Scruffy Drow ^

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Stupid Mark. Stupid Nobles. Stupid Lysander.

It wasn't the first time Mikyla had stormed out from cleaning duties and it sure wouldn't be the last. She'd probably get a flogging, if she was caught, for shirking her supposed duties but it was a lot better than being subjected to a hot iron that would eventually brandish against her skin leaving a behind a metamorphosing welt which would inevitable label her as nothing more than a possession. A holder of the Verdant Mark.

Mikyla winces at the thought of what is to come, not fully knowing what made her stomach turn sourer than an underripe lime. Is it the obvious pain as the branding iron melts into your flesh leaving behind an infection that would stand the test of time or is it the merciless stripping of one's identity - the degradation of lowly Drow from the lowest of society to lower than the earth from which their preordained masters have tread upon? Whatever it is, the fate laid out before her has already pickled Mikyla's face into a dark scowl and as she kicks a loose fragment of rubble in frustration causing her to tense up in pain, she lours at her own feet as if daring her pinky toe to stub into something else.

Each trivial matter amalgamated into a thick wall of distraction. She could only hope that the shock from the situation would cause temporary amnesia and everybody would forget about her punching Lysander but, like most of her hopes, it was a little far-fetched. Even if it wasn't, it wouldn't explain the blossoming bruise Mikyla had caught a glimpse of just before turning tail. She has to rely on Sade's exceptional acting to get her out of this situation. It's gotten her out of many bad ones before and sometimes, just sometimes, her skills could even convince Mikyla of something that was completely irrational. But this time this wasn't play pretend and it wasn't a homework excuse. This time there could be serious consequences and get the Verdant Mark only paled in comparison. It was all Lysander's fault. If it weren't for him none of this would have happened. Just thinking about how his perfect curls nests on his shoulders, a mask on the face of evil, makes Mikyla feel so-, so-, so- Ughhhh!

Fighting back a growl between clenched teeth, Mikyla saunters forward not fully aware of where she is going. She couldn't even go home despite there is adequate time for her to even snag a thirty-minute mind-numbing nap in between because of the disappointment on her mother's face if she were forced to explain, would be far worse than any punishment her school could chuck up. No. She would just keep walking to wherever her legs could take her whether that be into another deep alleyway or to one of the usual joints she ended up in whenever she committed truancy. It's not like her teachers cared much. Hell, she'd even bet that they would be glad for a few fewer Drows showing up. As long as Bourbons reaped whatever they could from them, legally squeeze every last drop of usefulness from their obsidian bodies, the school system didn't really much care for Drows although the popular opinion among the majority held quite the opposite view. To the Drows, education was the only lottery ticket of a way to a better life but so far nobody has hit the jackpot; nobody has even gotten close to winning a scratch card.

Mikyla kicks another pile of debris, again, gritting her teeth as a jolt of pain sends shivers up through her spine. She didn't care though. She was used to the pain, be it physical or emotional. She wasn't a masochist, in fact, she was quite far from it. Her biggest insecurity was the fact she was a coward. Even now she resents the fact that she ran away from Lysander because when the going gets tough you'll be sure to see Mikyla get going but in quite the opposite direction. The problem is, that's the only thing she knows. She's only been taught to run. Avoid confrontation at all cost.

Once more, Mikyla kicks one of the many broken slabs of concrete that litters the outskirts, the same way wealth chokes the capital like a plague. She digs her fingernails into the palms of her hands as she unwittingly braces for the impact of her self-punishment; another feeble attempt of trying to escape. Mikyla gripes in lamentation, not even able to self-punish herself without trying to run away but as the concrete pings against a nearby window, it shatters into shrapnel leaving a steady graze against Mikyla's cheek. Strangely though, instead of recoiling from the cut, Mikyla's face saw a twisted smile pluck at the corners of her mouth. She didn't expect that.

Within all the bolts, nuts and gears that run the society like clockwork Mikyla had found something that didn't go according to plan. Although petty, Mikyla was glad something worked out for her, albeit minuscule in the scheme of things. The Nobles didn't have a say in how the rock splintered and the severed skin on her cheek wasn't something Mikyla braced herself for. It was killing two birds with one stone. It was something she was happy about.

Staring at her reflection in the nearby shop window Mikyla pants heavily as a thin dribble of blood runs down her cheek. She bites her bottom lip as her angry energy dissipates leaving her with the sensation of numbing sting before a bead of sweat seeps into the shallow wound. She takes a sharp intake of air as the salt from her sweat embeds itself into the graze and as the pain dies down she lets it out as a heavy sigh of regret. She wasn't a masochist that was for sure. If she wasn't turning tail then she was pointlessly wasting energy going on a temper tantrum which generally escalated until someone got hurt but all her actions are justifiable or at least that's what she thinks. What else could she do in her situation?

Stuck in a patriarchal slave-driven society, there isn't much way to actually vent out one's anger and when combined with teenage angst it only gets all the worse. It's not like Mikyla needs much justification though, after all, anybody can see that, well, anybody who isn't a noble that is. In simplicity; Mikyla's life sucks. It sucks big time. If only she could have been born a noble instead of a common Drow, Mikyla knew her life could change for the better. Heck, she'd even have a better life if she were born a boy, at least that way the hideous stamp of slavery would be less noticeable!

Suddenly, the door of the shop whose window Mikyla had been glaring into swings open, the transparent jingle of wind chimes drawing her attention to a scruffy Drow standing in the doorway. His hair is messy with strands framing the sides of the face and hanging between his eyes. He skin is lighter than most making his chin stubble obvious yet he does not sport the bushy sideburns and has instead chosen to wear a striped dark green and white bucket hat. In accompaniment to his choice of head-ware, the obvious owner of the shop wears a dark coat, with a white diamond pattern along its bottom half as well as a dark green shirt and trousers underneath. All in all the Drow is as mysterious as they come and his sudden appearance has more than shocked Mikyla.

"So hey, you've been staring through that window for the past few minutes. Do you want to come in or something?"

Mikyla stares at the stranger and weighs the odds but with no direct consequences anywhere in sight it, seemed that the odds were in her favour. Mikyla decides to answer with a quick nod to which the man also nods in approval before leaving the door open and disappearing inside. Mikyla takes a final hesitant look at the outside world before allowing herself to melt into the relative darkness of the shop but she lets out a small shriek as the door slams behind her. Nonetheless, as soon as she lost her composure she regained it. As unusual as the circumstances may be, this wasn't a horror story, after all the wind was slightly strong outside and most importantly the shop owner didn't seem to notice her short outburst. It's not uncommon for doors to just shut behind you anyway, but then again it isn't exactly settling either.

With the sunlight barred behind wooden blinds, the interior of the shop was a little difficult to make out but with a quick scan, it seemed that the sunbeams of dust landed on whatever Mikyla deemed interesting anyway. It appeared to be a tourist trap and your general convenience store all in one. It had all the necessities ranging from milk to bleach yet it also had what seemed to be shrunken heads to feathers reaching all the way to the roof. However, what caught Mikyla's eye most was a blinding ray of light, or more specifically, a dusty old mirror half shrouded in an even dustier old rag.

Creeping her way to the back of the shop she could feel the shop owners eyes stalking her every move but whenever she tried to catch him in the act he had his nose buried in some sort of comic book, oblivious to everything around him.

With a few creaks from the floorboards, Mikyla had successfully ventured from one short side of the shop to the other but as she stares back at the door behind her it almost appears as if it's a thousand miles away. The reality of the idea is slightly unnerving but if the shop has voodoo dolls that almost perfectly replicate the people Mikyla knows then she's pretty sure an optical illusion isn't that hard to construct.

Casting away the irrelevant thoughts, Mikyla too casts away the veil over the mirror, choking ever so slightly as a tornado of dust whips through her face. She pinches her nose in irritation but as the peers through her eyelashes, a smirk creeps onto her face and she shrugs at the dim metallic sheen. Her idea wouldn't hurt anybody and nothing bad would come of it. It was just a flash of genius with a touch of nostalgia and she didn't see why she shouldn't execute her plan. She might feel a little embarrassed if the shop owner heard her but she has a strange feeling that if she doesn't take this opportunity she'll regret it for the rest of her life.

Dusting her hands on her trousers, mikyla licks her lips in preparation. She has a sudden urge to turn back but she plants her feet firmly on the ground. If she runs away from this she'll run away from everything for the rest of her life. She has to do this, she has too, but surprisingly, as if casting a spell, the words flow out of her mouth more easily than anything ever before.

"Mirror, mirror," Mikyla begins with a whisper, "on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"

Mikyla holds her breath as the last words escape her lips. An eerie silence follows but then a wheezy cough from the shopkeeper breaks the silence and Mikyla shakes her head in embarrassment. Of course, she wasn't expecting anything but for some reason, she feels so disa-

"Sorry kid," A gruff voice emanates from before her, "I'm retired."

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Word Count for Chapter 5: 1948
Total Word Count: 8655

Authors note:

Hope you liked the UNEDITED chapter 5! Don't forget to press on those magical stars to light up Mikyla's future path and leave a comment telling me what you like so far or what you don't like. Thanks for reading so far.

Happy reading
~ Dracollavenore