Sinister (COMPLETED / TO BE REWRITTEN)

1 👣 The Arrival

After half a week executing heists, and a few days after she obtained what she sought for, Ece finds herself standing statue-like, surrounded by mountains of foul-smelling waste.

And neither the afternoon's radiation nor the fresh wounds on her body can stop her.

There's a pair of twin-buildings on both her sides, acting like the field's gateway. Chunks of fading brick rest near the doorsteps. The gaps they used to fill gape like a trap far above her head.

It reminds her of her house's recent state. Yesterday, she overheard the thugs-conspiring officials' intent to confiscate it. Raiden's unfortunately like these buildings, failing to shield the homeless shelter from her scheme.

He's unlike her. She believes all of this is for better purposes in life.

Ece advances farther. Trampling on gooey substances and remnants alike.

The shelter doesn't differ much from the previous buildings, besides its one-storied state. But this one has human voices, like high-intensity cries and bickerings. 

And there are scents. Tobacco. Sour expired meals. Putrid puked leftovers.

Several lifted brows are aimed at the dried injuries wounding her nape, which she received while pursuing the onyx. Some women in dirty rags throw hushed tantrums at the constant squishes of her polluted boots and her yellowy-white skin.

She breaks through the rickety entrance with a single jerk of her burning palm.

The receptionist at the desk is yet to query when Ece's face vanishes. The buildings' materials shake, bursting out of their respective places and volleys along with the crowd's balance.

"Help! Quake, earthquake!"

Colorful threads stretch out of the panicking bodies, weaving into the glowing-amethyst onyx as if it's absorbing them. Together, they enter through Ece's palm like yanked prisoners. Leaving their quaking and crumbling world behind.

👣

The curse-caster's journal hasn't mentioned the weight of bearing people's souls.

When Ece reaches her new hideout—hours away from the site she's been to, her sudden arrival causes Tayana to shrink deeper into the patched blanket with widening eyes.

The old yet sturdy door is forced back to its frame with the smallest of kicks. Ece's fervent inhales and Tayana's gasps cloud the entire room after the creaks recede.

Ece lies on the bare wooden panels, face-first. Her chin and mandible ache after the unplanned contact. Forcing herself to move, she thrusts her arms forward, nails digging between the floor's panels.

Her face has returned after the onyx's effect dissipated.

"I brought something, Tayana," she lifts the jeweled palm, "to help you."

Tayana trembles from her fever, breath exiting like rusty hinges. "You should've let me die. Nothing can save me now."

"Come on, after all I've been through for you? You can't surrender now."

Tayana looks at her hands, which are decorated with darkening veins. The last time she stared at a mirror, a black-spotted face stared back. She hasn't recognized her own reflection ever since.

"These souls in this onyx can heal you. They provide life-energies. Enough to patch your consumed ones." Ece's monologue doesn't pause, despite her continuous sharp intakes of breath and tightened cries in her throat.