Hemorra's scalp screamed in pain as the oaf behind her manhandled her. She struggled, kicking and shouting and clawing like a wet cat, but his grip did not loosen, only tightening as the people around them backed away, making a spectacle of them. As the man kept shouting that one word, she knew that was exactly how he wanted it to be.

"Witch!"

He yanked her head back so she was forced to look into his beady eyes. She fought back the urge to spit in his face, knowing it would be childish and only serve to anger the man who so easily made her vulnerable. At that moment, she wished she had taken to carrying a knife like her sister, but she had always been too weak to handle one anyway. Still, she hated being so defenseless as she was, then. Whatever this man wanted to do, he would do it, and no one was going to stop him. The realization made tears stream down her upturned face as she looked at the sneering man.

"You vile little vixen," he hissed, being the one to spit in her face. "I've got you now."

He looked away to the surrounding crowd that watched silently, impassively.

"How many of you come to these performances, only to find your pockets lighter than they were before," he called out to them.

Their silence broke as they began to murmur to themselves, and Hemorra felt the sweat of her dancing before freeze down her spine in the cold, her dread chilling her inside and out.

"And how many of those times is this urchin there, dancing away without a care, distracting us all," he asked.

The murmurs became louder, becoming gradually riotous as they all began shouting the same word the man had before. Hemorra watched in horror as they all turned against her, the man smiling grandly at the action before turning his glare back to her. Before she knew what was happening, the man's paw swiped at her waist pulling a weight away from it.

"She mocks us with her dance, working her magic on us as she takes our gold for herself," he cried out, holding her earnings aloft for all to see.

She started struggling again, reaching out for it uselessly. "That's mine! I earned it fair and square! Give it back!"

The man laughed darkly. "Do you see, people? She thinks she has earned what she stole from us! She thinks herself right to use her dark magic and hypnotize us while she pilfers our pockets for her own gain!"

The crowd grew louder, mixing other words with the other like, "Thief! Sorceress! Trickster!"

Hemorra watched in despair as the man threw her back in front of the people. "Take back what is rightfully yours!"

No, that's mine, Hemorra screamed internally as the people grappled and shoved each other to get to the bag first, each claiming they had lost more than the other. She said nothing aloud, though, knowing full well it would only be a nail in her own coffin if she did. That is, if she would even have the privilege of a coffin.

"See? She does not deny it," the man shouted.

Hemorra knew then that she was doomed, whether she fought or not. No one would save her, not even her own blood, she knew. They were better off without her anyway. As she submitted to her fate, her limbs went limp, and had the man not been holding her up by her hair, she was sure she would have collapsed.

He turned her numb face to himself again. "No longer will you prey on us in ignorance, thieving scum."

Her numb face was suddenly turned to fire as she found herself on the ground, the imprint of a large hand on her reddened cheek. Her bones vibrated with fear and dread as she looked around at the anxious figures before her.

Confusion shot through her as she saw the figures were not anxious to attack her, but to run, some of them doing so already. She realized with growing dread that her bones really were vibrating, not quite out of fear, but for the deep thrumming that permeated the air. It was almost like...growling.

She was suddenly pulled up by her hair again, finding her eyes meeting those of the same man, though this time there was a panicked glint in them.

"Call off whatever beast it is you've summoned, witch," he commanded her.

She swallowed, just as frightened as the man when a snarl ripped through the air, screams following quickly.

The man shook her. "Call it off!"

Hemorra cried out. "I can't!"

Suddenly she found herself on the ground again, not because the man lost his grip, but because he lost his arm.

~*~

Ylvir had watched in horror as the girl he had come to admire was accused and reviled, her fair features twisted in pain and grief as they mistreated her.

As soon as the man had started shouting, never lightening his grip on the girl, the darker side of himself fought tirelessly to free itself. He held back, though. It was too close to what had happened at the last festival. He didn't want a repeat.

But just like the last time, when the girl was struck down by her captor's hand, the crack resounding through the air just like the whip had, her tearstained face showing the same urgency for help as the dragon, Ylvir no longer wanted to control himself. He let his rage take the reigns again.

His wings thrust out, knocking people aside as he tore his way through them, growling a warning at those who got in his way. When he saw the man grab and shake her again with his thick arms, Ylvir relieved him of them with a swipe of his claws, not even flinching at the blood that splattered on him, the coppery scent only driving him on to end the man who now cowered before him.

Just as Ylvir was about to finish the man's miserable existence, a small cry held him back, making him freeze. He slowly turned his wrathful eyes to the source of the sound, taking in her small fragile form. She looked completely terrified. He had to save her.

Ylvir forgot the man, scooping the girl in his arms and fleeing the scene.

He didn't realize where he was running to until he came to the housing of the Musicians Guild, the place completely deserted in light of the festival. He stopped, setting the girl--who had been completely and utterly still in his hold--carefully down, inspecting her thoroughly for any other injuries. When his gaze came to rest on her face, it was still full of fear, and it crushed him when he realized it was him she was frightened of.

He looked into her eyes, searching desperately to see if maybe there was something other than fear there. He was relieved to see there was. They held shock, confusion, a hint of curiosity, and a great deal of green. They were a breathtaking hue that reminded him of his mother's garden in the springtime, so full of life and wonder. But he also saw his own eyes reflected in them--a baleful red. It was then that he looked away, feeling the full extent of what he had just done, the guilt and shame overwhelming him.

He had failed. He really was just a monster. It was his inescapable destiny, and his denial of it had only resulted in the terror and pain of innocents. He should never have come to the port. He should have exiled himself as soon as he knew of his fate. If he had just had the wisdom and strength to deny himself his own selfish desires to see the world, then no one would have been harmed by his hand. But it was too late now.

Suddenly, he felt a trembling hand on his face, drawing him away from his despairing thoughts. He almost recoiled at the touch, but it firmed, holding him there. It pushed him to look up again into those green eyes that now searched him. He tried to pull back, afraid of what they would see, but another hand shot up and held him there.

"You are not just a beast, are you," her voice, as lovely as her face, stated more than asked in a mystefied tone.

Ylvir defensively growled. "Let go."

Surprise crossed her features before she gave him a small smile, making it his turn to be surprised. He was so shocked by that one expression that he had no time to pull back when her hands suddenly slid forward and her arms encircled his neck, halting him further. Was he dreaming?

"Thank you," she whispered to him. His ear flicked at the warmth and closeness of her breath, his nose twitching at her scent that, beneath the sweat and grime, smelled vaguely of fresh earth and vegetation after rainfall--an aroma that reminded him of home.

His heart started to thump wildly, catching itself in his throat. He didn't know what to do, how to respond, where to put his hands. He didn't have time to think about it before she drew herself away and ran down the street, turning the corner and disappearing, leaving him on the empty street alone with only his turbulent thoughts for company.

What now?

------

What now, indeed.

Now, you might be wondering, after my last message, where the "E"-word is. To put your fears to rest, it's right here.

See, what you didn't know (until right now as I tell you, like all idiotic villains) is that when I published the last chapter, this one was already done. I just wanted to keep you hanging--let you stew a little, wondering what would become of your beloved characters.

Does this make me "evil"? Maybe not.

How about the fact that by the time I post this one, the next one will also already be written?

Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll post it.

Than again, maybe not. 😈