Fades away like a memory.

The clinks and clatters of silver against glass ringed through the great hall, each person eating under the known presence of the ruler. Tic especially felt him there; sitting so close to the man, eating in his own silence. He held his fork tightly between thin fingers, elbows off the sheeted table, and another hand clenched into a fist at his lap. He kept his eyes at his plate, avoiding the curious glances he felt looking him over now and then. Quietly, he ate; conscious of his every move, hoping none of those glances would question him, praying he wouldn't have to speak. But out of all the things that discomforted him there, he felt his sense of taste to be pleasantly satisfied. After all, hunger is the best spice.

.. and Miraye must be so much more hungry than he. He blinked, slowly slipping the fork from his mouth, getting lost in the thought. She was alone, starved, chained somewhere in the dungeons. And he was here, dressed in fine clothes, eating like a king. He had done the same as Miraye, no different, no better -- it was him who wanted to escape in the first place. And Miraye -- she had such an overwhelming power -- wouldn't Larkin treat her just as good, maybe better, to gain her trust? She was certainly worth more than a mere Sink Rat. He couldn't help wondering what Larkin wanted of him, still. There was nothing special about him, he thought, and he didn't belong here.

But where did he.. ? He'd only been with The Sink for two years; such a short time compared to those who spent their entire life fighting against this oppression, this rule, this royalty that he wore the clothes of, sat with, and ate with. He wondered what they would think of him if they ever saw him like this -- if he ever got away, would they still welcome him? He felt like he was betraying them; betraying his only family, his mother and sisters, his .. father ..

They had been in debt to the county, and couldn't afford to pay it all at once. The entire family worked to pay their dues, even Tic, though so young at the time. Sometimes, the girls were sent out into the street to sell flowers from the garden; any gold they could gather was valuable. Yet, Tic was so used to the poverty and pain that it never struck him how destitute his life really was. He'd known no other life than his own, was never aware; never exposed to the opulence of the rulers who owned the land. But disillusionment was close to him, ready to strike.

As the decree had stated: In order to satisfy the governor of New Jeda, families who failed to comply with the requests of payment must cede the life of one member. It went on to explain why this was to happen, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Tic hadn't been told, and that suddenly he found his family to be more upset than usual. His father didn't even work anymore; no, barely any of them went outside. It lasted like this, until one day. One grey day, when no one was allowed to leave the home. When they were hiding from something, and Tic didn't know why. No, not until they rushed through the door, throwing it off the hinges. They searched, throwing, yelling, destroying, until they were found, he was found. The men didn't even hesitate to cut him down; he fell, something red seeping through the hand he clutched over his chest. And then they left, the ice-cold wind sweeping through the silent house.

There was a sudden clatter of glass upon glass. Tic raised his eyes to the disturbance, gasping, his hand shivering over a toppled goblet. He stared at it for a moment, watching in helplessness as the red juice seeped into the table's sheet, spreading and soaking. He blinked, and looked around to staring eyes, all now focused on him. Reddening, he felt Larkin's stare on him, and a sudden fear of disapproval rose. He reached for the cloth in his lap, lifted it over the table and began to pat it dry.