There once was a city in a kingdom in the North. There, the rich lived on cushions of gold and velvet, protected by bejeweled walls in the central district. Meanwhile, the poor scrounged for scraps and fought with pocket knives for bread in the outer edges of the city. The rich looked out of their glass towers like sharks, pointing at the poor far below and devising new ways to trick them into fighting each other instead of coming for noble riches. They sent guards to keep order, punishing any street rat who tried to step above their station. They pinned the blame of disease, poverty, and violence on witches, forcing the remaining few of them into hiding and creating new avenues of pointless hatred. The poor, too mired in violence, hate, and desperation, could not see that it was the nobles who had pushed them away from riches and safety and forced them to the outer streets.

Underground, there gathered gangs–groups of street people aiming to protect their own. Among the undergrounders, there ran a person like fire: a street rat with dirty blond hair and dark blue eyes. They had no gender, and those passing wondered if they were laying eyes on a pretty man or a handsome woman, when truly they were neither. They were a thief, a rascal, and a forever-loyal friend.

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In the shadows, there hid the witches–magicians hunted by the nobles for their fearsome powers and shunned by the poor through noble puppeteering. Among the witches there stood a woman like ice: a chemist with a cold glare and a short fuse, scaring away any who dared to get too close. She was a studious worker, a dangerous opponent, and a ticking bomb, who cared for very few things in this life besides the safety of those she loved.

A thief and a witch in a city built to destroy them.

Can they survive?

Or better yet, live?