Dayla

Chapter 6

-Dayla

The Chaos Pack is not all that bad, although I can definitely say that it is one of the most loud, and noisy packs I have ever been to. Perhaps it is the fact that none of these people know me, or my intentions, but I don't exactly feel at home over here. 

The expressions on their faces are generally comatose, and they move past me in the narrow lane. It is quiet and decorated with fliers and posters about a new beginning, but most look entirely old and ancient, with my father's picture plastered all over them. 

People around me bustle into crooked alleyways with trash scattered here and there, creating a horrible smell which lingers wherever I go. I simply cover my mouth and move on. 

The people here aren't happy. Far from it. They look angry and resentful of the position they are in. I get a few curious glances as I walk past the fruit stalls, but none of them are overly disturbing or scrutinising. They've obviously never seen me before, but judging by the look they give me, I suspect they aren't alien to some new people who come and go regularly. 

I see children in front of me, but their faces are sad too. They run around, trying to chase each other through the hoards of people. I can see that they aren't well fed and they too, get pushed as I do but I stand resolute. 

"Hey, Miss!" I hear someone scream beside me over the other people. I whirl around, and my cloak threatens to slip off of my head. I catch it just in time, wishing I had at least dyed it before I came in such a hurry. 

I look for the person who called me, but I can't find anyone bothered enough to look at me. It may have been for someone else, but I wonder...

Nevertheless, I move on, my legs tiring with each stride I took. I seem to go up a winding lane, where less and less people start to come up. 

The buildings here are craggy and seem to have crumbling walls. None of them seem inhabited. But I keep continuing on to reach the destination where I had called a friend. 

I reach a low lying building with a small front door. It's wooden and cracked, and exactly how it looked in the picture I had received months ago. The walls are a sour cream colour, and have the bearings of an attack as I see a stain of seemingly blood suspiciously splattered across the wall. 

I take in a deep breath and hope that the person who I want to meet is here. 

Turning the knob, I enter into the small, barely cabin. There is a mat in the middle of the room and one table and a chair in which a girl my age sits and writes something in her diary. Unhesitatingly, I move forward and clear my throat to grab her attention and remove the hood of my cloak, revealing my distinctively platinum blond hair. That, coupled with the unique birthmark right above my palm is enough to make her stand and analyse me. 

"I'm going to ask you question. Answer correctly, or get the hell out of here." She mutters, and continues, "What was the name of your teacher, and I'm not talking about a school teacher. I'm talking about the one you hired, in secrecy." 

I don't hesitate to answer, "Miligent Tunis." 

She nods and pushes back her black hair behind her ear. I see greyish eyes with a hint of green looking back at me with a masked disdain for my presence. Like I inconvenienced her.

"1104. You'll have to come down for food. Dinner's at 8." She mumbles and goes back to writing whatever it is that she is writing in her diary. 

I nod and I move up the cemented stairs right next to an inconspicuous door. The walls here are grey and the plaster is chipped. Although I would have preferred other conditions, these are liveable at any rate and are certainly better than the dead forest that I just escaped.