When Zara entered the back room, Saren was sitting by a table crowded with light snacks and a jug of water on the side, and speaking with a little girl likely no older than ten years of age. Her short, brunette hair had been painted with red stripes, and she was wearing a cute short silk dress.

“You even worked in the snow?” the girl said with a musical accent that displayed her southern heritage.

It reminded Zara of Revan’s, however, this girl’s tone was lighter, like a wisp of a language long gone. Her heavily kohl lined eyes were wide with awe, and her red-lipped smile expressed fascination at whatever tale Saren had been telling her. She was wearing a small crown on her head and her forehead was painted haphazardly with various religious symbols.

“Yes, there is no avoiding it,” Saren replied, biting into a dried fish. “Mm. My home is a snowy, snowy place. It gets a little better in the summer seasons but the ice refuses to melt until late in the spring. Food like this is what we would eat throughout the day, especially as we worked.” She waved the piece of fish. “It provides a lot of nourishment and energy. You should not be so picky, and have a bite.”

She teasingly held a piece of the fish to the girl’s face, but she scrunched her nose and leaned back, giggling.

There was another woman here, sorting through deep orange fabric Zara assumed was for her. Zara could only see the back of the woman’s head. Her long mousy hair was braided down and she was in a sleek blouse and trousers that did not match the abundant energy from the other costumes.

“Jiyara only likes to eat sweets,” the woman said smoothly. Her voice was definitely native to Darhai. “I am surprised she is not fatter already.”

The little girl—Jiyara—pouted. “I want to see the snow.”

The woman sighed, now arranging the jewelry next to the fabric. “I do not see how you ever can.”

“Why not?”

“Jiya, I don’t have time to explain to you how—”

The woman had turned and noticed Zara still standing by the door, where Rubi had forcefully dropped her off. Her face was rather plain, and while she was pretty, she had an aged look to her. Her body seemed slim and toned, like that of an active dancer.

“There you are,” she spoke curtly. “You must be the other new girl I’ve been waiting so patiently for.”

Zara stepped forward to introduce herself. “Hello. I’m—”

“I don’t care. Take your clothes off.”

“Huh?”

The woman held up the orange-hued fabric. “We need to get you into this. So get to it. Everything needs to come off.” She nudged her chin toward Saren. “If you wish, you can have a bite before I begin teaching you two the routine.”

“The selection is impressive,” Saren informed her. “It’s nice, and not at all heavy.”

The woman smirked. “Of course not. We cannot have bloated stomachs on display now, can we?”

Zara eyed the assortment of dried meats and fish, nuts, assorted fruit, mint, fennel, and raw vegetables paired with a dipping sauce. Her stomach growled lowly. She hadn’t had anything to eat in hours. She could eat grit if that was all there was.

“Hello.” Zara had not realized little Jiyara stood in front of her with a small smile of welcome.

Zara relaxed. The girl seemed shyer. She was very cute.

“Hello,” she said back. “You are Jiyara?”

The girl nodded.

“I am Zara.”

“Zara….I think I had a sister with that name. She was older than me.” She giggled. “You look a little like her.”

“Her name was Zaira, girl,” the woman told her curtly. “It’s all too common a name. Now get out of the way.”

Zara found it odd that the girl would remember she had a sister, but not of her name. It seemed they’d been apart from each other long enough for the youngster to almost forget about her. How sad.

Zara ignored the woman’s rudeness, choosing instead to ask the little one, “And where is your sister now?”

“Gone,” Jiyara said bluntly, shrugging her petite shoulders.

“Gone?”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

The woman interrupted. “She became too ill to work. Caught it from one of the clients. That’s why we finally got little Jiya here to take her place last year. She’s too young to remember much of the past but here she is. Like you, she’ll be dancing for the first time tonight.”

Saren sucked on a piece of salted fish skin, eyeing Zara with an expression she couldn’t understand. Even stranger, when Zara tried getting a read on her, she came up blank. Saren smirked, like she knew what Zara had been trying to do, and was mocking her failed attempt.

Suddenly, Zara felt a tug on her trousers. The woman—whose name she still did not know—was by her side, glaring. Her eyes, though dark, had specks of brown in them.

“If you don’t get this off, I’ll get it off for you. Madam does not like her girls dawdling. And you, it seems, are a dawdler.” The woman scanned her body critically, her fists clenching into the trouser’s fabric. “I have yet to see for myself what she’s seen in you. I guess that won’t be a mystery for long. I cannot believe you came here wearing such a dreadfully boring thing.”

Well, it wasn’t as though the woman herself was wearing anything special either, but Zara was polite enough to not comment. Then again, she had a feeling that even if she weren’t so polite, disrespecting one of Rubi’s workers was not going to go over very well.

When Zara felt her trousers be yanked down further, she stopped the woman from handling it further.

“Wait!” she said, looking at the girl in front of them. “Is there anywhere more private?”

The woman scoffed. “What? Suddenly shy? Don’t tell me you haven’t been naked with other women in the room, in this line of work?”

What?

“Um, no but…” Zara stalled, glancing at Saren. It wasn’t that she couldn’t undress in front of other women. She used to be bathed and changed by maids back home, and she had bathed with one today.

But Jiyara was a little girl, and she was right there. It would be too weird for Zara, even if everyone else was apparently as used to it as the crude woman behind her. There was also the issue of her blood, which she didn’t want the girl to see.

To Zara’s bewilderment, Jiyara spoke up with a smile, “Can I help?”

“Sure,” the woman said. “You take her trousers, I’ll get her out of this.”

Then she yanked Zara’s top, along with the slip she had on underneath, right up over her head. Zara protested in panic, calling Saren for help until she heard her friend burst into laughter.

“Toughen up, Zara. I had the same done to me,” she said. “But I suggest you go easy on her Muni. She’s started her blood cycle today.”

A miffed Zara watched as Saren easily swallowed two more grapes before walking over. Jiyara had Zara’s trousers in her grip, tugged down only a bit before hearing the mention of blood.

“It’s no matter,” the woman—Muni—said. “Jiyara, step away then. And all devils you giant, haven’t you had your fill?”

Saren grinned. She had finished off a good chunk of the meats on the table, and part of the fruit bowl. “All I’ve felt missing was a bit of blubber. Seal, preferably. Have you ever had some?”

Zara was left with little choice but to let the women clean and change her while in the midst of some pointless conversation. Jiyara just watched curiously, her expression riddled with a mix of interest and worry when bloody rags were tossed aside. Zara wondered why they wouldn’t just send the girl out the door. She was too young to be exposed to such things. Zara had not learned of a woman’s cycle until she had it for herself. Perhaps things of this nature were different to city girls.

“Don’t worry about her,” Muni said, deftly wrapping Zara’s hair in a low bun to get it out of the way. “She knows what this is. As much as we explain it to be every woman’s fate, as it will be hers in a few more years, she still fears it.”

The thin silk fabric had covered her rather quickly after that, and Zara felt much better. Fresher too, since Saren had wiped her body down with a floral scented cloth, similar to the scent she had on her own body. Muni finished tying the dress, then ordered Jiyara to fetch the cosmetics.

The little girl knocked over a jar of paint onto the vanity, causing Muni to shriek and stomp away to do some scolding. In the meantime, Saren slipped a grape into Zara’s mouth; she was famished and her stomach had been rumbling loud enough for all ears.

Saren adjusted Zara’s necklace, and Zara noticed the green gem’s glowing hue on Saren’s chest. She looked up at the taller woman again curiously, once again trying to read her. It was all too apparent that this upscale event was hiding something…or rather it wasn’t hiding anything; it was just Zara who could not see it for what it was.

Saren smiled plainly. “Have you figured it out?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Zara replied lowly. “And how are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“You know what. You were smug about it earlier and here you are, smug again.”

Saren had just discovered magic to be alive and kicking to this day, and that she had some sort of enchanted forces within her as well. So how the fuck was she blocking Zara out within a few hours of discovery, when Zara had taken a year to even attempt something of that level? And still she was not that good at it—at least not up against someone like Revan, her only person to practice against.

Saren pressed her red lips together tightly. “I will be honest with you, I don’t know what I am really doing. I’ve suspected all my life to be different. Now that it is confirmed…I have become more aware of myself and my influence on things…and the things trying to influence me.”

Her tone, soft as it was, had hardened. Her fingers ran smoothly over Zara’s dress, adjusting it be lower, similar to hers.

“Perhaps I should tell Muni to tighten it,” Saren commented. “To keep your breasts together. Have it looking more like mine and some of the other women I’ve seen tonight.”

Taking a deep breath, Zara looked back to see what was taking Muni so long. The woman was hurriedly clearing off the mess that had fallen onto the cosmetics she planned to use right now, and she was still griping with Jiyara about it. It was then, with Jiyara’s back fully visible, Zara noticed a painted number on her. The number twenty-three to be precise.

Zara’s gut lurched.

“It is similar to livestock, no?” Saren said smoothly. “I have worked in farms back home, have seen more in my travels south. They are all the same. They are all tagged and marked in some fashion.” She turned around so Zara could see her number: fifty-three.

Saren turned back to face her closely. Muni and Jiyara would be crossing the room soon.

“You have been rather cold to me tonight,” Saren whispered quickly. “In spite of everything, and how I’ve treated you. You have suddenly turned an ill cheek. However, I will still protect you. I will not let your secrets nor your body be revealed to anyone, nor your obvious chastity destroyed.”

Zara had a lot to process, but all she could ask was, “Why?”

Saren narrowed her gaze. “I’d like to think we are still friends. Even if we are no longer, it is simply in my nature to protect.”

Muni yanked Zara around suddenly enough for Zara to almost stumble over herself. Her face was quickly slapped with paint, and her hair was let down, coated in a balm and scrunched for texture.

“You seem so nervous girl,” Muni said, chuckling. “Is this your first night, ever?”

“I don’t feel well,” Zara mumbled. “This is a bad idea.”

“Hm. I can now see the appeal. You have that pure, troubled look about you. Some of our clients crave it.”

Saren rubbed her shoulder to ease her, though it didn’t help much. She offered Zara a piece of salted dried beef strip, but now she was no longer hungry.

“It’s for the best,” Muni remarked, glaring at Zara’s stomach. “You have a bit of a bloat already. Any more will be unbecoming. Jiya, pass me the red paint.”

Fifty-four marked Zara’s back, in red. An obvious contrast to Saren and Jiyara’s black stamps.

“I think it’s so they are aware you are…” Saren nodded toward Zara’s lower half pointedly, leaving Zara to fill in the blanks.

“Alright,” Muni said. “Take a quick glance in the mirror. I know you want to. Then I will show you the steps. Jiya, please, get away from the table and position yourself. Get Zara here a glass of water though while you are there.”

The reflection that looked back at Zara did not feel like hers. She was done up, but it wasn’t pretty. At least not to her. Her makeup felt garish and sloppy. Her lips were too bright of a red, as were her cheeks. Her hair looked like she’d just risen out of bed…but that was probably the point. The orange fabric hugged her body, and her jewelry and side-hair pieces looked both fancy and tacky at once.

Muni informed them they’d be wearing anklets soon. The second act was going to be surrounding lovers’ quarrels, and they will be part of the third song as backup dancers.

“You will carry yourself onto the platform like you are upper-scale ladies,” Muni explained, “and then when you hear the flute, you sink down, like so.”

She showed them three times, and it really was not challenging at all. Zara was more nervous about the audience now than her own performance. She needed to calm down, so when she found the chance for a break, she left the smaller room.

She immediately ran into Revan. The main area had emptied significantly, though there were still people waiting for their turn to enter the stage. There was a large door on the opposite wall that had finally been opened, though the view was obscured by curtains. Zara could hear the audience clapping and laughing. The music was boisterous.

This was not how Zara imagined her first in-city performance to be. It was beyond pitiful, and standing in front of Revan now, she felt like she wanted to cry, but didn’t.

“Where is he?” she croaked, speaking of Emran.

Revan understood. “He went outside for a smoke. Our talk took a lot out of him it seems. I am sure if you walk a few steps further, you’ll smell it.”

“What did he say?” Zara asked directly.

“Well, he’s traveled with his cousin…” He took in a breath. “…and your brother. Though he is unaware of his whereabouts. The yellow hair is dwelling elsewhere in the city and is not present here.”

Zara’s throat constricted. Cina was near, though how near was another question. Even more pressing was the matter of her family.

“Which brother?” she said shakily.

“The younger. He has no recollection of meeting the eldest; he didn’t even recognize the name when I brought it up. I assumed as such, since Nazeer’s home is in Darhai anyway. He probably left long before the conflict began.”

Another matter Zara was curious to learn more about. She read about it in papers, heard stories through neighboring gossip, but hearing it from a direct source was more intriguing. She would get to that, but her mind was jumping from the fact that Rowan was somewhere out there. Who else had accompanied them? This made her ill with dread, even though she wasn’t even being forced to meet with anyone again anytime soon.

“What about my family then? The rest of them?”

“It had just been Rowan. Your parents have been taken in by officials.”

“….Why? Their beliefs coincide with the town’s majority.”

When she thought about it, even Rowan and Emran running away made little sense to her. Their religion was the dominant one, and the damn hack witch doctor Uqzar was Emran’s uncle. It was their people that had been attacking the “outsiders”. Outsiders that had once been welcomed akin to family for generations. Now they were being tossed, starved, jailed, and burned.

“It’s a complicated situation,” Revan explained. “Many were concerned that the town has been cursed with evil due to the boy’s death ceremony. Emran’s family has been questioned on their true allegiance to the Mother…and whether his uncle is really of any ‘holy’ spirit as he’s claimed to be.”

“There’s an easy answer for that,” Zara grumbled.

“I know. Though the interrogation hadn’t lasted very long, there were still suspicions of black magic wielding at play. Which of course there was. Just not by him.”

“So Emran’s people left because the people have turned against them too?”

“It is that, and they were associated with your family. Your family is the biggest target in that place, and they’ve been arrested for it. That is cause enough.” Revan scoffed. “Emran feels there is something he is missing amid all of this. He doesn’t even know what your family has done to deserve such a thing, as he is only associated with your young brother. His cousin has felt the same, and he doesn’t even understand why.” He chuckled. “It’s a good sign. They’ve truly forgotten you.”

“It’s not funny,” Zara snapped, her heart pounding. She didn’t know why she cared. She hated her family, but she still wanted to know more details of their fates anyway. Particularly of her mother.

Leyli’s kind face flashed in her mind. It was through memory alone that Zara could pick up the scent of her mother’s perfume, her warm voice, and her cushy embraces when Zara had been nothing more to her than a pure child.

Her neck felt like it was swelling. It was difficult to breathe, and she knew that she was being ridiculous.

“Sometimes…I wish you’d been born a different person.”

It was one of the last things Zara remembered her saying. At the end of it all, she had turned out to be a disappointment for the woman who had birthed her.

“So he really has no idea where Rowan could be?” she insisted.

“He doesn’t know that,” Revan repeated.

“How can he not know? You just said he traveled with him. They are—were—sort of friends, I guess. So, what, he never asked him where he planned to go?”

Revan shrugged. “He’s been out of touch with the caravan, even when he was on it. Truthfully, this is typical for a man like him. Besides his cousin and his own mother, he doesn’t know where anyone else has scattered. He is more concerned with starting a new life for himself. That is all I can tell you about that.”

Zara felt frustrated. She wanted to lie down and forget this whole night.

“You look…” Revan studied her, his eyes squinted playfully. “Ravishing. Very much the part you’re meant to play—”

“Just stop,” she hissed.

He laughed. “Are you ready?”

“No, of course not.”

“You have nothing to fear. I will be here, always. Just think of this as one of your dreams finally coming true.”

Zara clenched her jaw. “Dream? My dream? No. No, this crap is not my dream. This is not real. I just want to leave this…this glorified brothel. Revan…can’t we? Can’t we just go? What is the matter with you, having us stay?”

“You’ve realized what Rubi is now. She won’t let us leave so easily.”

“So what? We have you.” Zara chuckled harshly. “But no. You want to see me ‘dance’. Dancing your way. Dancing to your sick fascination. You say this is to help me overcome something. But I don’t think so. This is yet another time that I don’t know what you really want. All I know is that it’s all just for you. Everything is all about you. One day, I may kill you.”

Revan smiled flatly. “Of course you will, dear. I will simply wait for that day.”

Zara marched past him as best as she could, stupidly wrapped as she was, taking care not to push past some of the children that were standing near the hall by the exit.

Children. Jiyara’s age, some older and some younger. There are children here…all numbered…

She raced outside and gagged. The stench of whatever it was Emran was smoking was nasty.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against a wall, his eyes glazed. There was not a hint of bewilderment or wonder in him like before. He was out of his mind, and for once, Zara was perfectly fine with that. “What’re you doing out here, girl?”

He’d been more careful with his tone when Rubi had been around—not exactly formal, but not too relaxed either. Now he was so relaxed Zara almost didn’t recognize him as the man from earlier. Just the ill-using addict from the red-light bar. Her addict, the one she’d taken a liking to somehow. It was familiar. Comforting. Like being back home.

“Damn…” he whispered in a smoky breath. “You are quite the doll.”

Feeling brave, and more willing to get into the “character” she’d been thrust into, Zara sauntered right up to the man.

“What are you—”

He was cut off by Zara’s fingers tracing over his hand, leading the small pipe he held into her own mouth to inhale it.

Because fuck it. Fuck everything right now. She was playing the whore, and she’d commit to the part. This was something whores would do, wasn’t it? Besides, she had read something like this in a play once last year. It was a bold thing for a meek woman like her to do.

What a time to feel inspired.

The smoke from the pipe burned her lungs and throat. She coughed, regretting her decision. The taste made her heave. It was like inhaling a stranger’s vomit. She couldn’t see the appeal of this at all.

Emran laughed. “What are ya trying to do, silly doll?”

He pressed his thumb over her cheek, where tears from her coughing fit had fallen. He dragged it down over her lips, brushing over the red makeup and likely smearing it. It didn’t matter to Zara. She was so close to him. This was the first time she’d been like this, in this sort of situation, with any man. It was something out of one of her wildest dreams.

The substance was taking effect. Zara’s vision blurred, and her head was woozy in a pleasant way. She had her wits about her still, but she was also willing to smile more than she should, given how Emran had dropped his pipe and backed her against the wall.

When he kissed her, Zara’s spirits rose to great heights. Her stomach bounced and her heart beat with joy. She felt like she was living a strange romantic tale.

The fire on the sconces burned brighter. The pebbles on the ground shook with elation. The grass waved with the wind in celebration. Emran shuddered against her mouth. He tasted like shit, but she powered through it, for him. She had no idea how to move her lips or tongue so she followed his lead. She willed him to touch her further, and he did. Hell, she probably didn’t even need to. Zara was aware of his indecent nature; he would have done it regardless.

The dress unraveled a bit when Emran forcefully lifted it up. In her murky state, Zara hadn’t told him of her current condition. He hadn’t even noticed that the number on her back was done in red instead of the usual black, which would have given it away to a man familiar with this business. The first touch of his hand on her was electrifying. The breeze over her bare nipple thrilled her. There was no space in her mind for shame, committing such acts without a curtain of privacy. She was not concerned about the uncertainty in her heart. She only cared what her body desired. In the span of minutes, she had become the most shameless version of herself.

He pressed his mouth over her again.

“You’re slippery,” he grunted. “What are you wearing here?”

Her dress had slipped down a part of her upper half, but still covered the rest of her body. Emran had not seen the girdle around her waist, but he was feeling it now. He had expected her to be fully nude. So when it finally registered for him, he pulled his dirtied hand back.

“Oh…” he mumbled. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Because Zara was not herself right now. Instead of cowering in mortification, she was laughing as she watched the blood seep into his fingertips. An abnormal desire engulfed her and she wrapped her arms around his neck and began whispering into his ear. He listened to her attentively, just as the man in the alley had listened to her so attentively. After she was done, permitting him one more lasting kiss, he grabbed the nearest torch from the wall, and began walking towards the back of the stage building in a dazed state, his fingers still a gloppy mess.

Over the past few months, she had learned enough about blood magic to know its influence over life and death, and the sex she craved—which was men. She wanted this stage to burn. With this man’s help, she would soon get her wish.