Exhibit 2: "Invisibility"

So I did.

After some stuff we'll get to later, taunting, running, and hiding all became my signature bad boy behavior. Once you're not a kid anymore, though, that becomes less cute and veers more into the territory of what Daryl at the bank calls serious delinquency—I see you shakin' your head, man.

So there I was, stretched out and sleepy on the floor of the blacksmith, listening to Viola hammer away while I sketched some bullshit. That's how I always refer to self-portraits—I hope you'll forgive the cheekiness with this one. Actually, scratch that: I hope it makes you mad and burns a hole in some lucky bidder's pocket despite it all.

Viola always hid me away after I plucked somethin' from Daryl or Gertrude, and for some reason they never caught on. She was just above reproach, I guess; no one would think she was hiding the most notorious eighteen-year-old amateur thief and swindler this side of the Simple Creek—that's only half a joke. They must've gotten tired of the chase, because I didn't hear 'em outside. I'd been bored with the petty stuff for a while at that point, but it was easy.

Really, no one was in much of a hurry that day, or any other day. We're just that kind of little town, y'know? I bet most of you fancy-pants art snobs didn't know this place existed until you heard about this quaint show. Thought you'd get a good look at the guy who says he stopped the world from ending. Well, here he is.

…Get it? I'm invisible. I used light and shadows in this one to imply a form, but it's mostly just a landscape if you don't look too closely—you can see me flipping a beautiful bird if you do. I imagine it'd be a great one to hang up someplace and have a bunch of ya stand around pretending to ponder it, when really you don't know what's goin' on.

That was what I did most times I bugged Viola. Tried to teach me a few times, but her hammers were stupid heavy, so I just watched. She'd measure, then hammer, then measure, then hammer—most patient person I've ever known, to put up with me and master such a craft. Careful planner, evidently. She really was a master, too, and the one person in town I never nabbed anything from. You can't really steal from a library, and I didn't want Ian to get onto me for stealing from his daughter.

Other than Timera, I considered Viola my realest sibling. I'd aged out of the Orphanage at that point; didn't feel like being adopted by anybody, so I stayed where I liked and with who would have me. Most of the time it was with Ian, Constance, and Viola. My time with most of the other orphans had turned from playful chases into fights, but there it was different. Peace and quiet, kind consideration, impassioned scolding at the dangers of heresy—it was like a real family, like in the books.

Of course, the best books taught me family is chosen. I cherry-picked a few candidates from different spots, but they were the ones I took in their entirety.

I didn't feel like bugging her for weapons training or drills that day, so I lazed about. I'd just snatched one of Carmen's new brushes to test out, which beat scrubbing Imber's floors, and the smithy was where I felt like being. I was starin' at this dumbass portrait of mine, not putting much into it, but still not happy. I started to remember why I'd never done many before; I thought it'd be easy to draw a white egg with eyes, but it just looked too sharp. My nose was too skinny, my eyes were dead. Just looked wrong.

I groaned and paced around, massaging my hands and looking over Viola's shoulder. She was filing down a little hand scythe for Declan's wheat—God, it's so obvious looking back.

Anyway, I started poking her in the side. One of the pains of being an oldest sibling is that teasing the littler ones is just called bullying, but Viola was a whole adult, so that restriction needed not apply. I would've hit me over the head like an anvil, but she didn't flinch.

"I'm bored," I complained.

"Then get the clamp," she said simply.

I whinged all the way to the clamp and back. Once the scythe was firmly in place on the table, she started filing with both hands. "You should really start paying for Carmen's brushes, at least. I'm sure they take a long time to make."

"I pay her with my presence," I mumbled, tottering in aimless circles.

"Pay her with whoever's money you took. Don't be a leech."

I think I fully scoffed at that. "I am a delight."

"I don't dispute that," Viola said. She put down the fine sandpaper and looked at me. "Look, we've all got you, but everyone has to contribute something for it to work. The governor didn't get to where he is by being a jackass." She sniffed. "Only started doing that afterward."

That was something I always liked about her—never afraid to say what she really meant. At least, I didn't think so at the time. Still, I said, "I know, I know, we're stronger together and all that. Hey, I'll stop causing trouble from here on out, starting right now. Can I have some of your whiskey, by the by?"

She raised her eyebrows.

I smiled, mostly just awkward teeth. "For a gathering." I swallowed. "For the orphans."

She blinked real slow and simply said, "No," which was code for If you can take it without me noticing, then sure. She rubbed her eyes with her wrist and turned back to her project.

"Ah, maybe later." I pulled some loose metal scraps out of a little pouch on my belt and went behind her counter. "Thanks for these. Painting armor's a bitch and a half."

Viola smiled slightly—more than most others usually got. "You're a bitch and a half."

"Well, you're the half," I said with a little laugh, palming a small bottle of her Moon's Delight into my sleeve. Wine would have to do.

I excused myself and slipped over to Roseless Art Shoppe, my more conspicuous neck of the woods, where I'd left my bigger drop from the day before. I've never actually told this part before; sorry, Imber, that was where your two missing bottles went. The statute of limitations on that expired, so you can't be mad. Especially considering what happened not two hours later.

Carmen stood behind the counter. She looked behind her nervously, makin' sure Shawn or Gertrude couldn't see, then put my supply back on the counter. "You're sure no one saw?"

"Wasn't hard. Keelo wouldn't've noticed if I'd told 'em beforehand." I held one of the bottles to the light: orange-red ale. I held it to Carmen's hair to compare. "I think Thomas and them got someone to actually buy some more, so we won't be hurting for it."

She grinned. Her teeth were almost as crooked as mine back then. "Usual spot?"

I laid out the plan for the midnight rendezvous. She was still worried we'd get caught, but that seemed to ease it a bit. Always needed a plan, she did, even to this day. It annoyed me at the time, but it's been good for me. Kept me grounded when it all went sideways.

"Oh, and, uh—here's this." I slapped the charcoal portrait I hated on the counter.

Carmen ooh'd dramatically. "Damn." She sounded genuinely impressed, which made me squirm.

"Yeah, it's pretty shit. Looks like a skeleton."

Now it was her turn to hold something to my face. Hers was incredulous. "Are you kidding? Dude. You're kidding."

"What, I look like a skeleton?"

"No, I'm saying this is perfect! Maybe not perfect, but—really, really good." Her smile was oddly soft. "Charcoal is your thing to me. Always stylized really nicely."

I still didn't like it, but that was… nice of her to say.

There was an almost silent knock at the front door. I stuffed the ale back in the bag and threw it over my shoulder. Another teeny knock.

Carmen's shoulders relaxed. "Can you go get her, please?"

I made a face as I pulled the door open. "Public place. No need to knock."

Timera was as tall as me, which isn't hard, but three years younger, which, yeah, stung a little. "Oh, okay." She stood there, awkward and expressionless.

I flicked her forehead, which she recoiled from. "Comin' in?"

She scowled at me as she pushed past—easily stronger, I admit. "What's with the bag?"

The bottles clinked together as I shifted my weight. "Nothin'."

Carmen leaned over the counter. "Keelo's in the tavern if you're looking."

Timera's face got red, which was an impressive feat, considering her skin was already reddish-purple. "Take me with you tonight."

"Nah." I dropped the tiny wine bottle from my sleeve into my hand and knocked it between her horns. She didn't back down.

Her face was bitter. "No one ever invites me places. You least of all."

I scoffed. "No one invited me places, I invited myself."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "I remember that differently."

Okay, that was true. "Well, irregardless of that—"

"It's regardless," Timera said testily.

"Are you sure?"

"Stop trying to make me mad. Are you trying?"

I grinned my stupid idiot grin. "When am I not?"

Timera smiled sourly. That had been the wrong thing to say. "Yeah. I know."

Then she left. Carmen looked at me, and I caved—at least, I gave the appearance of caving. I stepped out into the street, and mostly just moseyed about town, all casual-like—no suspicious activity here, no ma'am. The village yawned and dozed as I passed shops closing down for the night, and I knew I had to go find her and cheer her up. Maybe she could come with—that was the age I started drinking, anyway.

Carmen had the right idea; where Keelo was, Timera usually was too. I searched for their fluffy white hair in this fine establishment we now occupy—which used to be a lot smaller, by the way—and flagged them down when I did. We sat at a booth, and I danced around the topic, as was my way, talkin' about this and that, engaging my small talk muscle. I thought Keelo was a normal boring-ass rustic adult, so I sought to confuse and aggravate when I could.

Basically, I talked their ear off about fake philosophy to avoid asking about where Timera was, if they'd seen her, if she looked mad, and so on. Instead, I asked if chickens have feelings.

Keelo was in the middle of politely talking me down, saying something about having a job to do or some shit, when the fading light outside caught two figures I'd never seen before walkin' in. One was a blue woman with hair like seaweed, and the other was a man with cracked crimson skin and a long black coat. His own horns were sawed off nearly to the skull.

I never did care much for the gods, and I was dumb enough to think I knew the devil when I saw him. So, naturally, I tried to chat him up.

Y'all, I gotta tell ya. The devil's a pretty nice guy.

He wasn't actually the devil, obviously—clearly had some in the bloodline, but who doesn't, y'know? I'm told parental issues aren't nothing to judge someone about. Anyway, this fella's a bodyguard for the fish lady, and we played a few rounds of cards, which I wrangled Keelo back into. We hit it off pretty well, all things considered.

The door opened again, real quickly. Timera always fancied herself quick, but that wasn't it. Something she did know how to do very well was hide. She'd been a loud kid, one of the loudest—I remember the day she arrived at Simplecreek. Never took the last name, always proclaimed herself proudly herself. Problem was when she was loud and excited, buildings caught on fire. Townsfolk didn't quite think the loud, fiery skinned little girl with horns was so cute anymore—she got real good at making herself small.

Naturally, we flocked together. Carmen was nice to her, nice enough, but she didn't really get it, coming from a good family; she still tensed the rare time Timera raised her voice. After a bad chase from a few particularly ignorant folks, I taught her my one spell: invisibility. It needs tree sap and eyelashes to make it work, so she shaved hers to have a supply. I never grew any of my own, so Constance secretly gave me a little pouch of his; Ian did the same. Odd birthday.

The tavern was pretty lively, so she didn't need to sneak much, but she did and I saw her anyway. She didn't look at me, or even Keelo; they didn't entertain her little crush, but I'd never so much as seen them be rude to anyone. Timera was shy about it, hated anyone makin' fun of her, and honestly—y'know, at the time, I was glad she didn't talk about it much. I'd never really had a crush before, and I still haven't really, but it seemed like a whole lot of work. Having someone else dump their feelings on you, even just telling you about their feelings for someone else, was a whole lotta responsibility I didn't want.

She disappeared into the crowd, and I was relieved.

This fish girl's name is Cora, she told us: Coraline Rose. The devil fella calls himself Promise, which tickled my brain in a funny way I couldn't quite place.

We were just starting another round when I saw old Constance sittin' at a table in the corner. He… didn't really do that. Sitting alone in a corner was no stranger to him, no, but in the loud tavern on a busy night, without a god-fearing book in sight? Odd. I got a little shiver.

He stood—y'all, he was so old. It shouldn't have been unexpected. Viola or I had to help him to the shitter half the time, but right then, he was moving with young knees. However young his gait, though, whatever it was that glowed in his eyes with that golden light was as old as the world. It emitted from his sockets and swirled above his head as he approached our group of four. He held a roll of parchment.

Y'all, I'll be honest with you. I don't remember his last words. I don't think they were even his. All I know is something bossed us around with his mouth, and then he fell over dead.

I dragged him to the morgue myself. He was heavy as hell, cumbersome—I tried to convince myself it was funny. Tried to—I tried to fuckin' laugh it off.

Just don't think about it. That was the game.

On the road back, I heard Timera scream, and I prayed my feet wouldn't slip.

She was right in front of the tavern doors, screamin' her head off. I ran faster than I ever had, faster than when Thomas and the gang were chasing me and Carmen over the hill, faster than me outrunning every wagon that came through town, faster than every damn time I threw myself in front of Timera because some asshat thought they knew what best to do with her.

It wasn't fast enough. A fiery circle appeared on the ground as we locked eyes, and she vanished.

Little known fact: the components for invisibility aren't strictly necessary. You only need 'em if you want the spell to work correctly. You can still cast it without an eyelash, but it'll only last a second. We'd had several such mishaps before.

I waited as the others rushed outside. She didn't reappear.

Keelo traced the sigil burned into the dirt road with their boot. Promise eyed it with inscrutable distance. With the low, mellow voice of someone who knew not to say the devil's name aloud in a superstitious backwater and wanted to see what would happen, he said, "Reishan."

It never does good to assume; not about someone's heritage. Those folk with pitchforks and torches were a perfect demonstration of that. But sometimes, the most obvious answer is the correct one. Apparently, Reishan knew that. Rather than plot a careful operation to kidnap his abandoned daughter, he damned her to his lair in the middle of a busy street. Odds were he stole the Scythe too.

Before he died, Constance told us something—rather, his goddess said it through him, and it killed him. Y'all know her name, and I think it would piss her off to fully ignore that, so for the sake of this gallery, her name is Harvest. She told us something.

The gods are careless and cruel; I learned that young. Then the Harvest Scythe was stolen, and I learned they were stupid too. Without it in its divine place, the world would starve in one year's time, and apparently, she needed a gaggle of random assholes at a bar to go get it for her.

I hate to say it, but we were far from random. Each of us had a specific role to play on this little errand, and I had my reasons for going along with it, as did each of us. We got along alright, but we kept our daggers close to the vest. Unlucky for me, I didn't know how close the dagger already was.

Viola walked in on Ian and me on the library floor, readin' the only old story Constance would read to us. I think she knew he was gone right away. The gathering that night ended up not happening, so I poured Imber's stolen ale and Viola's stolen wine over Constance's stolen life.

She wasn't mad about the wine. We stood next to each other over his fresh grave, the soil soaked with booze and tears.

"Think he knew how to kill a god?" I said conversationally.

Viola sniffed. "I do."

I smirked. "Wish he'd have told me. I'll have to figure it out myself now."

She wordlessly walked off. I thought I'd pissed her off, but she reappeared a few minutes later with a sheathed rapier. I took it with awed hands.

Viola had always been a serious person, but the look in her face and the tremor in her voice right then were the most angry I'll probably ever see someone. She grabbed the sword's glinting hilt and displayed the shining silvery blade. "Do it with this."

GALLERY OF FORTUNE SIMPLECREEK—RECEIPT—9/18/1316

EXHIBIT #2: "INVISIBILITY" SOLD TO IAN WHITNER (105 GP)