Chapter 14

After the girl washed up and reconsolidated her belongings, she sat utop the mattress, preparing for bed. Contemplative, she nabbed one of her daggers resting upon the nightstand. Its glow entranced her, puzzling her, for how could it be so circumstantial? She had torn down the Magistrate Fortress Keep, acquired her crystal, and quite possibly caused the deaths of at least two soldiers, maybe hundreds more in the collapse. She sat there, blank, staring at the daggers, its curved, jagged slit and its grip wrapped in dark turquoise silk beckoned its potentially devious machinations. She puzzled at the endless possibilities the crystal empowered her with. She once dashed almost instantaneously when dodging the knight's lethal blow. She even ran almost staminaless and effortlessly everywhere she applied. Was she built to run, to run rogue along the exotic, mysterious wings of the Realm, searching for meaning, truth, or adventure? It was like something out of the stories she overheard, the heroes or heroines who fought for their people or state, and the outlaws that fought for themselves for glory and legendary immortality. She had never left the Trade District, and she could never survive the cross of the Enchanted Forest or live amongst the authoritative Magistrate, who would hunt her down with their crystal tracking technology. None of this had been on her own; had it not for the Resistance, she would most likely be dead for harboring the crystal. Had it not for the several, crazy coincidences and her wacky, all-or-nothing luck, she would never have gotten this far.

The long coat hung on the door, back facing her on its coat hanger, and its crystal faintly glowed routinely, tantalizing her yet again like some kind of out-of-body presence peering into the windows of her soul like light seeping light into a dark room. Guided by the wisps of circumstance, she felt as if she had no control, but so much agency, and she leaned back into the firm springboard mattress, exhaling deeply into the air and closing her eyes in relief. The secrets of the crystal remained guarded, her power's potential to her: limitless.

The window inside her room added minimal space and - due to the less than enormous size of the inn - did not offer much of a delightful view; the adjacent building towered above her and the inn, adding to the insignificance of its being. Restless, she gazed outside the window only to be confronted by its massive walls not far from her face, a narrow alley being the only space between them. Glancing upwards she noticed a ladder connected to a balcony. Catching her attention, she opened the window, and with a swoosh the night came to life: echoes of the Judges' sirens plaguing the district as they prowled the town for what looked like a desperate search. Unphased by the panicky state of the district as of late, Maeve had her attention on the pompous chatter on the balcony above her. While the balcony sat above her the source of the chatter was unclear, but context gave her a hint that it was some kind of drinking party.

She turned around and tied her messy pink hair back using a wrapped up pillow case. Eating her last cracker, she steadied her curiosity and fastened her hole-ridden, tawny brown rain boots. She flexed her left arm, now exposed from the missing sleeve, opened her palm and studied her hand. She wiggled her fingers, keeping the hand in front of her as she thought with great disarray about the fortitude of that very hand in front of her. The hand that threw daggers at a Magistrate soldier; the hand that snatched the crystal from Barik; the hand that swiped the change from Dabloo's pocket for good; she grinned. Cracking her neck and hopping around the room while shaking her limbs, she walked to the back of the room and faced the opposite end - the window. With a quick breath, she darted out the window, bounded off the sill and grasped the ladder. Only the faint clasp of her hands on the metal ladder was audible. However, the impact on her palms made her grimace, for the speed she gathered and the sudden stop issued pain to her more fragile hands. Shaking it off, she began to ascend to the balcony. Peeking her head over the guardrail, many women sat around a serving table, wine glasses on coasters as they bickered about Magistrate politics.

"The Magistrate has sent massive armaments to Seris, did you hear about that?"

"Ahh, yes, don't you have a cousin there, Jen?" One of their purses lay conveniently on the guardrail as some kind of jest towards the town, pleading them to try and take it. Chin up, her devilish grin rose along with her sleeveless left arm, swiping the purse with an aggressive jolt. After the charms of the blinged purse danced along the guardrail with excess noise, Jen could have swore she heard suspicious giggling somewhere beneath her.

Hastily descending back into her dwelling, Maeve wrapped the purse on her back and slid down the ladder, barely heeding to the accusatory nature of the people above her. She knew she'd be back with her window closed by the time they attempted to look over the balcony. Pacing herself, the girl lept for the windowsill, but slipped - her boots failing to provide enough traction. "Whoah!" She yelled as her arms flew from her torso frantically, attempting to save herself from a loud drop that would have spelled her doom through its noise. She grabbed hold of the windowsill, dangling from it. She must not make another sound. Sweat dripped from her cheek as her futile attempt to lift herself up proved the dire situation she encased herself in. Although her long, messy, curly hair made it difficult to scan her surroundings no matter how she tied it back, a small pipe laid on the opposite wall. Gritting her teeth after blowing her hair away from her face, the awkward position of her planted on the wall feigned hopelessness, and Maeve tucked her body in and set her feet on the wall, curling for a jump across the wall, grabbing the pipe located at a more comfortable position than the windowsill. Noticing this she quickly lept from the now higher point back to the windowsill, rolling back into her room, but not before hearing a whiny screech emanating from the balcony above. Yes, she was quick enough to avoid being recognized, but the room she escaped to was crystal clear from her viewpoint.

Panting in relief, she examined the purse: 2,400 credits and some pink nail polish. There was little value other than that inside the purse, perplexing her, especially with the kind of life they lived. Regardless, she packaged the items into her cloak's assorted pockets and threw the purse out the window once she knew the ladies stopped screaming, "unaccountable" for that deed. Outer Tribunal Judges were far too busy to deal with a small purse thievery given their current situation. As she reached her hands to shut the window she tried in vain not to notice the horrid roadburn marks and calluses all over her palm. The grip from holding ledges and sliding down ladders really took a toll on her body. While the scratches would heal, they aggravated her before they did, and only seemed to heal whenever she was relaxed, with the exception of when the crystal first binded with her. On that note, she glared at her shoes: old, filthy, and inflexible. She hardly felt the ground while running, and it certainly lacked the grip needed earlier; the glossy rubber soles seemed to almost glide along the ground at times. Maeve raised an eyebrow, noticing a lot of other clear flaws in her appearance. Her hair kept getting in the way, and her left arm still felt the cold midnight breeze alone; these factors needed to change; her intuition deemed it so; her art needed to evolve. Determined, the rogue looked at her healing hands with confidence, and before she could understand her contempt, Maeve yawned unintentionally. Rest long overdue, the thief climbed in bed, steadily moved the sheets under her, and relaxed her muscles. She fell into a deep, much-needed sleep, finally closing her bright blue eyes.