You’d lived in the east all your life. Big cities during the summers, full of bustling crowds and shops and things to do, and the rural coast in the winters. It was a wonderful life; anyone’s dream, really.

That all went out the window when your father decided to move the family West. He insisted that the railroad business would thrive even more there, that your lives would be even better. To be honest, you didn’t want any better; had fought him the entire way. Sure, the family might eventually get more money, but the west was barren and dry with few houses except for the ones you were guaranteed to hate, with beds that would make your back ache worse than the ones on the train and the bouncing seats in the carriage.

Not to mention, it was scary. Outlaws came here for an escape from developed law, and from the stories you’d heard, there were gunmen and murderers at every turn. Still, in those same stories, you heard about the thrill. The terror that came with a train robbery, but also the vague sense of excitement and wonder at seeing a real-life western cowboy.

You just hadn’t expected to meet the man himself. Copia. The West's antagonist and heartthrob.

When the carriage came to an abrupt stop and nearly slung you and your mother out of their seats, you assumed an animal had jumped out in front of the horses. A look out the curtained window proved you wrong, and endangered you. A warning gunshot was fired into the air.

“If you all step out now, nobody gets hurt.” It wasn’t the voice you’d expected to hear. Nasally and medium in pitch, but intimidating no less. “Your bags, too.” You huffed, staying put. You’d never been told what to do at any time in your life.

That changed instantly when a rough hand gripped your arm, tugging you out of the carriage despite your squealing. “C!” One of the men called out, gesturing to you with a nod.

You felt sick as the man, Copia, walked over. He wore a slight grin on his face. “Prize pony, eh?” he smiled, his head tilting, mismatched eyes sparking with an idea.