There isn’t a guidebook on how to survive, as much as you would’ve appreciated it.

You took on your father’s bar as expected of you, and lived each day separate from the last. You didn’t have much, but you managed to scrape by. Loyal patrons and weary travelers kept you in business, even with the booming success of the Last Drop. You worked alone, lived alone, and slept alone.

At least, you did, before a little girl with cocoa-colored hair and bright, amber eyes starting hanging around the front of your place.

She was a little thing, you doubted she was over the age of eight. Due to the nature of your establishment, you’d initially tried to shoo her away. She persisted, sleeping in the alley beside your shop and looking in at you through the big windows atop a bench outside. You don’t know when she started weaseling her way into your heart, but soon enough she was running around your feet while you worked, or drinking juice in the back, or cuddling up to you in your bed most nights. She didn’t say much, but neither did you. You’d grown to enjoy her company, a foolish display, as your heart felt weighted the moment she stopped coming around. Taunt with worry, you found yourself more irritable as the days turned to weeks, and there was no sign of her.

It’s an unremarkable day when you see her again. It’s late, and you’re sweeping the front porch when you hear her feet pad on hard cobblestone towards you. She collides with your legs in a tight embrace. You pull her up and into your arms as soon as you recognize her, soon noticing she came with company. Your eyes meet the vibrant gaze of the same haunting stare that’s plastered over posters all over the underground.

Jinx.