The snow ceased overnight, leaving behind a brittle sheen of ice over the eaves and walkways. Clutching my frayed scarf and huddling deeper into my coat, my boots crunching deep into the untouched snow, I left the warmth of home. Even past midday, the sun's feeble glow was smothered by iron-gray clouds, each exhale hung in the air like ghostly lace as I trudged toward the black market.
The evergreens stood defiantly vibrant, their outstretched boughs glazed with a delicate rime. The biting east wind cut through me, a familiar chill I was well accustomed to. Hours slipped by on serpentine trails until the market's shadowed alleyways finally loomed. Pausing at the top of the slope, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead, then pressed on with a mix of dread and anticipation.
The place still reeked of its usual cocktail, cigarette ash, motor oil and something far less identifiable. I rapped twice, a prearranged signal then the lantern above the entrance shuddered to life, its bloody glow seeping into the alley. After a moment, I realized the door wasn't locked. Peering through the crack, I saw the faint hum of a dying bulb and furniture stacked with unnatural precision amid the chaos.
Driven by curiosity, I pushed the door open with a creak, its groan split the silence like a warning. Inside, the air clung to my lungs, stale liquor and something metallic, something rotten. The tavern was empty, if you didn't count the rats whispering in the walls. Then I saw him, a shadow collapsed behind the bar, head lolling against the wood. Scattered around him, bottles glinted like fallen soldiers, their hollow bodies rolling across the floor. A few glasses lay belly-up, their contents long vanished.
Edging nearer, I forced a cough, my voice barely above a whisper. "Scuse the interruption. I'm here for..."
But he remained slumped forward, as if in a drunken stupor. My gut twisted, a cold, creeping fear. Was he out cold? Or was this something worse?
Then, without warning, a pink, pulsing thing slid from Amir's sleeve. I staggered back, tripped over a chair leg and hit the ground hard. The crash echoed through the empty space, jolting him upright. His hair was a wild mess, eyes bleary.
He squinted, scrubbing his face with a groan. "...The f-ck?"
Then, out slithered a mouse. A creature so bizarre it defied belief! Nearly hairless, with only a few wisps of snow-white fuzz scattered across its pinkish skin. Its beady black eyes, round as polished beads, fixed on me with a curiosity that sent shivers down my spine. But the strangest thing? A tiny pastel-blue sweater clung to its tiny body!
Before I could process the horror, it launched itself at me. I sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, my bloodcurdling scream echoing through the space. "MOUSE! A-A MOUSE!"
In sheer panic, I frantically dug into my clothes, feeling every tiny footstep scampering across my skin, a crawling horror like a thousand ants marching over me. After a wild struggle, I finally grabbed the creature and without hesitation hurled the tiny beast toward the liquor counter. Bullseye! The rodent landed square in Amir's tangled mop of hair. His eyes were still glazed, whether from sleepiness or sheer shock. Then, with deliberate care, he reached up and cradled the squeaking mouse in his hands. And unbelievably, with his thumb, he began tenderly stroking its nearly bald little head, as if caressing some kind of treasure!?
"The hell's all the racket..." Amir sat up with effort, looking more awake as he turned to me.
"Y-You! There's a rat!" I jabbed my finger at the bald rodent chilling in his hand.
"...Rat..." He stared at me like I was crazy. Probably still half-drunk, honestly.
Then he reached over and straightened the little sweater. "...This thing? A rat?..." Holding it up to eye level, he squinted for a better look. "...This is Cheese...it's not a rat..."
Oh god, that sweater, was he actually keeping a rat as a pet?!? He's got a pet rat?! And it's some creepy hairless thing!
"It's absolutely a sewer rat!"
With eyes still screwed shut, he gave a slight pout, one hand moving protectively to shield the creature. It quickly wriggled free, vanishing behind the bar. Yawning, he stretched, his wrinkled clothes hanging in disarray. He then staggered to the window frame, dragging his feet with each long step, before staring blankly outside and irritably rubbing his temple. Shivering, I kept my distance, watching intently as the man slowly woke.
"...Ah, right. Daylight hours here..." He mumbled hoarsely, eyeing the cracked wall clock. "...On time, I see. You got the Torbica?"
Cautiously, I stepped forward, setting the cloth bag of Torbica on the counter. "Are you unwell? What happened?"
Collapsing into the chair, he ran his work-roughened fingers through his fiery orange locks, then filled a glass with water and drained half in one go. "...Overdid it with the drinking. Can't think straight..."
Reaching into the bag, he plucked out a deep purple Torbica flower then began slowly chewing its petals as if they were a familiar snack. "What's that look for?" Another petal disappeared between his teeth with an audible crunch.
"You're seriously eating that?!" I gestured urgently at the three-petaled remnant. "That's supposed to be toxic!"
Pausing, he looked down at the purple petals resting in his palm. "...Damn...Probably should make some hangover soup first." Then he rose from the chair and headed straight for the kitchen.
"What do you mean?! It's edible?"
In an instant, I slid from the stool, chasing him through the crimson-dyed curtain into the kitchen's depths. I watched, unblinking, as his silhouette moved before the stove, pouring mysterious contents into a weathered pot. The fragrance permeated the cramped space, a medley of fiery ginger and the mellow richness of marrow broth, insinuating itself into every crevice and clinging stubbornly to the tattered drapes and the dining table's flaking varnish.
"Back in my hometown, these were considered a delicacy." He murmured between sips from a steaming ladle. "The satisfying crunch between teeth, that tantalizing venomous tingle..." His voice abruptly faltered as his gaze turned cautious. "...It just doesn't affect my kind...Keep that secret, will you?"
His k-kind!?
"W-What exactly are you?"
"...Not an easy question..." He ladled the soup brimming full before downing it in one long draught. "I'd advise against sampling them yourself."
My gaze pinned him in place, a creeping unease taking root, whether from the intoxicating blend of liquor and Torbica permeating the air or Amir's infuriatingly glib demeanor. That maddening ambiguity left me questioning if this was mere teasing or concealed something darker.
Typical Amir with his half-answers. Infuriating. But I knew better than to pry.
The bowl clunked against wood as he swiped his mouth with his knuckles. A contented exhale followed, the alcoholic fog seemingly lifted. "Are you truly ignorant of Torbica's nature?"
A silent headshake. My fingers found the cloak's edge, twisting tight. "The flowers grow alone, valuable. That's what I know."
"Is that all?" One eyebrow arched as he braced against the counter, arms forming a barricade across his chest.
"Well...no records about them exist in this empire."
Without another word, he left the kitchen, smoothing his now somewhat tidier though still disheveled hair. The pungent alcohol aroma clung stubbornly to him. Pulling out a stool behind the counter, he fished a small pouch of gold coins from his pocket and extended it toward me, as if waiting for something.
"Get me some more Torbica."
I gave a slight nod then quietly stepped forward. Carefully, I drew out four vibrantly colored Torbica flowers from my pouch, wasn't sure if their number matched the payment he'd offered.
His tweezers flashed as he dissected them, exposing the poison at their core. "Seeds." He said. "Golden death if ingested, worse if the nectar weeps."
"They can be cultivated?" I leaned in curiously, bending closer for a better look.
"They can, if you know how." He plucked the stamens one by one and set them aside. Then, meticulously, he used scissors to trim the solitary buds at each branch tip, exposing golden sap oozing along the stems. Finally, he carefully selected the Torbica's unusually small petals. "Back up. Hold your breath unless you fancy waking up dead."
Inexplicable dread quickened my pulse as I obeyed, retreating with featherlight steps that barely disturbed the charged air. Trembling, I clamped hands over my nose and mouth, my eyes still wide and transfixed by his movements. With the precision of a master artisan, he smoothed a sheet of rice paper across the counter, perfecting every crease under his palms. The silver lighter from the corner gleamed dully as he flipped it open, a metallic click pierced the silence, and a small flame burst to life. I held my breath, anticipation coiling in my ribs.
As he brought the fire beneath the Torbica petals, they ignited with unearthly brilliance, cerulean waves, twilight violets, solar flares of vermilion, all while an alien fragrance unfurled, cloying yet acrid, making my head spin. The flames danced, morphing hues with each consumed petal, painting the room in spectral light unlike anything I'd ever witnessed.
From those uncanny flames drifted down fine white particles, like the first snow of winter, silently settling onto the rice paper. Only when the final flicker died, leaving but a wisp of smoke, did I dare exhale. With the terrifying proficiency of one who'd performed this ritual countless times, he carefully folded the white dust into the paper. His fingers moved with artisan's precision, each motion exact and deliberate.
Then he turned slowly, his eyes locking onto mine. "This is how Torbica becomes drugs."
My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the brutality before me. So this was how they transmuted Torbica into that terrifying hallucinogen.
As the paper neared completion, his tongue flicked out to moisten the edge, a practiced gesture that sealed the final fold with saliva. The cigarette emerged in his palm like a sacred relic, cradled with reverence. The lighter's blue flame trembled as it touched the tip, birthing smoke that coiled like phantom silk. The scent that followed was unexpected, not the medicinal bitterness of herbs, but something closer to fine pipe tobacco, sweetly dangerous with an undercurrent of seduction.
He inhaled with ritual slowness, his ribcage expanding like a bellows. I remained petrified, studying how his lips pursed around the vice, how his Adam's apple bobbed to imprison the fumes. When he finally exhaled, the smoke emerged as a living thing, twisting in the thick air before vanishing like a malevolent spirit.
"Torbica exposure causes gradual pulmonary necrosis. While comparable to tobacco in harm, its lethality is far more grotesque." His voice carried the sterile cadence of a reciting physician. "Pure smoke contains neurotoxins that spread systemically upon overdose, liquefying organs beyond just the lungs. It consumes flesh from within like a contagion, leaving no vital signs except its cloying scent, often mistaken for common pipe tobacco."
My blood turned to ice as his face began its metamorphosis. His irises, once green as forest pools, were being devoured by expanding pupils, black and bottomless. No trace of humanity remained. Only something feral, primordial, and utterly unknowable stared back.
When his pupils narrowed to knife-cuts in the gloom, his gaze held cruel amusement. "The sap contains neurotoxins as well. Ingest it raw, without proper refinement and death is guaranteed."
Ash fluttered from his cigarette like funeral moths. "Yet Torbica wears two faces." A cynical smile twisted his lips. "The madness it brings sharpens the senses, numbness masquerading as clarity. And this same cursed sap...can purify the rarest toxins. A paradox wrapped in petals."
Fear crawled up from my gut, rooting me in place. Questions like razor blades shredded my thoughts, who was he really? From what shadowed corner of existence had he emerged, wielding such intimate knowledge of these poisons? And most chilling, how could he sit there unfazed, breathing this poison like it was morning air?
"T-They really look like cigarettes?" My voice cracked as I stared at the white roll between his fingers.
Amir took his time, drawing another languid puff. "Indeed." he finally replied, smoke curling from his lips as his eyes half-lidded. "Few truly understand Torbica." The ember glowed like a tiny hellgate. "The fairest blossoms breed the cruelest deaths...yet in death's kingdom, we find life's first whispers."
The chair's screech fractured the silence as he rose from the bar. "But I mean it, don't be stupid enough to try." His voice dropped to a warning growl. "Your kind can't handle pure Torbica. So don't."
My kind? The word slithered down my spine. How deep did his knowledge run?
Trailing smoke across dusty liquor bottles, he drifted toward the corner cabinet like a specter. With ritualistic precision, he filled his glass anew. The whiskey shimmered as he drank, liquid topaz in a prison of crystal, glowing with secrets.
By the gods, this man, I thought while watching the strange 'cigarette' glow between his fingers, the whiskey catching dim light. He courted ruin like a lover. Had death lost all meaning to him?
"Given its toxicity." I ventured. "Aren't you concerned for your own health?"
Glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a dare of a smile. "The liquor bites, maybe. The Torbica?" A drag, slow and deliberate. "Like I said, homegrown specialty."
I stared, transfixed by those unnatural eyes boring into me, their gaze weighted with all the answers he wouldn't give.
"Cat got your tongue?" His head cocked. "Or is it wonder that steals your voice?"