Girl On Fire Pt.1 [Edited]

One.

“Cold.” The words came out in bubbles. I quickly palmed my mouth. Wasting oxygen was something I couldn't afford to do.

Two.

Above, the world was burning. But I stayed where I was.

Holding my breath, listening to the slow, methodical crunch on the pebble path surrounding the well.

I kept perfectly still.

Three.

The footsteps stopped. A shadow elongated over the mouth of the well.

Every muscle in my body tensed.

I could feel them looking down at me, standing... waiting... waiting... waiting...

Four.

“Hiyori.”

That single syllable, said so casually, was enough to send my body into a shaking fit.

August.

Five.

“We're in the same boat here. We're technically trespassing, a pretty damn stupid move on our part. More so, yours. I'm here because Alfred asked me, and disobeying him isn't an option. You've kept me on my toes. I'll give you that much. But I've reached my limit. Maybe I'll even listen to your whining, just get out of the well before I throw your ass out.”

I gave in to the water's insistent pull on my pinafore, letting it drag me deeper.

Six.

My hair fanned out, until it seemed as though a cloud of ink slowly flowed out around my head.

A cherry-red color danced to the rhythm of the water.

It had to be the tip of a cigarette. Even without looking, I was sure.

The man above me took a deep, almost meditative puff of his cigarette. It was followed by a long, thoughtful exhale, and then...

Silence.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

My lungs begged me to inhale but I couldn't make a single sound.

My life depended on it.

Ten.

“No... That girl, she's too damn clever to hide in the same spot twice.”

A little tremble went through my body.

Plop!

Something small and hot met the skin of my forehead.

I bit down on a scream.

My eyes shot open.

It was the tip of the bastard's cigarette!

Eleven.

“Ugh, I just wasted my time talking to a well. This job is driving me mad. God, I need another smoke...”

The shadow of the pest retreated, the gravel on the path crackling as his footfalls grew quieter.

Twelve.

August was gone... at least, I hoped so. Still, I stayed submerged, my lungs hurting from the proper breath I wasn't taking.

He'd said earlier that he was here because Alfred had asked him, and disobeying him wasn't an option. So he wasn't leaving. It was foolish to underestimate him.

Damn Alfred to hell.

Thirteen.

I cursed the man who'd put me in this situation. Fia, too. When I'd first been adopted by that stupid couple, I'd been so happy, so hopeful. But last night, everything changed.

Fourteen.

For weeks, I'd been trying to stay awake every night. I'd keep my eyes open, refusing the deep pull of sleep as long as I could. But no matter what I did, my eyes would inevitably start to droop, and I'd wake up the next morning feeling confused.

Last night, I'd been so determined to stay awake that I'd traded a full belly just for a few hours of wakefulness.

Why couldn't I have just eaten my stupid dinner? I thought, rummaging through the cupboards. Then, I heard them. “We can't!” She sounded so desperate...

My heart had been pumping so fast. I was curious about their conversation so I pressed my ear up against the kitchen door:

“Fia, we've discussed this ad nauseam. Jonas comes first. We'll find Hans another Hale.” That's what he called me? At that word, I couldn’t believe my ears. He'd been a father to me for the past five years, and yet, he just reduced me to “Hale”?

My chest hurt.

No, I must've heard wrong. I decided, straining to hear more of their conversation. Fia's shrill voice rose telling father—Alfred that he was treating his son like a disposable item. Hypocrite.

He hissed back at her, “lower your voice.”

But I heard every word.

“Fred, every time I ask you 'why' Jonas, you never explain anything. So, please, for once, give me a straight answer. What's wrong with Hans?”

I bit my lip hard. My tongue burned with all the things I wanted to say. I wanted to storm in there and yell, to curse them out. The pain in my chest had only grown with each word. They were just talking about their own sons. For them, I was just an afterthought...

“What's wrong? I’ve thought about it too long, Fia. How did he come to be ours?”

A pause.

I peeped through the keyhole. It was rare to see Fia with anything but a smile, so seeing her with a look that could rival the most broken of hearts was new. “You can't mean that...”

To my then surprise, Alfred's face was harsh, unlike the man who'd welcomed me. “I do mean it. Jonas is our son. The girl will donate to him. That's fi—”

Fifteen!

Water sloshed around as I shook my head, swatting the memory like an annoying fly. I frowned. My blood boiled, the temperature of the water rising.

GAH! I should've seen it coming, the signs were all there.

Sixteen.

I had deluded myself to thinking the extra servings of soup meant they were worried about me being too skinny. What a load of rubbish!

The pesky measurements weren't for a new dress, after all...

When was the last time I even had the honor of wearing anything new?

I flicked my forehead. Foolish thought.

Seventeen.

The once-chilled water began to feel warm on my skin. I grimaced.

Curse my temper.

Later. The audacity of those traitors could be dealt with later. Right now, I had to keep a clear head and get out of here.

To spite them.

Eighteen.

Swimming up to the surface, I stopped just short of fully breaking it.

I lifted my nose just above the water, leaving only a thin film of liquid between my nostrils and the air.

Inhaling lightly, I tried to gauge whether August was truly gone.

The scent of tobacco smoke was absent. Not even a whiff.

A clever person could extinguish a cigarette and remain on the scene, but August was a legendary smoker.

I... I honestly don’t think he breathes oxygen anymore. Just pure nicotine.

Which meant he had likely left the area.

Allowing myself a small smirk, I finally broke the surface of the water.

“Good riddance.”

***

Taking careful steps into the alleyway, my feet met the burning cobblestone with a squelch and a hiss, causing me to wince.

Damn it. It had already started.

Through my pinafore, I could feel the steam.

Wispy tentacles coiled around my arms, flicking hot, repulsive kisses across my cheeks.

Ugh, I cringed and pinched my arm.

A transparent pane of data hovered before me:

[Immune System]

Body Tier: Haleborn.

Blood Type: O.

Status: Infected.

Blight Severity: Witherblight.

Blight Type(s): [Burnwake Blight].

Blight Load: 10%

Blight Threshold: 800%

Primary Symptom: [Overheat].

My eyes skimmed over the screen, quickly shifting to the diagram of my body chart.

The main metrics I looked for: “Oxygen Level.” Unsurprisingly in the gutter. In Burnwake Ward, every inhale felt like sucking on a hot, moist towel.

“Heart Rate.” I rubbed my chest, a frown on my face. My heart wouldn't calm down until I got out of this hellscape, far away from those traitors—Alfred and Fia.

And, most concerning of all, “Temperature.” My hand moved to my damp forehead—my body temperature was ticking upward, now at sixty degrees Celsius and rising by the second.

Risk of Ignition: 10%

Recommendation: Submersion in water.

“Submersion in water.”

…

Wasn’t I just in a well?

So in a weird way, I'd already done the whole recommended submersion thing.

I lifted my chin, mentally patting myself on the back.

But to dunk myself in again...

I scowled, dismissing the screen with a wave of my hand.

Can't this Blight just give me a bloody moment's peace?

It hadn't even been two minutes since I'd climbed out of that god-forsaken well!

Fuming—literally—I twisted the soaked cloth, wringing out the excess water.

Keeping a trail for that brute to follow was absolutely out of the question.

I was careful not to overdo it, though. I needed to keep myself cool, or else...

I shivered, imagining August's sharp eyes zeroing in on my steaming form.

Taking satisfaction in the tiny 'plinks' of water hitting the small pool underneath me, I wrung out the final dregs of liquid from my sodden clothes.

Hm? I stole a glance at the numerous footprints that had been left around from previous visitors.

Most had cooled to a pitch-black color, blending into the shadows of the alley.

I tried to spot a pattern, but they were scattered like spilled beans, defying any sort of order.

“Of course they did.” I murmured bitterly, my shoulders sagging.

Just the haphazard footsteps of people who had the luxury of not worrying about leaving a trail.

I sighed, eyes drifting to fresher molted red prints still steaming in the cobblestones. It wouldn't be long before my own footprints joined its ranks.

Crunch!

The hairs at the back of my neck stood up.

It was hardly audible, but my gut yelled at me to pay attention to it—the sound of footsteps.

Goose pimples broke out over my arms. It was clear someone was headed my way.

August.

I peeked around the wall and saw a man checking his pocket-watch, cursing to himself as he continued to barrel in my direction.

Steam wafted around his head. He was much taller than me, his expression that of someone who didn't have time for niceties.

But most importantly, he wasn't August.

I slumped against the wall heaving a very small sigh of relief. Even then, the fact remained: my footprints would soon be plain for all to see.

I balled both my fists, forcing myself to keep still and quiet. Each step brought the man closer to the mouth of the alley.

When he passed by, I fell into step right behind him, my tiny clogs landing neatly into the still-molten, massive prints left by his boots.

The man was clearly in a hurry—he had somewhere to be. I, on the other hand, had somewhere to escape to.

And as we rounded the corner onto the main street, like I expected—he was leading me off course.

Even worse—the looks we got from passersby, probably wondering what this hulking man was doing walking alongside such a scrawny girl.

I’d have to switch targets before I got him lynched.

Not far ahead of us was a woman with a purse, fully dressed in overalls, dodging the crowd as if they were contagious.

Well, to be fair, they were.

Burnwake Ward was rampant with Burnwake Blight, after all.

As she continued her path, she came across a pit shabbily covered by wooden planks.

Unlike someone who doesn't even bother to look, the lady sidestepped one of the many holes left by criminals who had stood for far too long.

Loitering was a serious offense in Burnwake Law, justifiably so.

I gradually started slowing my speed, and sure enough my footsteps were no longer his, but hers.

Perfect. Our destination was the same.

Just like her, I quickly raised my chin, making sure to walk with as much confidence as possible.

Disappearing had little to do with speed, or even stealth. It was all about fitting in.

But then, something nagged at me to turn my head, to look over my shoulder, to check if—No.

Just keep walking. I told myself, keeping my eyes trained on the woman's back.

I couldn't risk looking suspicious now.

The close proximity of too many people made the air muggy with sweat.

Though, that was understandable.

I fanned my nose at the stench of something else making it even more rank.

“Fastest cook in the Ward! Guaranteed taste of Burnwake!”

“Guaranteed to contract Burnwake, you mean.” I muttered, eyeing the grimy vendor roasting a piece of meat between his sweaty palms.

Like a vulture, my mouth watered as I watched him. It was to be expected. I hadn't eaten since I ran away.

I sighed forlornly. It was almost painful to pass up the meat cart. And not just because it would help ease my hunger. The meat would also raise my Blight Load, which would be an added benefit.

Swallowing the saliva that had pooled in my mouth, I continued to follow the woman's footsteps.

Losing her trail to get meat wasn't worth it...

Besides, the idea of eating anything in this Ward, much less street food, was nauseating in itself.

Among the local businesses, the water vendors were the sole option to patronize.

From where we walked, I had a clear view of a woman across the street, kneeling beside a well as she counted her coins.

I could tell it wasn't enough.

Even if she had the money, the queue was hopeless.

What with the tired line of people waiting their turn to fill their pails, it was common sense the ground around the well was fitted with iron plates. The well-owner must've been wealthy, unlike the lady.

I watched as she continued counting, hoping she’d somehow made a mistake. She didn't. My heart went out to her.

After several turns shadowing the woman in overalls, I pulled on my clothes, annoyed that the well water had been replaced with sweat.

Great, now I looked like a walking kettle, much like the rest of the Ward.

However, my irritation was quickly forgotten the moment I saw them:

The lifts. From here, they looked small, hauling crates and people up to the top of the forty-meter wall.

My ticket out of this blasted Ward before—

A hand slammed over my mouth.