Anarchy

PROLOGUE

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❝There are times when God's justice tarries for a while and it appears to us that we are forgotten by Him, but the time always comes when we find it is not so, and here is the proof.❞

— Alexandre Dumas,
The Count of Monte Cristo

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Anna walked swiftly down the grimy streets of the Isle. The sky was dark, overcast, and rippling flashes of lightning. It would always be that way, she decided as she slumped her shoulders in attempt to seem even smaller between the towering buildings' walls.

Her hands fit loosely around the straps of a rucksack, not botherd by the heavy weight of its contents pressing down on the shoulders of her favored boro jacket. It was black with various overlapping amaranthine, gray, and maroon patches. Sashiko embroidery ran up the back, different patterns meshing together and reinforcing the fabric.

Maroon boots softly thudded against the pavement, almost inaudible to the untrained ear. Black leggings hugged her thighs and calves, meeting soon with a black tank-top that flaunted her breasts and muscled back. This was covered, not just in the jacket, but also by a baggy maroon shirt that covered her assets.

A belt hung around her waist outside the shirt. Upon noticing it, one might think it was for decoration. But in reality, it holstered a gun against her back, hidden elegantly behind the aforementioned jacket.

Her hair was parted on the side, the smaller of the two french braided until it began to curve downward, where it split apart and became an independent braid. This hairstyle revealed one ear and its helix piercings.

Dark eyes switched back and forth across her path cautiously. Sure, she was merely a teenager; but on the Isle, no one cared who you were, your age, or your status when it came to getting what they wanted. They just took it. She only knew this because she bore the same beliefs.

She slowed as she reached a corner and glanced over her shoulder, darkly glossed lips parting to allow quiet breaths in and out. Her hand ducked inside of the jacket, gripping the handle of the gun as she poked her nose around the corner, peering into another alley.

Dumpsters were pushed against either side, maybe ten feet apart. Between two was a man hole. At the other end, steam rolled out of a grate. She glanced behind her again before continuing into the alley, hand still gripping the hidden gun. She looked up at the fire escapes and windows of the buildings she was to walk between, searching for signs of someone who might wish her harm for the bag of food on her back. Peering around the dumpsters as she passed to make sure she was safe, Anna stopped in front of one.

Like the others, it had chipped green paint and black, cracked, plastic lids. Spray painted on the side was the outline of a wolf, which was also faded.

She pressed her hands against the side and pushed, rolling it easily away from the trap door that opened as she went. Through it could be seen a metal ladder that led to a dimly lit room. She sat on the edge and placed her feet on a rung, looking over her shoulder before pulling the trap door down as she lowered herself inside. The dumpster rolled back into place and she continued her descent, feeling decently less exposed.

Maybe ten feet later, her boots met cement, and she turned toward the foyer of her home. The walls and floor were covered in dirt and dust, which turned to a thin layer of mud that ground beneath her shoes as she shifted. She wasn't stupid enough to call out. She wasn't that girl.

Anna sighed and walked through a doorway into the living room. A man sat there on the couch, a book in his hand and a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose. Her skin itched with the feeling she'd had outside. She hated the vulnerability he could force onto her in her own home.

"Was your day profitable?" the man asked without sparing her a look.

The girl's dark eyes stared blankly at the back of his head, "Yes, sir."

"Then stock the kitchen."

The silence that followed made her stomach churn with nerves. Maybe if her father was still a werewolf — the werewolf, he could smell it coming off of her in waves. But he wasn't, not here. For that she was grateful.

Anna walked over to the kitchenette adjoining the living room and set her bag on the table. She opened it and began placing the items inside either the fridge or a select few cupboards. When she finished, she drew the bag back onto her shoulders and turned to her father to await instructions.

He dogeared the page before closing the book, placing it on the table, the glasses folded on top of the arching paper-back cover, and standing. His full height only made him more intimidating when she was a child. Now it was the stoic demeanor that put her on edge.

He wore black, polished, leather shoes; black, pressed slacks; a white, button-up shirt; and a black blazer. In his hand was a black cane with a silver tip and handle. The Big Bad Wolf was how Anna pictured Satan. No horns or pitchfork, simply a well-polished and intimidating way about him.

She didn't ask him what was wrong, just waited for him to speak. She'd learned from a young age not to question him — ever.

"Are you aware that the barrier broke today?" he inquired.

Her lips parted, stunned for a moment before she responded, "No, sir."

"Three men in yellow came to our door." He paused, "They were looking for you."

Anna's heart began to pound, as this could certainly not be good, "Me?"

He reached into his jacket and removed a scroll, "They came to give you this."

She moved forward and took it, glancing at him cautiously before rolling it open with furrowed brows. Her dark eyes glanced over it before looking up at him in confusion. Why would he pass this on to her? Why not throw it away and pretend they'd never appeared? Unless...

"You want me to go," she declared softly, voice as if coming through a sieve.

"Yes," he nodded, "only as it would benefit me. I've spoken with Maleficent, and she agrees."

He paused again. She really hated those pesky pauses.

"Mal, Carlos, Evie, Jay, and yourself will travel to Auradon and blend in as normal students. You will retrieve the Fairy Godmother's wand and return to the Isle to set us all free."

Anna nearly choked on her own quickly vanishing saliva, "Auradon?"

He nodded, a malevolent grin spreading across his face, "Yes."

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