southerncrossfire44

Urban America. Sometime in the late 21st century…. Part 1. Why do I keep doing this shit? There has to be a better way to make a living. Then again, I pretty much set my own hours, so I guess that’s something. I carefully step inside the crumbling old warehouse. Whatever corp used to own it is long defunct, and the neighborhood is a war zone, so no one would want to move into the place. It’s only good for scumbags to meet and talk shady business. I suppose I’m one of those scumbags, too. It’s dark, but I hear some voices, so I head toward them. Cautiously, but not cautiously enough. I feel the cold steel of a gun barrel at the base of my neck. “Got a name?” a raspy voice hisses. “Sparks,” I reply. The gun is lowered. “About time you got here. We’ve been waiting five minutes.” “Bus was late,” I offer. The gunslinger grunts. I think he’s laughing? In any case, I

Part 3 Back at the castle, Prince Declan stared numbly into the distance, though the mysterious barefoot lady’s coach was long gone. He turned her lost beaded sandal over and over in his fingers. A crowd of ball attendees had gathered behind him, but no one spoke a word. Finally, Declan’s valet piped up. “Sire? May I help you with anything?” the valet asked. This simple question snapped Declan out of his trance, and he was once again the prince of the realm. “Fetch the royal engraver at once! I want an exact copy of that footprint made!” he commanded, pointing to the print left by Cinda’s bare foot on the glass drawbridge. The valet nodded and rushed off. Declan turned to another servant. “I want men sent to every cobbler, tailor and jeweler in the land. Find out who made this!” He ordered, as he held up the beaded sandal. The servant nodded, and he too ran off to fulfill the prince’s wishes. Declan turned to his guests. “My apologies everyone, for disrupting the festivities. Please

Part 2 With us so far? Unfortunately for Cinda, her etiquette lessons had to be cut short. No sooner did the diminutive fae teach the barefoot girl how to curtsey, did she give a sudden gasp, and rush Cinda into the Pumpkin carriage. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry!" she said hurriedly. "If we don't get you to the ball now, you'll never set foot in the palace at all!" Cinda got the message and climbed into the carriage. While the dress hid the ground beneath from view, she could still rely on her bare soles to tell her where she was stepping, with far more precision than even the men in their sensible work boots. She felt soft, thin carpeted steps, tickling her soles as she climbed in and took her seat. Inside, the carriage was decorated with furry walls, linen curtains and illuminated by an immaculate chandelier. None of it felt cramped, either. There was one problem. Sitting in her burgundy ball gown, she couldn't see her beautiful bare feet, or the faux sandals that adorned them. "Oh