Hermione clutched the golden coins to her bossom and ran down the rain slicked dirt road into the town. In Saturnalia's magnificent dream cars had been invented, but she and her twin lived far into the past and such things had not come to pass yet so Hermione had to use her feet instead. Even if cars had been invented we'd be too poor to afford one though, Hermione mused sourly. It was just so unfair.
It took her a full hour to make the arduos trek and by the time she arrived into the town it was daylight and people were milling about, blinking stupidly up at the sun. There were about 20 villagers in the town, going about their daily business and Hermione hated them all. They didn't go to bed with empty bellies and woe begotten hearts. She was so stricken with anguish that she had even called upon satan in her grief to avenge her injustices but the black winged prince of lies had laughed at her scornfully and informed her that she had nothing in her extremes of poverty with which to persuade him to do her bidding.
If only she had something to give to the devil, she thought, then the villagers would all get what was coming to them. Instead she had to bide her time and play her care worn role of the victim no matter how harshly it grated against her fragile sensibilities.
She walked meagerly into the town proper and as usual heard a cacophony of gasps and hand hidden giggles directed at her oddly colored blonde hair. First thing I'm going to ask the devil, she thought, and flicked her curls out of her face grimly, is to have green hair like everyone else. Then no one would judge me. And then... Well then she would kill them all... wouldn't she?
Wouldn't she...
She gusted into the apothecary's shop amidst a whorl of judgmetal titterings she did her darndest to ingore. Those whorebastard villagers and their laughter. She still hated them, even if she didn't have any money and had to eat raw, rotten eggs in her deprivations of direst impovrishment.
The apothecary, Dr. Longbottom, looked up from his workbench as she effected ingress.
"What can I do for you? Freak." He muttered, he added that last mean little tidbit when he finally realized who had intruded upon his time.
"There's no time!" Hermione fell to the ground sobbing, "you must sell me some stomach cure-all, you simply must or my darling sister will shit herself to death!"
Dr. Longbottom fell over in shock. He twisted his ankle in his downward richochet to the dusty floor and yelled in pain, but he forgot all about his little ankle misfortune, Saturnalia... sick? How could that be! Unbeknowsnt to everyone he had planned to mary her one day, but what kind of bride would a fecal fouled wretch make for someone of his standing. It could never be. There love was so nearly lost upon the sands of time.
With tears of love and frustrated longing in his eyes Dr. Longbottom gave the stomach ointment to Saturnalia's acursed twin and bid her off. He didn't even charge her and in her joy Hermione kissed his cheek, ran from the shop and back into the square. There was a village fountain and she tossed her golden coins into it with a desperate wish.
'Please,' she wished and wished, "please let Saturnalia be okay!"