"3 and half yards muslin in navy, 2 spools regular, 20 spools embroidery thread, one pack needles, shears." The general store owner, a whithered man with small, round glasses, counted quietly on his fingers for a moment. "Sixty-four, then."

"Sixty-four!?" Taken aback, she pressed all the bills she had stolen from Gavin's men onto the counter. "Take pity on me, I have fifty-seven."

"Price ain't negotiable."

She dug deeper and found a few coins, which she added to the pile "I haven't got more."

He grunted again, sighed, and finally swiped the cash from the counter. The old man took his time sliding her purchase into a rough sack, handing it off to the woman in the cloak, who smelled of sweat and dust.

Vanessa stepped into the road of this small town, this quaint and quiet place. There was no plant, and there were only a dozen buildings here. Vanessa walked just a hundred feet west and stood at the edge of this town, staring into the hot, bright desert. Children shouted in play somewhere to her left. The soft flapping sound of hanging laundry accented the whistling breeze. Glancing to her side, she watched two young girls race after a ball. A boy of no more than 4 dashed after them, but tripped on a rock. He breathed in deeply, then let began to sob, grabbing for his foot. His wail cut into the serenity of this place.

It'd be wise for her to leave. She hesitated, then stepped toward the injured little man.

"Who are you!?" an old, frightened voice called out. The old man stood there, shaking. "Back away from him – Nori, you ok?"

"He's fallen and hurt himself," Vanessa replied sternly, pushing back the hood of her cloak enough that the old man could see her face but not enough that he could see her cursed ears. "Nori, is it? Let me see that foot." The boy did as asked, lip trembling because he was scared of the stranger who felt at his leg bones and wiggled his ankle around.

Vanessa stood and stepped away from the boy. "It's a bruise, he's fine."

The middle-aged woman who'd appeared at the old man's side stared for a few moments, then smiled cautiously. Nori ran to tug at her dress and she pressed her hand to his head. "Daddy, you overreacted."

Already walking away, Vanessa pulled her pack up with her thumbs.

"Young miss, come have a meal. She looks awful weary, daddy; it's tough out there. Please, miss, come here."

Vanessa accepted, saying little as Nori's mother, Mei, introduced her to her son, her two daughters, and her very old daddy, Mr. Tombs. Mei insisted Vanessa have a meal with them, then insisted she help herself to a bath and to take an old dress of Mei's that was too small for her anymore and too short for Vanessa. Why not, Vanessa thought, having a mid-day meal, taking a long bath in their shed/bathhouse, changing into the ill-fitting but clean and modest dress instead of her rather dirty, red, sexy one. The used dress had short sleeves, and when Vanessa re-entered the small home to thank Mei and leave, Mei saw the swollen, infected cuts on Vanessa's wrists, and she practically demanded that Vanessa stay with them until those healed, on a cot in the attic. If she'd just help out around the house a little, Mei suggested, it was just no trouble at all, and she certainly wouldn't take no for an answer. And Vanessa did not fight it much, because she was tired and the usual level of anxiety and mistrust just didn't make sense at the time.

OXO

The coming days were quiet, as calm as the town. Vanessa made elixirs for Mr. Tomb's arthritis, carried water from the well so Mei wouldn't have to, and spent a good deal of time embroidering the not-yet-assembled pieces of the midnight blue dress she was making. Mei thought the girl was strange, but helpful, and certainly harmless, as Vanessa sat embroidering night and day on their back porch, singing the most haunting songs as the children sat nearby – but not too close by – to listen. The songs were the ones she heard at her birthplace, songs from the world before. For hours, Vanessa sat, softly singing and needling the thread into delicate, intricate patterns that Mei told her was a waste of her time.

When Vanessa was singing and sewing, she would sometimes close her eyes for a moment and she saw Gavin's face.

When she slept, she dreamt of him. They had sex in that toma cart, she dreamed, there on the silky pillows, beneath the bobbing toma heads. His wavy, chocolate brown hair, brushing past his eyes, those dark, deep eyes – he was intoxicating and when she slept she became drunk on him.

As her wrist wounds healed, and one day were but scabs, she picked at them and imagined his lovely face as it was the moment he cut into her with wires. She didn't mind being cut into when it was done by that angel – that man.

Gavin.

Of the Blue Lion gang. In May.

He wanted her.

She hadn't been staying with the Tombs' but for a few weeks, and already she was bored and anxious. The company of children did not suit her, and the calm came to feel foreign and foreboding. Her dress was nearly complete, and she envisioned it complete, on her. It would be very classy and feminine. Sleek. He would fall for her instantly in a dress like this.

That is, if she went to him.

Because it was ridiculous, and she knew that. He wouldn't fall for her. Maybe he'd use her for a good time, then toss her out. And she'd never heard of a civilized gang – she didn't know that much about Blue Lion in particular, but no matter how gorgeous and refined Gavin appeared, there wasn't a chance his gang were gentlemen. She'd already met four of them, and how ever many of the four that survived would surely hate her so as to do horrible things to her should she step into their headquarters, or whatever gangs called it. Would Gavin protect her from them?

Well, he needed her, she reminded herself. He said that in a most genuine way, and he promised her "every comfort." Oh, he said it in that voice, that could boil her blood into steam no matter what the words - and whatever he meant by 'comfort' was surely better than a cot in an attic.

Vanessa sang to her embroidery and these child strangers, and all the while she cursed herself for being the fool she knew she was. She planned to be the fool who would go to his side, because she could not imagine living without that. It wasn't just that she wanted him - and make no mistake, she wanted him so very badly - it was that she felt strongly that he was like her. There was some connection there, some instant bond. She had been alone in the desert and alone in crowds for so long, the thought of a kindred spirit made her ache somewhere deep inside.

The dress was almost done. She'd be on her way after that.