Page 66 of We Were Eternal Once

But I don’t want pitiful acolytes. I want something deeper than waxing poetic about nothing.

So I stand and leave. I do not say goodbye. I simply exit.

“You will give this to me without payment,” I coerce the merchant on the street. His wares are mostly junk. Jewelry that is made of colored glass disguised as precious gemstones. Silver painted gold, that sort of nonsense.

But there is one item of his that is real. It’s a strand of red gemstones that sparkle under the light of the lanterns. It catches my eye from across the market, a younger sister to the chain around my neck. I still wear it. I’ve had it remade over the centuries—a new chain, a new clasp, polished gems. It may mirror the Ship of Theseus, but it is still the necklace you gave me the night we found the cult dead.

The merchant hands it over without argument, and I clasp it about my wrist. I hold my arm out to examine it, letting it catch the lantern overhead.

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful woman,” the merchant says.

“Merci,” I say, turning from the booth. I could afford it, I have all the coin I will ever need. But there was something thrilling about cheating a cheater.

“That was quite a show,” comes the voice of a woman to my left. I turn toward it, frowning at the human that stands too close to me for comfort. Her French is ruddy, stumbled over by her accent.

“Excuse me?” I ask. I do not need to pretend annoyance.

“I happened upon you just as he gave you that for free,” she says, nodding to my bracelet. “Tell me, what did you say to enamor him so?”

“You heard him—he thought me beautiful,” I reply. The woman’s eyebrows climb up her head, giving me a quick glance from head to toe. It is the same look everyone gives me when they see you next to me.

You, tall and pale and striking, blonde hair straight and never out of place.

Me, short and curvy and very rat-like at times. No matter what I do, I will always look like this—this age, this stature.

The woman is not beautiful either, so it is cruel that she should say something like this about me. Her dark hair is unkempt, she dresses like a common boy, and she carries a heavy satchel that might be as old as I am.

“I dislike your implication,” I say, turning to move from her.

“What implication is that? That you must be very clever to talk a man such as he out of his goods?” she presses, falling into step with me.

I consider breaking her neck and throwing her into the shadows of the street, but it is too public. I’ll have to lead her to one of the quiet arcades, where the unsavory people there will look the other way.

“The implication that he should not have given me anything,” I say, walking faster. She lengthens her stride to keep pace.

“I am a burgeoning cheat myself,” she says. “It’s why I dress like this—the rich usually avert their eyes lest I sully them with my suspected poverty.”

I regard her outfit from the corner of my eye but keep walking.

“It is how I keep out of sight. But you—you do not worry about that. You dress…” She trails off, another insult I’m sure she’s quieted. “Well, as someone who does not wish to blend in.”

“I hate the fashion here,” I say.

“Is this the fashion of your home?” she asks.

I whirl on her, coming face to face. She sees my eyes and freezes, her own widening at the unnatural color. Her mouth falls open, a quiet “oh” escaping. Her fingers go to the pendant around her neck, a sliver of wood on a chain. She rubs the wood rhythmically, thoughtfully. Then she blinks twice and a smile slides across her face, replacing her shock.

“Leave me be. Forget you saw any of that, forget me,” I compel.

“I will remember that for as long as I live,” she says. “Teach me how to trick a man from his precious earnings and I will leave you be.”

It is my turn to be shocked.

“Leave me be,” I repeat, leaning more into the coercion I’ve spent over a thousand years easily performing.

“Teach me and I shall,” she retorts. “We both know it’s not your beauty he admired.”

Why isn’t it working? My anger flares, but underneath it is a morbid curiosity. Your words from so long ago come forward. One day there may be a barrier… a reason for our gift not to work. We must always be prepared.