their whips, and I like my sticky buns. And, for some reason, the starving girl is
in the wrong.
Men, women and wandering children jump out of my path, though most
look unfazed by the sight of me hurtling past. Looting on Loot is hardly
uncommon. Merchants curse as I weave between their carts, though I shout my
apologies at anyone who cares to accept them.
This may be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
I mean, attempting to sew a pleated skirt was certainly a daunting task. But
the threat that pointy needles pose likely pale in comparison to what this
Imperial has in store for me.
I glance down at the sticky bun that is, in fact, feeling like its name suggests.
What has gotten into me?
I shout an apology to the woman scurrying out of the way, likely swallowed
up by the sound of her cursing my name.
Hunger. That’s what has gotten into me.
But I don’t particularly like being cursed at. In fact, if most of the people
yelling in my direction actually got to know me, I’m sure I would make a
completely respectable impression under dierent circumstances.
Hair inging over a shoulder, I peek at my giant pursuer. Face still red as ever,
he charges persistently.
Well, he’s definitely not a Flash, that’s for certain.
When my head swivels back towards the street, it’s glinting silver that catches
my eye.
The girl stands in my path, staring curiously at the scene sprinting towards
her. Silver hair spills from her head, pouring down her back. And if I make it out
of this unscathed, I’m determined to nd a fabric of the same shimmering shade.
I admire her hair until it is suddenly right in front of me. She hasn’t moved,
and I’m not planning on slowing down. So, without a second thought, I run
right into her.
Well, technically, I run right through her.
I phase when our bodies meet, feeling nothing as I pass through her body to
the other side of the open street. And I don’t dare look back until I hear a heavy
