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DRACO STARED DOWN at his palms. Watching as the bitter red colour spread through the fine-lines like rivers carving their path through a forest. He'd scrubbed his skin for hours, days, until his skin ached and cracked and bled blood of it's own, mingling with the blood of the other. Still he never felt clean.

Even when bathed and drenched to drowning in freshly fallen rain Draco could still feel the remains of those he'd ended, some more than others. Most he didn't care for, most he spared not a single second of sleep for, most he would kill again in a heartbeat. But not all. A select few had stuck with him.

But her... Killing her had clung to him in a thousand shades of sickly rue more so than any other kill ever had. — Killing her, that had ruined him.

The sun loomed level with the city, low enough that it cast the streets in hues of amber. Draco hated sunsets. He hated everything they stood for and everything that they became. He hated the night. He hated the stars. He hated everything that reminded him of her.

He shook his head, ridding himself of any thought that distracted him from his task. He had one goal, and nothing would or could stand in his way. Not even the girl with the cherry-red hair and haunting emerald eyes.

Draco looked out across the cityscape, eyes focusing in on one building in particular. He knew where he had to go, he knew what he had to do. He only doubted if he had the strength to do it.

•  •  •

"Do we have to?" Seven groaned, looking begrudgingly down the alleyway and into the thick of the market.

"Yes," Bill replied, grabbing her arm. " — We do."

She wrenched her arm free, preparing herself to be crowded by sweaty bodies and hungry hands as they began to thread their way through the narrow market. Seven said quietly, "Watch your pockets, there are thieves everywhere."

He turned to her in mock amusement. "Oh yeah City-Rat, and how would you know?"

She shrugged and shot him a smirk, "Because I used to be one of them." And then with that she held up a pocket watch that she'd slipped from his pocket moments prior.

Bill's face dropped instantly and he snatched the watch from her grasp. " — Don't do that."

"... Sorry, I guess?" Then she frowned, "That's strange, what is it?"

He stared down at the watch, swiping a thumb over the cracked glass. It was a rather peculiar thing, with nine individual hands, six of which pointing in one direction, and the other three all pointing in varying separate degrees to the north. "It was my dad's."

Bill didn't elaborate further and Seven didn't press. Instead they then turned to favour silence as they navigated their way through the crowd.

A stray hand curled around Seven's wrist, and she turned at once, hand instinctively on her wand and ready to fight.

At the murderous look on her face the merchant shrank back into his stall, not even bothering to spew his rehearsed speech.

"Relax." In an instant Bill was right beside her, and this time when a hand found her arm it was his and she didn't fight it off. She allowed herself to be pulled away, and disappear into the crowd once more. "Listen, when's the last time you ate?"

She didn't remember. "I'm not hungry."

Bill shook his head, "Liar." ." Then sighed, before adding, "There's a baker a few stalls down. Let's keep moving."

And low and behold, no less than twenty feet further the scent of freshly baked goods suddenly began to harass Seven's senses. It was then her hunger took ahold of her, rearing its ugly head all at once after she'd suppressed it for so long, she hadn't realised how hungry she'd really been until now.

For a bread merchant the woman behind the stall was alarmingly gaunt. Though Seven knew the people of Sloth struggled enough to survive enough as it is, God-forbid a seller waste their wares on themselves. The loaves were flat and dense, cheap to produce and cheap to sell. Hand made from the off-cuts of wheat or rejects deemed too poor quality to be sold to more affluent districts like Lust or Greed.

Bill fished around in his pockets for a minute and then cursed, mumbling something to himself about forgetting something. Seven dug around in her own pockets only to find them empty, her bag yielded no currency either. Draco had always supplied all their galleons, so she hadn't bothered to carry any for weeks.

"Shit..." In any other district, Seven would've just shoved a loaf under her arm when the vender wasn't looking and walked off, but she didn't dare do that here. She could never steal from these people, who a loaf of bread could mean the difference between life and slow and painful death.

"Don't worry about it, I'm not hungry anyways." She lied, pulling him away from the stall.

  "Need money?" An old man called to Seven from the next stall over.

  " — Not from you." She snapped, not even bothering to look at him. She'd been propositioned by men like him all too many times before. She did not want his dirty money in exchange for wandering hands and the violation of what little she had left. She'd seen those girls wandering the streets of Lust, the ones who allowed men to hire them, their bodies. They weren't like the girls in the bars or strip clubs, the ones who owned their trade and knew how to swindle stupid men out of large amounts of money. No — these girls were sad and hollow looking and had long since stopped trying to wipe the tear-stains from beneath their eyes.

  — But the man did not let up, instead shouting after her.
" — I'll take that necklace of yours off your hands!"

  That caught her attention, and made her pause. Seven's fingers reaching up to wrap around the emerald pendant. Her hunger spoke for her, "How much?"

  The old man's eyes lit up knowing he had caught her attention. He motioned her closer with a crooked finger and against her better judgement, Seven obeyed."Fifty galleons." He said, gaze clinging greedily to the near stones. That was enough to keep her in food for a month of two, but to make it worth parting he had to sweeten the deal a little more.

  "Seventy-five." Seven bit back, tilting her chin up and squaring her shoulders, knowing damn well the necklace was worth at least that much at scrap value.

  The old man faltered, thinking for a moment before saying firmly, " — Fifty-five."

  She stared him dead in the eye, the faintest hint of a snarl curling at the corner of her lip. "Seventy-five."

  "Sixty."

  "No deal." Seven began to walk off, allowing herself a slight smile when she heard the old man calling after her. He'd fallen right into her trap.

  "No stop — Wait! Come back!" He pleaded, "I'll give you seventy, and that's the best I can do."

  "Fine." Seven snapped. "Seventy — ," Then her eyes landed on a pretty emerald ring amidst the man's stock,
  " — And I'll take that too for the trouble."

  "Fine." The man grumbled, allowing her to take the ring, slipping it atop the one Draco had given her. The perfect fit, as if divinely made for her. Seven held out her hand, admiring the ring and watching the way it sparkled in the light. — But when it came to handing over her necklace she faltered, pausing at the clasp. It caused a stir in her belly, one of those deeply ingrained gut feelings that hummed throughout every fibre of her being. Don't do it.

  Seven swallowed. Forcing down the lump in her throat as she pocketed the galleons the man handed her. She gave a handful to Bill, "Go, get as much bread and food as you can carry. Get something for your mother too — keep the rest."

  "Hand it over then." The old man bristled, growing impatient. Seven snarled back, "Give me a minute — the damn clasp's stuck."

  Realising the necklace must be enchanted she gave a hiss as the white metal began to burn her fingertips and she finally managed to get in undone. The chain coiled like a snake over itself as the stones pooled in her palm; A rich emerald set amidst a bed of diamonds, the colour of jealousy and rue and serpents cast from consecrate silver.

  And then, all of a sudden, Seven was no longer standing in a backstreet market in Sloth, instead she was somewhere painted pearly white, somewhere ornate with gold leaf lining the mantle. She felt the warmth of the fire on her skin, she could hear it too, even smell it. "What is this?"

  A voice toyed, but it was foggy and distorted by the memory; sounding as if it were underwater. Even still, Seven could hear the smile in his tone.  " — Open it and find out... It's just a little something from me."

  Then she looked down to see the small black box sat cradled in her palms. Hesitantly the flicked the box open, where inside her necklace sat neatly, just as it had in her hand at the market.

  Suddenly Seven was shoved; hard. For a split second the world turned dark and felt like she was falling, and then, when she opened her eyes again a whole new world came into focus before her. One filled with grief and ravaged by loss. A world Seven did not want to live in. She longed to go back -- to the memory -- to the warmth, but instead she was dagger by the cold, harsh reality.

  Her palm was empty. People were shouting. — And the necklace... The necklace was gone.

***
Tag all your friends here rn or I'll shag your dad.