"Well, girl?" Sigmond hissed, his black eyes drawing to slits.

I swallowed hard. My gaze fell upon the young mother, her face wraught with a mixture of concerned hope and anxious anticipation. I pried my eyes away from the sleeping infant in her arms.

"The child will live for five years and fourteen days." I said. I dared a glance at the mother and instantly regretted it. Her expression morphed into one of heart wrenching terror. I longed to offer her words of comfort, but I had none.

Sigmond grasped my arm roughly and jerked me away. We marched toward the door.

"Your payment is due next week." Sigmond said to her heartlessly, shoving me out the door as the first of the mother's mournful sobs tore at my heart.

I wheeled around the corner, marching down the cobblestoned street, trying to put as much distance between Sigmond and myself as I could. I bit my tongue hard to keep the tears from welling in my eyes.

'You're a Life Watcher', I told myself, squaring my shoulders defiantly. 'You're not allowed to feel emotion.'

"I'm glad to see your eagerness to help our next client." Sigmond's icy voice slithered close behind me.

I clenched my fists, making no response.

Sigmond clicked his tongue. "You're still young, Ophelia. You will learn to appreciate your gift once you realize the value of your existence."

My gift. Everyone called it a gift. The wealthy used it to know how long they and their children would live. People of importance used it to know how long their enemies would live.

Calling it a gift couldn't be farther from the truth.

It was a curse.

I swiped a hand at the tear that had somehow slipped out, hoping Sigmond hadn't noticed.

We crossed the next two blocks in silence. Blissful silence. The only time I was free to think my own thoughts.

The bleary sky rumbled ominously.

Cursed rain to match this cursed place full of cursed people.

"I'll let you do this next one on your own; see if you have what it takes." Sigmond's sallow face was twisted in a proud, condescending smirk.

With my stomach tied in a mess of knots, I knocked on the door.

A moment later, a young woman around my age peeped open the door. Her dull blonde hair was held back from her exhausted face in a messy bun. Her blue eyes, surely shining at one time, were drenched with fear. She gripped her grimy apron and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

She was considered cursed by society. But to me, she was one of the most blessed people left on the earth.

Normal. No "gift".

"Whadya want?" She fidgeted with the door.

I drew a deep breath, "I'm... I'm a Life Watcher. I'm here to see Dr. Asheworth."

A peculiar look crossed her face, but she nodded and let me in, casting an anxious glance over Sigmond like she hoped he wasn't coming too.

I didn't blame her.

She closed the door and motioned for me to follow. She led me down a hallway laced in velvet carpets and peculiar paintings.

Paintings such as I had never seen. Ones that appeared to tell a story.

A man, a woman, a baby. A carpenter and a young boy. A man and five or six friends. The same man sitting at a table with twelve others. One of the others holding a bag of silver.

A chill pricked my spine at the final three paintings.

Blood dripped from the man's forehead beneath a crown of thorns. He hung sprawled across a mount of two crossed tree limbs big enough to be railroad tracks.

The next image was of a... tomb? The round stone and soldiers were unfamiliar to my life in the city.

The final image...

The stone was rolled a ways off. The man stood radiantly without a single scratch.

I stopped, staring with a flutter of interest and confusion.

Upon closer look, His hands and feet boasted scars.

Scars. Not wounds.

But what did it all mean?

Dr. Asheworth must've been a very odd man to display such images in his home.

"May I help you?"

I whirled at the sudden voice. At the end of the hallway, standing beside the servant girl, stood a man that must've been Dr. Asheworth.

His graying hair was neatly combed, silvery in the dim light. His eyes were dark, but kind, and his forehead was creased with lines that looked too old for him.

"I... my apologies, sir, I was just..."

"Just having a look?" His eyes drifted to the paintings. "Yes. I often take a look at them myself. It's good to remember what society would rather leave forgotten."

His comment only raised more questions in my mind, but I shoved it away.

I had a job to do. I might as well just get it over with so I could be done with misery for the day.

"Who would you like to have observed, sir? Perhaps yourself or your servant? Any children?"

Dr. Asheworth observed me for a moment. "No, I don't believe any of us are in need of your service."

I blinked, dumbfounded. "But I was told... I thought..."

"Yet I may be able to help you."

"I... I'm sorry?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Ophelia, isn't it? Forgive me for not properly introducing myself." He strode forward, offering me his hand. "Doctor James Asheworth. It's a pleasure to meet the young lady I've heard so much about."

I shook his hand, a chill snaking my spine. He had heard about me? What things? That I was "gifted" with the ability to foretell death and destruction? That I was a worthless nobody sold to be used by others for their gain?

That everywhere I went, sorrow was left in my wake?

"I'd like to give you something, if that's alright with you."

Give me something? Who would care to give a bringer of chaos like me anything? I bit my lip and nodded, suddenly wishing that Sigmond had come after all, if only for the assurance that I wasn't alone with strangers.

Then again, would Sigmond have let me come if he knew Dr. Asheworth intended to give me a gift?

I followed him and the maid down the hallway, stepping into a wide, domed room.

My mouth fell agape as I craned my neck upwards. The pictures of each painting in the hall were splayed across the ceiling in a an array of vibrant colors that weren't supposed to exist anymore.

Hues of scarlet, gold, sapphire, and violet shone down with a radiance I didn't think was possible.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dr. Asheworth smiled. A kind smile, unlike the cruel ones I was so accostumed to seeing. "It's a shame that society shuns it all as a lie..." his smile perked to a small frown as he gazed upwards at the dome.

"You mean to say the story the pictures tell us true?" I blurted it without thinking, instantly regretting it.

If Sigmond heard about my boldness... I shuddered, the scars on my neck tingling.

Dr. Asheworth's smile returned, warm and compassionate.

Who was this man to have so much joy in a world that was determined to be devoid of it?

"Yes," he acknowleged. "Every part is true, isn't it, Mara?" He looked to the servant girl.

"Yes, father. Every bit." The girl's eyes brightened.

Father? So why did she dress as a slave?

And more importantly, what was this story that a wealthy man claimed to be true?

Warning bells of doubt echoed in my mind. 'It's all a lie... a plea for your attention... a trap set up by Sigmond to find reason for punishment...'

And yet, despite the doubts, a flicker of hope wavered in my chest. A longing to know. To learn. To break past lies I was certain I'd been told my whole life long.

A longing to believe that my life meant something.

I drew a deep breath, clenched my fists, and locked eyes with Dr. Asheworth. "What is this story?"

He and his daughter exchanged a grin, and he beamed at me with a joy I'd never seen. "I thought you'd never ask."