Chapter 1 - Longing

It took May longer than she expected to reach the pub, a small business in the upper area of the slums that proudly announced itself as the Wet Falcon, according to the gaudy and colorful letters painted on the rectangular board above the door

She would never admit how much it grated her that it took more than a few minutes to understand the letters. But it was a skill May was mastering little by little every day. Although the calligraphy exercises on the notebooks she had were still terribly hard to solve. For a language everyone spoke so easily, it had way too many curves when written down.

Under the shroud of night and far away from the range of the street lights, May kept her steps as certain as possible, never accelerating beyond a normal walk to avoid losing her precarious balance. Closer to the building, focusing on the sounds inside as she tried to learn more about those that lived, she resigned herself to hiding inside one of the open wooden crates standing in front of the pub. People get a little spooked if they find a doll watching them, which makes little sense considering how many toys stare at them during their sleep.

Regardless, tonight was another day of a routine she was getting more and more adept at by now; May would leave whatever hiding hole she’d used during the day and focus on the first group of people she could find for the night, always hidden in some way or another.

Tonight, the subjects of her research were supposed to be a group of street sweepers she had been seeing recently. However, workers don’t seem to enjoy laboring on the seventh day, so she was left stranded, alone and quite emotionally wounded by their lack of warning.

Few among the subjects of Hector seem to understand the politeness of telling people when they change their plans. Which is rude and would possibly give Lady Sbertha a stroke 一 if she was still breathing, of course.

Still, all ended well when passing teenagers started talking about a new bar inside the slums. The owner, according to them, doesn’t seem to mind selling liquor to the young as long as they have the coin for it. And that’s how May successfully found new subjects to watch for the night.

And there was an intent to all the stalking. When she woke up, two seasons ago, she followed the living because it quenched some of her curiosity. Her need to understand what was happening around her. Now, most of the time May uses the opportunity to observe normal habits. Their speech, their opinions, how they touched each other. Little things they did without thinking she had to learn from scratch.

The sound of a lute ceased her musings, the instrument out of tune as a male voice rose above the chatter inside. The apparent bard 一 a job that was difficult to find so deep into the slums, considering she had only seen them at the taverns beyond the All-Saints Square 一 sang a song May had never listened to before, a novelty that always made her excited, at least until she paid real attention to the lyrics.

The merry tune described a warrior returning home, the feeling of the victory parade as he walked into his hometown, adorned in gold and glory like a hero of the stories Hector liked so much. It made May’s heart sour with envy.

Thoughts of how she was the one supposed to accompany her master as his only trustworthy companion muddled her head for a few moments. It wasn’t the time to indulge in her self-pity, her rational mind complained, but the part in her that was pure emotion 一 the one that ruled over her loyalty 一 demanded she fixed things now, no matter the cost.

May allowed herself to feel for only a moment, taking note of how the frequency of these bouts of longing had been growing for the past month. But she reminded herself it wasn’t time yet.

When the time comes for her to return to the palace, May will make sure nothing could separate her master from her ever again. No parent will keep them apart this time.

And to ensure that, she must learn all about the people around her and their world.

May returned to the present with a sharp breath, focusing once again on the sounds that came from the Wet Falcon. The music had restarted, an instrumental song that gritted her ears with the bard’s lack of proficiency. A few times she could hear chairs moving, the legs scraping against the wooden floor.

Once, the sound of flapping cloth 一 the same one from when the maids' hanged clothes out to dry一 rose after a scraping chair, most likely a lady had drunk enough to start dancing. And if the excited clapping was any indication, she was quite good at it.

The bard sang songs with actual lyrics sometimes, interpreting classics May had already listened to a dozen times and was certain would hear a dozen more.

It was only after what could have been the twentieth slurred cry of “Beer!” that something new happened. From the street in front of the pub, under the moon high in its zenith, a young man ran with long steps, loud enough for May to hear over the buzz of the tavern. The thin legs made short work of the pavement 一 devouring the distance with more certainty than was to be expected from such a lanky body 一 and with a deep breath, he stormed into the Wet Falcon.

Noticing the place he came from, she remembered the direction led to outside of the slums and into the upper areas of the city. The notion sparked interest in May’s gut, as the ones who worked in the wealthier households would already have returned to their homes at sundown. To come from there at this hour and go straight to the central pub in the slums made her more curious than she would ever admit.

Such was her curiosity, May decided to see what was going to happen, raising her head from the crate and looking over at the window sill above. The porcelain skin almost glowed under the moonlight, making her extra careful of her position.

Still, she braved on and watched as the tavern ceased all movement when the man barged in, a situation she had learned 一 after disguising herself as the decoration from a high-end store once 一 that meant that whoever entered the premises was either important of infamous. May could only wonder in which classification the young man would fit in.

The tavern keeper, a bearded man with burn scars covering his bald head, spat on the cup he was holding and used a stained cloth to clean it. Looking up, the burly man watched the lanky newcomer like a falcon staring at a rat, waiting for him to take more deep breaths. “Stephen, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

That sounded an awful lot like sarcasm to May’s ears. She wasn’t the best at detecting it, but she was pretty certain the bald man didn’t mean the pleasure part.

“I’ve got news from the palace,” Stephen said, standing straight with hands on his hips, his chin inclined upwards while gazing at the pub’s interior.

“More like gossip, no?” Someone from a far seat exclaimed, causing laughter to ripple through the crowd while Stephen deflated with every cackle.

May watched the man’s expression go dark before he found his confidence again to look at the customers. He only had one hand on his hip now.

“As of now, yes. It’s gossip,” The crowd gave the last guffaw. “But, by the morning I’m sure it’ll be official news.”

The barkeeper raised an eyebrow at that, keeping his silence in an invitation for the other man to continue, May stared at the expression and filed it for later analysis. Maybe she could practice it in front of a pond? Although it’s always hard to imitate faces. Porcelain is a lot more rigid than flesh.

“Er, well.” Stephen looked at the barkeeper before settling his eyes on the crowd. “A friend of mine says the little prince has had his first Dream, and 一”

On the spot she stood, outside of the Wet Falcon, May froze. The “little prince” was a nickname she knew that 一 even with her damaged memory 一 belonged to Hector.

May clenched her fists again. She had to focus on what Stephen was saying. But it had been so long since she had last heard about her master. Was he well? Happy? Having fun? Has Grace pulled his hair again recently?

It hurt not to know. For too long she has been walking around the streets of the city, trying to achieve… something. May wasn’t sure exactly what it was that drove her, but knew that half of it was fear.

Fear of returning and discovering Hector had forgotten her. Fear of going back to the palace and not being enough to serve him. Of bringing dishonor to his name.

The other half came from the whispers guiding her to stay away.

Looking at her left palm, she stared at the persistent ink that should have faded long ago. The word MAY painted in the big letters of a child just learning how to write. A name that was given by her master. Her name.

Longing raged in her chest in a strength she hadn’t felt since May woke up in a secluded alley in the upper city. She wanted to go back, to walk the gardens with Hector and pretend they were having tea parties throughout entire afternoons.

She couldn’t return yet, however.

The whispers assured her it was not time.

Her mind turned to them, towering over the shadowy whisps they were in her mind. “When then?”

And they answered, a chorus of voices unheard in languages unknown. Patience.

Settling her nerves, May lowered her eyes to see the crate she stood on, only now noticing the rat that stood with her, too scared to move out of the corner it stood in.

Well, at least she could get an easy meal tonight. With a sweeping gesture, she took the mouse in her hand, ignoring the squeaks that almost sounded like words to her ears. Opening her small mouth to reveal the crooked fangs and black tongue, she ate the animal whole, slurping the tongue.

Looking inside the tavern again, May chose to let the whispers talk to her all they wanted. She’d listen, for now.

“Why does it matter if the lady prince dreams?” A man said from the front table, smirking all the while. May didn’t understand why the nickname sounded so condescending to her ears when she knew Hector had always enjoyed more delicate things.

“It’s not a dream, George,” Stephen said, eyes-rolling. “It’s a Dream. A Gift Dream. You know? The ones with capital letters?”

May asked the whispers what that meant, somewhat ashamed for not understanding, and they answered.

Dream. Revelation. Power. Truth.

If she could bite her lips in frustration as the humans did, she would, but for now, May would brave on while trying to make sense of the answer.

“And?” George asked, venom on his tongue all the while.

Instead of Stephen however, it was the barkeeper that answered instead. “It means that if the prince has awoken his Gift, there will be a celebration. The king always takes an opportunity to show off when he can.”

“Still, how does that change things for us, Milo?” Someone else asked, the voice increasing over the growing buzz of the whispers of other clients commenting on the news.

“It doesn’t.” Milo, the barkeeper, said, fingers tapping at the wooden counter he stood behind. “Well, not directly at least. But showings like the one the king will promote? They attract powerful people like flies to shit. And the capital will need a good image. Especially while at war.”

Milo stopped, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping out from the counter. “Do you guys remember the last time a young noble had a Gift Awakening? One whose importance compares to the little prince?”

“Humm… It’d be Perriwen kid right?” Stephen said, head inclined to the side. “From the Duchy? It happened, like, a couple of years ago I guess?”

“Four years ago, to be precise,” Milo responded, nodding all the while. “But what matters to us is what happened to the slums of the town when the time came for the ‘reception of foreign envoys’, or so they say.”

“And what happened?” George asked, arms crossed in an imitation of Milo, his smirk ever-present.

“They razed half of it to the ground.” Milo said.

“Wait, what? Hold on a minute. What do you mean by razed?” Stephen questioned, eyes wide.

The other customers paled at Milo’s analysis, and May could notice they took his words seriously. At least, with a lot more seriousness than when they heard Stephen’s gossip.

The respect in their eyes for the scarred barkeeper was almost a tangible thing, shared by all of them, except for George, who dropped his smirk in favor of a deep scowl.

“It’s exactly as it sounds.” Milo continued. “The Duke wanted to show a beautiful city to the ambassadors. No poverty. No sickness. No hunger. So he hid it by razing the slums, and built a military camp in its place to house a few of the inhabitants.”

“What about the other half? And the people?” Stephen said, expression one May defined as a mix between anger and frustration. She found it unique.

“His Excellency saw no use to them and their homes. So he ordered it all to be burned.” Milo exclaimed, sighing at the tale taken from memory. “They covered everything in dirt and built a high garden on top of it all. The Duke called the best masons from around the queendom to make the work as fast as possible 一 I heard his excellency even hired Inetkin. In the end, it took a little more than a month for the construction to finish.”

“That’s… that’s impossible. How could they be so fast?” George said, trying to discredit Milo in the only way he could.

“Ha, it was easy enough. He had a huge workforce with the citizens he evicted, and they would work all day for a single piece of copper now that they had no home. Plus, he hired a group of Gifted builders to make everything go smoothly and quickly.” Milo answered, ignoring George’s attempted strike.

“Do you think the king would let the same thing happen here? In the heart of his reign?” Stephen asked, disbelief imprinted in every exaggerated movement of his arms “The slums would revolt if he did it.”

“I don’t know, Stephen,” Milo said. “Just don’t forget that if the slums of the Northern Duchy disappeared, it was with the approval of the king. It’s too large of an operation to go without his consent. Still, we’ll have to be more careful for the next few days.”

“Do you think the Choked City would help?” Stephen asked, in a hushed tone that had May gluing her ear to the window.

“I… am not sure. Maybe? The Twins are smart. If I can predict this, so can they. But they’ve been silent since the storm.” Milo shrugged for a moment, before turning to the other customers.

Staring at them one by one, the barkeeper spoke with a voice harder than steel. “Still, none of our suspicions can leave this pub, got it?”

A wave of nods and confirmations washed over them. George, however, got up with a huff and walked towards the middle of the tavern, the scowl on his face unwavering.

“Do you know what annoys me the most? The fact we could lose our homes for a coward.” George spat, disgust laced in every word. “Because of the lady prince, we’ll lose everything.”

May listened with the most focus she had ever felt, whispers receding to the back of her mind as she waited for what George would say. Insults towards her master would not go unanswered, and the man was walking a very fine line with her.

“C’mon now George, the prince is a lot better than his father. No need to badmouth him.” Someone from the crowd said, causing Stephen and Milo to agree with a nod.

May agreed with the man, satisfied with the response. Hector had always been the kindest and sweetest boy she had ever known. Of course others would notice that too, and he’d be famous for it.

“Oh, please! We all know how weak he is. He couldn’t even lead a proper battle against fucking ferrovians. The bloody pricks!”

May watched the man silently, hatred boiling in her guts. How could he blame a child for not leading some battle? Hector is still a kid, and even if he’s the greatest one of all times, that doesn’t mean he should go to a battlefield.

Milo watched George’s tirade and sighed, noticing the red on his cheeks and silently wishing he had cut off his alcohol a lot earlier. “The little prince didn’t lead a battle because there was none. He made a deal with Ferrovia and solved everything with a single signature. That’s something to praise, not criticize.”

George, seemingly spent and too inebriated to properly retort with something that went beyond grunts and baring of teeth, stormed out of the Wet Falcon as a response, shoving Stephen aside.

The young man stumbled for a moment, hitting a table. May noticed him wincing from where he hit his hip, while George never looked back as he went away.

Watching the back of the man from her vantage point, she saw him go through the serpentine street in front of the tavern, only to disappear as he left the area illuminated by the few lights still burning.

For a few minutes, May saw a calm resettle in the tavern, patrons already reaching the state where no more drinks were poured and only jokes and inebriation-guided conversations. Stephen and Milo chatted over the counter 一 the tavern keeper returning to his position from the start of the night 一 but considering the yawns coming from them, May knew the night was about to end here.

Climbing down from the crate she was in, May pressed her cold hands to the ragged dress she wore, properly setting the skirt and puffy sleeves, the once blue color now more of a faded gray. The inky black artificial hair she put on the usual messy bun while walking in the same direction George went, towards her main hideout.

Options of what to do next appeared on her mind 一 the whispers, perhaps noticing her planning mood, remaining quiet 一 as she walked the dirt roads intersecting the shacks all around her like veins in a body. Maybe she should practice a little more of her letters? She still felt a little embarrassed with the time it took for her to read the Wet Falcon’s name.

Or she could search for something about Gifts through her books? She might find something, but considering most of them are for children, May doubted they would have a lot of 一

A scream tore through the air, pained, followed by ragged breaths from somewhere on her right. The voice sounded young, too young to be screaming like that without purpose. Using all the strength in her legs it took only turning around two corners to reach the scene.

There, cradling her face with one hand, stood a teenage girl no older than twelve. Her cheek 一 May was thankful for her ability to see in the dark 一 was already swelling from the slap the man in front of her had given her. The tearful eyes shone as she kneeled on the dirty floor and held the hem of the man’s shirt. “Please, papa! We were just chatting, I was already on my way home!”

May’s eyes darted to the male figure, the father, and anger surged on her as she watched the wavering steps and the slurred speech as George looked at the girl with pure rage. “Don’t lie to me girl! I saw you leaning on him, all fake love like that whore of your mother.”

“No papa! Please! We were chatting and he hugged me goodbye, that’s 一” The girl tried, desperately to reach her father through all the alcohol in him, but it wasn’t enough.

Faster than anyone could react, by a stroke of luck or misfortune, George threw a punch that hit the girl's face with the entire force of a man double her size, cutting her sentence. The sickening crunch of her head as she hit the wall of the shack behind her made May dizzy, for suddenly it was Hector lying there; and he was her and she was him and she was him and he was her and 一

May watched as her master landed on the flower bed, the soft plants not enough to stop the worst of the fall as he cried with an arm bent at an unnatural angle. From her position, sprawled on the floor, she could see the ring on the man’s finger 一 a silver accessory with a flat top and the engraving of a lion’s head on it 一 that probably had marked Hector’s cheek with the slap that sent him flying.

The man approached, his steps slow and calm while Hector’s lips trembled in fear. The dagger in his hand shone under the setting sun’s light. When he was already close enough to strike May’s master whenever he wanted to, a sharp blade protruded from his chest, painting the boy in crimson and gore.

Behind the man stood the parent; and even if these were new unlocked memories, she knew he should have kneeled beside the boy and cradled him until the royal doctor showed up, never minding the smell of piss that wafted around them as the young prince bawled in his arms.

But here, right now, that wasn’t what happened. The parent never took the boy in his arms, never comforted him, and soothed his scared heart, choosing instead to stare at her fallen body and speak, with voices unheard in languages unknown.

“Awake.”

And so she did.

And so she did.

May’s wrath boiled behind the facade of her carved face 一 her expression cold and rigid like the doll she truly was 一 as her body changed and grew, the sound of breaking porcelain and squelching flesh rising in a crescendo.

Her eyes were no longer the painted and beady blue ones she was created with, but black spheres of tainted organic matter surrounded by the cracks and fissures on the porcelain of her face, revealing more dark muscle underneath.

When her predatory form was almost complete 一 black hair grew to her waist like spider threads, and her mouth and hands distorted to reveal crooked fangs along with sharp claws 一 May hissed towards the petrified man in front of her.

George would pay for his actions.

And May will be the one to collect the price.