and street noises hawking was a dull roar in her ears. Hunger screamed at her stomach, a constant companion in the filthy hood of Imp City's Dust Bowl. Here, buildings leaned in close, their rusting metal walls plastered with faded gang symbols.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd. Sylvie, curious, glanced up. Whispers like hissing vipers snaked through the alleys, but were suddenly stopped, sending a shiver down her spine.

Intrigued, she pushed through the nervous crowd. she froze as she saw the imp walking by with four bodyguards, he looked important. This was Crimson, the leader of the infamous Crimson mafia. Confidence radiated from him like heat, making the other imps cower and scrape their horns on the ground.
Sylvie, however, felt a different pull. Confusion and a spark of defiance warred in her chest. Why did everyone bow? Who was this imp to command such fear?  Unable to stop herself, she took a step forward, her defiance drawing Crimson's cold, obsidian gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest. This wasn't fear, but a strange sense of anticipation. In that moment, under the watchful eyes of the Crimson leader, Sylvie knew her life in the Dust Bowl was about to change. As Sylvie came closer, his brow furrowed into a deep V. 
¨Aren't you afraid?"
Sylvie returned his gaze
“Why would I?"
She said, her voice surprisingly steady for a scrawny imp facing down a notorious mafia leader.   She didn't back down, planting her feet firmly on the ground, her bony chest puffed out in a valiant, if slightly ridiculous, attempt to appear larger. Crimson's scowl softened into a surprised smirk.  A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending shivers down the spines of the cowering imps.  "Interesting,"
he rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper.

"Most folks wet themselves when they see me."
Sylvie didn't flinch. In fact, a spark of something promising flickered in her eyes.  This wasn't how she expected a terrifying mafia boss to react.Before she could respond, Crimson made a sign to two of his hulking bodyguards. Their movements were swift and silent. One, a scaring looking imp with a missing ear, clamped a hand over her mouth before she could protest.  The other, a mountain of muscle with a twisted face, grabbed her arm, his grip strong enough to crush a bone. A chorus of panicked shouts erupted behind her.  "Sylvie, no!" "Don't go with them!"  She recognized the voices – Carlos, the scrawny imp with perpetually runny eyes, and Livia, the sharp-tongued leader of their little gang.  A pang of guilt stabbed at Sylvie's heart.  Leaving them felt wrong, but maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to change things for all of them.
Taking a deep breath, Sylvie threw a single glance back at her friends.  Her gaze locked with Livias's, and in that silent exchange, a promise passed between them.  "I'll be back," Sylvie mouthed "And I'll find a way to bring you all with me."  Determination hardened her features  as the bodyguards hauled her away, the shouts of her friends fading into the din of the Dust Bowl. The world blurred around Sylvie as the bodyguards practically threw her into the back of a sleek, obsidian car. Crimson, with his small figure and cruel smile, slid into the passenger seat next to her. The interior smelled faintly of sulfur and a surprisingly expensive cologne.
"Hold on, runt," Crimson rumbled, his voice a gravelly rasp. The car roared life, the engine's purr a stark contrast to the usual symphony of groans and street noise. They sped through the labyrinthine alleyways of the Dust Bowl, leaving behind the crowd. Sylvie, momentarily stunned, finally found her voice. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded, her chin held high despite the tremor in her voice.Crimson glanced at her, a flicker of amusement dancing in his obsidian eyes. "To my little corner of Hell, kid," he drawled. "Let's just say you piqued my interest back there."

Interest?" Sylvie scoffed. " Because most people faint at the sight of you?"
A hearty laugh came from Crimson's chest. "Most people," he conceded, wiping a tear from his eye. "But not you. You've got fire in those eyes, kid. Something I haven't seen in a long time." The car emerged from the Dust Bowl, the desolate landscape giving way to an area of opulent mansions bathed in a sickly loud glow. Sylvie couldn't help but gape at the towering structures adorned with big statues and grotesque fountains."Welcome to Prosperity," Crimson announced, a hint of pride in his voice. "My home, and maybe...yours, if you don't disappoint me in the future…" He trailed off, but his gaze shifted for the car´s mirror. "Speaking of disappointments," Crimson muttered, his grin fading. Sylvie craned her neck, catching a glimpse of the a boy feeding the fishes in the fountain– a small imp with bright white hair and a sweet smile. He wore a suit similar to what his father was wearing. "That's Moxxie," Crimson explained, his voice laced with disdain. "My son. Useless with a blade, can't even threaten a barkeep without stuttering. A real disappointment." Sylvie felt a pang of sympathy for the white-haired imp. It seemed even in Hell, family drama wasn't in short supply. The car sped on, leaving Moxxie and his fishes in the dust. Crimson remained silent, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Sylvie, however, couldn't help but wonder. What exactly did Crimson have in store for her?  Crimson ushered Sylvie out of the car and into a sprawling mansion. 
The opulent interior, with its polished marble floors and towering chandeliers, was a stark contrast to the rusty shacks of the Dust Bowl. Sylvie stared, wide-eyed, as Crimson led her through a series of lavishly furnished rooms.
"So," Crimson rumbled, stopping before a massive oak desk. "Tell me, little thief, what's your name?"
Sylvie, still overwhelmed by the sudden change in environment, hesitated for a moment.  "Sylvie," she finally mumbled, "Sylvie Scarlatte Romano."