The Blacksmith Territory no longer resembled the place that had been overflowing with celebration only hours earlier.
The grand wedding grounds lay in ruins.
Charred banners hung in blackened strips from broken poles, swaying weakly whenever the dying wind passed through. Burned flower arrangements were scattered across the streets, their petals crushed into the mud alongside shattered tables and overturned chairs. Thin streams of smoke still curled into the darkening sky as servants hurried from one smoldering fire to another, throwing buckets of water over the last glowing embers.
Near one of the abandoned carriages, Amelia remained exactly where she had fallen. She lay motionless on the cold ground, her crimson gown stained with blood, dirt, and ash. Her hair, streaked now with strands of moon-white, spread untidily beneath her head, while dried tears still marked her pale cheeks.
Her breathing was so faint that it was almost impossible to notice. Two maids approached from the direction of the ruined wedding hall.
The first stopped a few steps away, frowning.
"Is she still here?"
The other looked Amelia over before wrinkling her nose. "I thought someone would’ve taken her already."
She stepped closer and nudged Amelia’s side with the tip of her shoe. "Hey." There was no response.
The maid frowned more deeply and nudged her again, this time with much less care. "Get up."
Silence. "Did you hear me?"
Amelia remained limp. The first maid crouched slightly, watching Amelia’s chest rise almost imperceptibly.
"I think she’s still breathing." The second maid folded her arms. A look of disgust crossed her face. "What a nuisance."
She glanced back toward the busy servants cleaning the wedding grounds. "No one has time to deal with her." Her eyes returned to Amelia. "Just throw her in the trash site with the rest of the garbage."
She shrugged. "A wolfless orphan has no place here anyway."
The first maid hesitated for only a moment before exhaling. "Fine."
She turned toward two younger maids nearby. "You two."
She pointed toward Amelia. "Take her."
The younger women exchanged exhausted looks. One sighed quietly.
"Why us?"
"Because the rest of us actually have work to finish."
Neither argued further. Reluctantly, they walked over. One grabbed Amelia beneath her shoulders. The other lifted her legs. Her body hung limply between them.
Her head rolled backward with every step they took, causing strands of her bloodstained hair to drag across the dirt. The younger maid adjusted her grip with obvious annoyance.
"She’s heavier than she looks." Her companion rolled her eyes. "Stop complaining."
They continued walking through the quieter streets behind the celebration grounds. The farther they walked, the fewer people they passed.
The smell changed gradually.Rot replaced them. Decay.
The trash site came into view beyond a broken wooden fence. Piles of rotting leftovers. Buzzing flies circled lazily overhead.
One maid covered her nose. "I hate coming here."
"So do I."
Without slowing down, they swung Amelia forward together. Her unconscious body slipped from their hands. She landed heavily atop a mound of refuse.
The impact rolled her onto her side, leaving part of her gown buried beneath spoiled food and broken pieces of wood.
Neither maid looked concerned. Instead, they dusted off their aprons as though they had finished carrying nothing more than unwanted rubbish.
The younger one glanced back once. A faint smirk tugged at her lips.
"Pathetic."
The other nodded.
"Let’s go."
They turned and walked away without another glance. Their footsteps gradually faded into silence.
Before long...
Only the buzzing of flies remained. Amelia lay alone among the discarded remains of a celebration that had stolen everything from her.
An old woman had watched the whole thing from the shadow of a broken cart. She waited until the maids disappeared around the corner before she moved. Her knees ached, but she did not slow down. The silver bird fluttered from her shoulder and circled above Amelia’s body, chirping once in a low, questioning tone.
She knelt beside the girl. She hooked her arms under Amelia’s shoulders and dragged her off the pile. The girl’s heels left twin grooves in the ash and mud as she pulled her toward the narrow path that led to her own small home.
The house was a single room with a clay hearth and a cot in the corner. The old woman laid Amelia on the floor beside the fire and fetched a rag and a bucket of water. She worked in silence, wiping the dirt from Amelia’s face, then her arms, then the exposed skin of her neck. She unclasped the ruined gown at the shoulders and peeled the fabric away from the girl’s ribs, revealing a patch of shallow cuts that had already stopped bleeding.
The bird landed on the windowsill and tilted its head.
The old woman wrung out the rag and hung it over the bucket. She looked down at Amelia’s red hair, where streaks of white ran through it like lightning frozen in stone.
"This girl," she said to no one, "is going to go through a lot."
The bird tweeted once—a sharp, affirmative note.
The old woman did not react with surprise. She simply nodded, as if the bird had confirmed something she already knew.
Amelia’s eyelids twitched. Her fingers curled against the floorboards. A low moan escaped her throat, and her eyes opened to slits.
The old woman leaned back. She let out a dry chuckle and shook her head.
"You really brought back a storm."
Amelia tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. She collapsed back to the floor and turned her head, squinting at the unfamiliar ceiling.
"Where am i?" Her voice came out cracked and thin.
The old woman did not answer directly. Instead, she took Amelia by the arm and helped her stand. The girl wobbled, one hand gripping the old woman’s sleeve for balance.
"I took the liberty of saving some of your things," the old woman said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Before they got buried under the rest of the trash when you left."
She released Amelia’s arm and walked slowly toward the far corner of the room. She disappeared behind a hanging curtain for a moment and reappeared carrying a burlap sack. She set it at amelia’s hands.
"It’s time to go."
Amelia blinked. Her gaze drifted from the sack to the old woman’s face, but her expression remained blank, as if the words were passing through her without lodging anywhere.
The old woman did not repeat herself. She opened the front door and Amelia stumbled after her. Her bare feet met the cold ground outside, and she looked up to see the crumbling back wall of the same building that had hosted the wedding. The trash site was visible beyond it, less than a hundred paces away.
Before she could say anything,
"Trying to get away?" Rue’s voice was calm, almost pleasant. "Or have you finally accepted that you belong among the trash?"
Rue stepped out from behind the corner of the building. Her arms were crossed, and her chin was lifted, her outfit smudged with soot.
She crossed the distance in four quick steps, grabbed Amelia by the ear, and twisted.
Amelia gasped and stumbled forward, her head angled to relieve the pressure. Rue pulled her along like a misbehaving child.
They walked.
The old woman watched them go. Her hands hung loose at her sides, and her face gave away nothing. The bird hopped from the windowsill to her shoulder and ruffled its feathers.
"Look after her."
The silver bird chirped a soft, almost gentle sound. Then it launched, caught the evening air, and flew after the two figures disappearing down the lane.