Timon could feel just how impure his blood was. Every time his heart would beat, his swollen hands throbbed painfully like it was trying to escape. The healers had told him long ago that his malady would one day take his life, likely very painfully but he had not expected it to take so long. Impurities such as his were incurable, it was said. He still took blood though, gratefully, hungrily. It was all that kept him alive and he knew it. He cursed his parents as he walked the darkened streets, as he often did.

The streets near Maerin’s palace were familiar to Timon now, he had spent many hot days begging along their banks. The streets were wide to allow the noble traffic space. At night they felt too big as empty as they were, like something should be there to take up the space. It was unnerving. He kept close to the buildings on the sides, quickly scurrying through intersections. One had to be careful this close to the palace, the potential rewards were magnificent but the dangers were equally impressive. Beggars were known to disappear along these streets, sometimes their bodies would surface in the river, sometimes only parts. Likely muggings. It was known that one could make a small fortune from one passing noble if they were feeling friendly. Of course if they weren’t, it was likely the beggar would receive a swift kick to the head or worse.

Timon had heard stories from others that the guards would take beggars, probably to keep the amount under control, they said. He did not put much stock in these stories, many beggars were decrepit things of feeble minds. He had seen firsthand the fits and delusions their blood curse brought. They could not be trusted. In truth he questioned if he could be trusted any better.

As he walked down the streets tonight however, he had a different destination in mind. Usually, he would head to the square before the palace with its intricate fountains and awnings to keep him cool during the long days. The square was patrolled regularly so it was safer than other streets and although beggars were discouraged from congregating there, there was very little actually stopping them, provided they knew what they were doing.

Tonight though, he passed the square. He headed down another street, along the tall palace wall. Atop the massive stone construction he saw the bobbing lights of the watchmen’s lanterns, he heard their tired voices. One learned how to hear well as a beggar or one died. It was the way of the city. If you didn’t hear the man behind you with the knife, you wouldn’t even notice him cutting your throat. Timon had known more fortunate vagrants, those whose blood was less polluted, who had managed to pull themselves up on passing nobility, trading in their rags for a nobleman’s vest of their own. Those men were exceptionally lucky and rare but stories such as these kept the others hopeful and that was a powerful thing indeed. But they knew how to survive as well, survival asked a lot from a man.

He walked along the wall for a while, so long he began to hear the familiar white noise of waves breaking as he neared the harbor district. That was where he meant to go. As he made his way closer to the docks he could smell the air change. It was always damp and salty in Maerin but here it felt refreshed. The constant sea breeze carried away a good deal of the stench of the streets. Even though the quality of the roadway steadily declined, the relatively pleasant smell made up for it in some small way. Although he still trudged along on numbing feet, he felt brighter, invigorated by the salty breeze. He began to pass a few other raggedly dressed figures in the darkness, all headed the same direction as he. They did not talk to each other. There was no need, they all knew where they were going. They all came alone, leaving what distance they could between one another.

The crowd grew thicker as they neared the wharf. There were already a great deal of people crowded on the large stone construction itself. Most kept near the land and all were dressed in little more than rags. The crowds had gotten steadily larger each time Timon had come. This was by far the largest, it bothered him a little. When he had first come to these meetings, it had felt personal, intimate. This wasn’t right. But he was committed. He was loyal and yes, he was curious still.

He pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered on the steps and onto the wharf. Very few complained but when they did, he paid them no mind. He made his way to the front through the crowd though pressing through them caused his swollen hands to throb horribly, he usually avoided touching them but this was much more important than his pain.

At the front he found what he had been looking for and he smiled. Before them, atop a pile of shipping crates, stood a woman in a flowing black dress that blended in with the night. It was studded with tiny pinpricks of light at random intervals that mimicked the stars in the clear night sky. Her long black hair was fit with an intricate webbing of thin silver chains with light to match the dress. It was breathtaking, she appeared an emissary of the night itself, so unfit for the world she walked into now. She had broad shoulders and thick arms, the build of someone who labored hard and yet her finery looked more like that of a noble. She wore a strip of cloth over her eyes yet she seemed to see as well as anyone. The incongruous nature of her had first attracted Timon to her meetings, now he realized she had so much more to offer. She smiled as he pushed his way through the crowd. He knew it wasn’t for him but it felt so personal, so intimate that he blushed deeply. He silently thanked the night for hiding it.

The Lady of Stars did not advertise her meetings. People simply came, always there were new faces but the ones that came before rarely did not return. They were captivated, all of them, even in their discomfort they knew this was where they needed to be. A few steps away to Timon’s side, he saw one of the newcomers. The slight young woman with short blond hair was looking around nervously, occasionally glancing up at their Lady but never for long before cringing and looking away. Timon sympathized but also felt somehow vindicated. The poor thing could not look upon the glory of their Lady. It was a privilege. A privilege that Timon had earned. The others did not deserve to see what he saw. Though his eyes watered and stung, he still stared.

He gazed up at her, enthralled by her magnificence. Standing above them as she was, her face bathed in starlight, he saw her as more than a mere woman bound by blood and sinew. She was so much more than that, she deigned to take up flesh for the good of her devoted crowd. For him.

Timon did not know how much time had passed as he stood staring. The crowd had grown considerably. They did not all fit on the small section of wharf they usually used. It did not seem to bother the Lady. She waited silently. The crowd did not interrupt the quiet. None of them talked and none would discuss the meeting if they saw each other again. It was far too personal for each of them. For every member of the crowd it was as if they were alone that night. The breeze carried away the smell and sound of the others. The crowd could revel in their silent, individual worship.

The Lady of Stars never spoke. They did not deserve to hear her voice but she beckoned to Timon that night. With one pale finger she drew him towards her dias of crates. He obeyed, knowing it was for him. He climbed the crates until he stood just below her, gazing up in awe at being so near to her. His very skin tingled and his heart beat faster, forcing corrupted blood into his hands and feet but he ignored the pain.

She reached down, placing one hand upon his forehead. He grew suddenly still though his heart beat out of time. Was she really touching him? The background of the harbor faded away, his throbbing limbs acquiesced to silence. His vision folded in, onto her. She was all he could see, his Lady of Stars. She held one hand forward just in front of his face. Balanced on it was a marvelously carved piece of the night sky. It glimmered as her lights reflected off of its facets. Enticing and barely there in the darkness, it seemed a reflection of her in the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized. All he could see was her immaculate hand and its small chunk of starry sky. So beautiful, so unknowable. It drew all his attention.

He didn’t notice her fingers clenched around his throat, he had stopped breathing long ago. His pain was gone. Had she healed his blood curse? His hands still felt swollen, but there was no pain… no feeling really.

He stumbled, knees going weak. She held him upright in her tight grip.

Something was wrong.

A smile played across her pale lips. Inviting, seductive. He relaxed, letting his body settle in her grip.

Something is wrong.

That little starry void tugged him forward. She coaxed him along. Her fingers bit deep into his throat but he didn’t mind. Her lips parted for a whisper he could not hear.

SOMETHING IS WRONG

He let out a breath.