Blast Street was the most treacherous area in the city. Referred to as the forsaken street, even the residents living there spoke of it with self-pity. Blast 1st, where the bars and brothels resided, and Blast 2nd, with various shops and street vendors.
Though divided, the environment of this single area remained similar. Dilapidated buildings stood closely together, their walls stained and window frames creaking with age. The sun rarely made its presence known, perpetually casting a gloomy aura. Mice frequently roamed about, and in the puddles on the dirt road, stagnant runoff from merchant stalls had accumulated. The stench of haphazardly discarded waste behind the buildings was an everyday occurrence for those who made a living in this place. The only somewhat presentable shops provided a semblance of order, but the state of the street vendors gathered at the end of the road was utterly filthy. It was in this place that Laila grew up, selling fish alongside her mother, Delma.
"Laila! What are you doing instead of coming here quickly?"
"I'm coming, Mother."
In response to Delma's call, Laila revealed herself, having gone to dispose of garbage. In an instant, the gazes of people passing by the street vendors were fixated on Laila. It was only natural; her beauty was captivating to the point where one could not avert their eyes.
Though her hair was tightly tied as she worked on cleaning the fish, her alluring and lustrous blonde locks accentuated her overall elegance. The rosy cheeks against her fair skin, the round forehead, and the straight, slender nose that appeared both bold and delicate depending on the angle all exuded an air of mystery. Even though she held a fish-cutting knife in her hands, her beauty remained unobscured.
Most people regarded her as a flower blooming in the mire.
"You're lingering around, being lazy."
Delma turned her head, speaking in a disapproving tone.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"I'll take care of things here, so you go ahead and bring that over to Red Moon," Delma instructed, pointing towards the cart positioned behind the stall. Resting atop it were brined trout, glistening with grains of salt.
A shadow fell upon Laila's face. Red Moon, a tavern in the neighboring block of Sajangga, was fortunate enough to receive Delma's fish deliveries regularly. However, it was not a favorable arrangement for Laila personally. She knew that the deal was made at her expense.
"... "
"What are you doing? Didn't you hear me?" Delma asked sharply as she opened her eyes wider. The blade of the knife she held reflected the dying light, gleaming with a bluish hue. Laila swallowed the words that had risen to her throat, suppressed by Delma's oppressive demeanor. It wasn't out of fear, but rather because she knew her words would not penetrate.
"Oh, nothing. I'll be back," Laila managed to say, forcing herself. She reluctantly set the knife down and washed her hands in a bucket of water. Shedding her apron with an unenthusiastic air, she began pulling the cart.
"When you're done with work, come straight home! And don't visit Amber again!" Delma warned.
"Yes," Laila replied, her voice uncertain and hesitant, before moving forward.
"She's such a fool!" Delma muttered, twisting her lips as she watched Laila's retreating figure. She couldn't fathom why Laila bothered washing her hands when they would inevitably get dirty again from transferring the fish. How far away was the well where she could fetch water? Such a waste to discard it like that.
Laila knew well that she would visit Amber's flower shop, her dear friend. Laila had a fondness for flowers, always bringing home withered ones and placing them around her house. She couldn't eat the flowers, nor did the flowers bring her any earnings, so why engage in such futile actions?
Laila's behavior never sat well with me. Among them, the most astonishing fact was her rejection of Stella Larkin's proposal. Stella Larkin, the rogue who ran the Red Moon and gambling den while holding sway over the Blusterville district.
If she knew the favor he had done by arranging fish deliveries, she ought to have shown some gratitude and accepted.
In any case, she was nothing but a pretty face with a dim-witted mind. Why couldn't she grasp that messing with Stella leads to a bloody life?
Filled with anger, Delma's knife descended upon the cutting board with a resounding thud.