Chapter 4: Complete control
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The alleyway bled with color—neon signs flickered in bleeding reds and sickly greens, their light fracturing across the wet cobblestones and pooling in rusted gutters where the rainwater ran thick with oil and something darker—something that never quite washed clean. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine drifting from behind a boarded-up tea shop, its petals clinging to the damp brick like damp lace. Somewhere in the distance, a gypsy fiddle wailed a melancholic tune, the notes vibrating through the cracks in the walls, seeping into the damp air like syrup through a sieve.
Jade, dressed in her red gypsy dress, walked with purpose, her heels clicking sharply against the cobblestones, the gold embroidery on her bodice catching the neon glow like scattered embers. She carried herself differently now—a kind of confidence that wasn't arrogance, but something deeper, like a tree that knew exactly where its roots went. Her long black hair swayed with each step, the veil tucked neatly beneath, its silver threads glinting faintly beneath the low light.
She was alone, she was following Mirela's criminal orders perfectly without question by now
.
She was changing.
Jade reached the end of the alley, pausing beneath a flickering streetlamp that cast jagged shadows across the pavement. She could already see the neon glow of the renaissance fair ahead, the distant hum of the crowd, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon waffles wafting through the damp evening air. But before she took another step, she paused—her green eyes flicking to a small figure leaning against a brick wall, half-hidden in the gloom.
A girl. No older than nineteen or twenty. She wore a hoodie pulled low over her face, her athletic frame hunched slightly, her fingers tapping absently against her thigh.
Jade's mission was clear, pickpocket as many people as possible and bring Mirela the loot, she had followed these orders for weeks now without question. She felt a strange mix of pride and eagerness as she approached the girl, her red gypsy dress whispering against the damp pavement with every step.
She paused just out of arm's reach, studying the girl's posture. The hoodie was oversized, the fabric stretched tight across small breasts, the sleeves swallowing her hands.
Jade used the pretending to beg method to get the girls attention .
**"Pardon me, dear one," Jade said, her voice smooth with a melodic Romanian cadence, the words rolling like honeyed river stones. Her green eyes glowed with innocent warmth, the gold in her makeup catching the neon light as she tilted her head just enough to show off the delicate curve of her neck beneath the veil's silver threads. "Would you be willing to help a sister in need? I seem to have misplaced my coin purse... and without it, I fear I can't return to my family tonight.” Jade pressed a hand to her chest, the red silk of her gypsy dress rustling against the damp pavement like a whispered confession. Her emerald eyes shone with a disarming sincerity, framed by the smudged kohl and gold that made her look like a fallen starlet from another era.
The girl in the hoodie lifted her head slowly, her fingers pausing mid-tap. Underneath the shadowed fabric, her blue eyes blinked up at Jade—a sharp contrast to the warm gold of Jade’s gaze.
There was something in the way she tensed, in the slight narrowing of her gaze, that made Jade’s pulse quicken. Not fear. Not exactly. A wariness. The kind that came from being hurt before, from knowing the world wasn’t kind.
Jade didn’t look away. She never did now. Not since Mirela had taught her that looking downward was for the broken, for the forgotten. She held out a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled in an unspoken offer of help—or trust.
"Go away." The girl said. That was enough time for Jade to locate the girls money and phone which were both in her hoodie pocket. "Please ", Jade responded in her Romanian accent. "I beg you".
The girl pulled her hoodie back further, revealing short honey blonde hair that was damp with drizzle, her expression guarded but intrigued beneath the golden streetlight that painted her cheeks in warm amber hues.
"I said go away." the girl repeated again this time more hostilely. "I don't know what game you're playing but I'm not interested."
Jade tilted her head, her veil shimmering faintly against her dark tresses, the silver threads catching the flickering neon like distant stars. She could feel the girl's money heavy in her pocket, the thin leather wallet nestled between her own thighs, warm against her skin. But she didn't reach for it yet—not while the girl was still watching. Instead, she stepped closer, her heels clicking with deliberate softness against the damp stone, her hips swaying in a rhythm that felt natural now, as if her bones had always known this sway.
She approached the girl closer, so that she was in easy reach of the pockets, waiting to be pushed away to strike. The girl clearly noticed her getting closer and her eyes widened slightly. "I said go away, lady. Don't make me call the cops." She said, slightly pushing Jade.
That was the moment. Jade's hands were so quick the girl didn't notice
the grab—the fingers slipping into the hoodie pocket with fluid precision, extracting the wallet and phone in one seamless motion. The girl tensed when she felt the shift in pressure against her side, her head snapping up with a sharp inhale.
But she was too late.
Jade stepped back in one graceful motion, her red skirt swaying as she tucked the stolen goods into her own hidden pouch beneath the layers of her gypsy dress. The girl's eyes widened in realization, her mouth forming a perfect "O" of betrayal.
"You *bitch*," the girl hissed, her athletic frame tensing to give chase.
But Jade was already hiding in the crowds of the renaissance fair , her red gypsy dress a flicker of flame among the stalls. She slipped between the crowded lanes, the scent of roasted chestnuts and fried sugar filling the air, the distant wail of the gypsy fiddle a rhythmic pulse beneath the night. Her heels clicked sharply against the wooden planks, the sound lost in the hum of the crowd. The girl’s money and phone were tucked safely in her hidden pouch, snug against the warm swell of her new hips. She couldn’t help but smile as she walked, the thrill of the theft still singing in her veins like a second heartbeat.
She found Mirela waiting near the fortune-teller’s tent, its striped canvas glowing with lantern light.
Jade had become the full gypsy stereotype , with her thick makeup, flowing red dress, and heels. The Romanian accent flowed from her tongue as naturally as breath. The veil draped over her dark hair, silver threads catching the flickering lantern light like scattered stars. Her big golden hoop earrings
chimed softly as she walked through the renaissance fair grounds, drawing curious glances—some admiring, some wary, all drawn to the curvy gypsy woman in the red silk dress who moved with deliberate grace.
Jade found Mirela standing near the fortune-teller’s tent, the older gypsy leaning casually against a wooden post, her fingers tracing lazy circles around the rim of a crystal goblet filled with deep crimson wine. The scent of clove and amber clung to her, threads of jasmine and something deeper—wild and metallic—woven into her presence. She wore a dress of overlapping blue and silver, the embroidery shifting in the light, alive with hidden secrets.
Jade opened her pouch and carefully spilled the stolen contents into Mirela’s waiting hands, her movements slow and reverent. The dozens of wallets, watches and phones landed with a muted thud.
Jade was a pure criminal now, and she enjoyed it
. Her eyes gleamed with devotion as she watched the coins spill from the pouch, making soft chinking sounds against Mirela’s outstretched palm. The cold metal gleamed in the soft fairground lantern light. Each coin seemed to vibrate with stolen life, whispering promises of power and pleasure back to Jade’s ears. Her heart swelled as she saw Mirela’s emerald eyes darken with approval, the older woman’s lips curling into a satisfied smile.
Mirela didn’t say anything.
She didn’t need to.
Her fingers curled around the coins, counting effortlessly in Romanian, her nails painted the same deep crimson as the wine in her goblet.
She talked to Jade in Romanian, and Jade answered her. Romanian had become her new mother tongue, her English had become broken and with a heavy Romanian accent . She found herself thinking in Romanian now, dreaming in it. She even dreamed in the voice now, a huskier, smoother tone she’d never had as a brunette college student.
It was like being reborn, or maybe she had always been this way underneath. She didn't know, she didn't remember her old life.
When she had tried to think of her college dorm room after the veil, she had only been able to picture a wooden desk stacked with books she couldn't name, a pink striped comforter she didn't recognize, and a half-drunk cup of coffee that smelled like ash. The memories dissolved like mist when she tried to focus on them. The veil and Mirela had erased them completely, or perhaps they had been illusions all along—empty shells she’d been wearing before she found her true form beneath the magic.
Jade knelt before Mirela, her mistress, her red silk skirt pooling around her like fresh blood on stone, her veil trembling slightly with every breath.