He had first seen her on the first stretch of his journey, a ten-year old boy wandering through Cerulean City at night with only Pikachu to protect him. She was sitting on the curbside, shivering in spite of the warm summer weather, and smoking a cigarette which stuck out of her lips like an awkward, thick bone, sending curling ribbons of grey smoke into the sky. Her head was bleeding, a cut that bled thin drops of red onto her eyebrows, caking in her lashes. He'd found it strangely enchanting, the serpentine trails of blood that graced her pale complexion, so bright in contrast with the woman's skin that they seemed gaudy.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, running over to her, Pikachu hot on his heels. She'd only glanced at him, the child that he was, and laughed, a high, startling laugh that froze him in his tracks.

"Yeah, I'm hurt. I got this damn cut from my john today, who said I was bad in bed, that I was ugly, that he wasn't paying ten thousand Poke to fuck with a washed-up whore. I've been missing out on my heroin fix because my dealer's a stubborn asshole who won't give me what I want 'less I've got the money. I got bruises that are weeks old 'cause those bikers beat up real good for not giving them a straight-up, drop-on-your-knees blowjob. Got a whole line of scars down my back, and a whole lot more on my chest, and I'm burning up on the inside right now but I'm still cold as all hell." She smiled, a rather lovely smile that showed less teeth than expected, her hand brushing aside a stray strand of blonde hair that had fallen in her vision. "So I'm hurtin' real bad right now, but I'll live."

He fidgeted, uncomfortable. "Why aren't you at a Pokemon Center, then? Are you lost? I could take you there, if you'd like-"

She cut him off with another giggle, fanning away the smoke. "Kiddo, you think a person like me's got enough money to go to a Pokemon Center? Lost my only Pokemon a while back, and I don't got my License with me anymore, so I can't even get a free pass like you probably can."

"Well, then, maybe I could pay for you, instead."

"Look, boy, maybe you're new, maybe you don't have a clue yet," the woman coughed, clapping a hand to her mouth, and smearing her lipstick, "but you aren't meant to be helping people like me. So young, just the damn sight of you would be enough to draw every gang in this godforsaken town right to you, and have them beating your ass to the pavement before you could even say 'I choose you'." A grin split her face. "Don't me mind, I'm just a nobody, another pretty face in a sea of pretty faces. Go to that Center before it gets too late. It's not good for you to be out after hours, if you get what I'm saying."

He turned, nodding hesitantly, Pikachu sending her wary looks as they left. "You stay safe!" he called over his shoulder, and the woman waved at him.


She sat at the same corner, now, chasing away the heavy fumes of gasoline smoke, the rattling sounds of the bikers' motorcycles zipping away. Her legs lay broken on the cement, trickles of thick, crimson saliva leaving wet paths down her mottled chin. Her hair hung around her, a pale, stained curtain, her shirt opened and baring her ruined breasts to the world, to the clouds. Morning now, and the sun rose. It beat down on her like judgment.

Dimly, she heard footsteps. A shadow, obscuring the light. A gentle hand, drawing closed the ragged collar of her clothes, smoothing away some of the mess. The boy, considerably aged, considerably more beautiful in the shadows cast around his features, leaned over her, black locks spilling from underneath a scarlet cap.

"Told you to stay safe," he murmured, voice like the wind. "You shouldn't have been here this late."

Her throat barely managed a laugh, as it was, grasping for his face with greedy fingers. So young. So lovely, in an immaculate, unearthly way. The sun blazed behind him, a searing halo, illuminating eyes as red as the rest of his attire, pale lips pursed as he watched the life drain out of her.

"You didn't have a clue."

He closed her eyelids for her, and then he was gone.