Legacy's Wake

Time without her older sister slipped by too fast, as if the world had no patience for grief. Days passed in a blur—bright, sunlit mornings that she barely noticed, restless, rain-drenched nights that stretched endlessly, and windswept afternoons where the streets of Cascade Cradle seemed foreign and unkind.

Stitch was too young to survive on her own. She barely knew how to prepare a proper meal, but even that knowledge felt meaningless now. It didn't matter if she could cook—she had no home, no kitchen, nothing left. The Marines had taken everything, not laying a hand on her, yet stripping away the only place she had ever belonged. Their home was gone, claimed as compensation for the debts her family could never repay.

Now she wandered, aimless and alone. The once-familiar city had become an unforgiving maze, its towering buildings casting shadows that swallowed her whole. She clutched Mendy tightly against her chest, the doll's tattered fabric offering what little warmth it could. It was the last piece of her old life, the only thing that hadn't abandoned her.

Her bare feet slapped against the rain-soaked cobblestone as she trudged through the storm, her soaked clothes clinging to her trembling frame. The wind howled around her, each gust cutting through her like a blade.

"It's so cold…" she whispered, her breath a shuddering mist against the frigid night air. She needed shelter—anywhere to escape the biting chill.

She glanced around, her vision blurred by exhaustion and tears. Every doorstep seemed closed off, every alley filled with threats she was too weak to fight. Her body ached, hunger gnawed at her stomach, and the weight of her loss crushed down on her shoulders.

As she turned a corner, her gaze landed on an abandoned wooden crate tucked beneath an overhang, just enough to shield her from the worst of the rain. It wasn't much, but it was something. Dragging her weary body forward, she curled up inside, wrapping her arms around Mendy and pressing the doll close to her chest.

The rain continued to fall, drumming against the rooftops and streets, drowning out the sound of her quiet sobs.

She had never felt so small. So forgotten.

"Sendal… where are you…?" she murmured into the damp fabric of her doll. Her voice cracked, barely audible over the storm.

No answer came.

Only the howling wind.

Stitch's steps grew slower, her small frame weighed down by exhaustion and sorrow. No matter how much she longed to do something—anything—to save her sister, the cruel truth remained: she was just a helpless child, lost and alone in a world that had no place for her.

She clutched Mendy tighter, her fingers trembling as she pressed the doll against her chest. The streets at night were different—hollow and unfamiliar, filled with shadows that stretched too far, whispers carried by the wind that made her shiver.

"Mendy… I'm scared," she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. "The streets are so big, and I don't know where to go… I don't know what to do…"

A gust of wind rushed past her, making her curl in on herself as the cold bit through her soaked clothes. She buried her face against Mendy's soft fabric, the only warmth she had left.

"I wish… I wish I could hold Sendal's hand," she whispered, her voice breaking as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "She always knew where to go. She always knew what to do… I just have you now, Mendy… You won't leave me too, right?"

She waited, as if expecting an answer, but only silence greeted her. The doll remained as lifeless as ever, its stitched button eyes staring back at her with the same emptiness she felt inside.

Her lips quivered, and she hugged Mendy even closer. "Maybe… if I close my eyes… when I wake up, this will all just be a bad dream," she said, her voice fragile, desperate. "Maybe Sendal will be there… She'll ruffle my hair and tell me I was just being silly. She'll say I worried for nothing, and she'll be making breakfast like always…"

The fantasy lingered in her mind for a moment, comforting yet cruel. She knew the truth.

She was alone.

"Mendy…" her voice wavered, her tears hot against her cold skin. "What do I do now?"

The wind howled, offering no answers. The city stretched around her, vast and indifferent, as she held onto the only thing left of the life she once had.

Time blurred together in a desperate cycle of survival. Stitch wandered the streets, knocking on doors, her tiny fists trembling as she begged for shelter.

"Please… I don't have anywhere to go," she whispered to one woman, her clothes dripping with rain. But the woman merely shook her head and shut the door.

Another house. Another plea. "I won't be any trouble… I just need a place to stay for one night."

"Get lost, kid," a man growled, slamming the door so hard that the impact shook her bones.

Each rejection cut deeper, but she pressed on, her small body growing weaker as hunger gnawed at her stomach. She scoured the alleyways, digging through bins with shaking hands. The stench was unbearable, but the sharp pang of starvation was worse.

She found half a piece of bread once, soaked from the rain. It tasted like dirt, but she swallowed it anyway.

She rummaged through another bin, her hands trembling as she pushed aside rotten vegetables. A half-eaten apple. She took a bite, closing her eyes as if that would make the taste any better.

The nights were colder. She curled up in dark corners, hugging Mendy to her chest, whispering to it like a prayer.

"I'll find somewhere, Mendy. I have to… I'll find a home."

But each morning, she awoke in the same cold streets, her reality unchanged.

"Why… why are they so cruel?" she murmured, her voice trembling as she wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks. "I never did anything wrong… I was good… wasn't I?" Her breath hitched as she clutched Mendy tighter, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

But no matter how much she tried to hold back her tears, they kept falling.

She forced herself to keep moving, dragging her feet through the wet streets, knocking on doors with whatever strength she had left.

The next house—maybe they'd help.

She knocked hesitantly, her fingers stiff from the cold. The door creaked open, revealing an older woman with tired eyes. For a brief moment, Stitch felt hope.

"Please… I have nowhere to go. Just for the night," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman's face twisted with disgust. "Ugh, another filthy street rat? Go beg somewhere else!" She spat on the ground before slamming the door shut.

Stitch flinched, gripping Mendy as her chest tightened.

She knocked on another door.

"Please, I—"

"Get off my doorstep, you little vagrant," a man barked, not even opening the door fully. "I ain't got time for some dirty brat looking for handouts."

She tried again.

"Please, I'll do anything, I can clean, I can sew—"

"You stink! Don't touch my door with your filthy hands!" a woman shrieked, yanking her curtains shut.

More doors. More cruel words.

"Scram, you beggar!"

"Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of!"

"Nobody wants a little pest like you around!"

Each rejection was a stab to her heart, a reminder of how alone she truly was.

She turned away, her hands trembling, her lips pressed together as she fought to keep moving. She had to find somewhere—anywhere.

But the city had no mercy for someone like her.

The night stretched on, endless and unkind. Stitch wandered through the damp streets, her small arms wrapped around Mendy as though the doll could shield her from the world's cruelty. Her stomach growled painfully, but she ignored it. Hunger had become a familiar ache, one she had no choice but to endure.

She stumbled into an alley where a faint light flickered in the distance. The sound of laughter echoed from nearby, childish and playful. Maybe—just maybe—these kids would be different. Maybe they'd understand.

Slowly, she approached, hesitant but desperate.

"Uh… hi," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the laughter.

The group of children, five or six of them, turned to face her. Their clothes were a little tattered, but they weren't as dirty as she was. Some had shoes, some didn't. But unlike her, they had each other.

One of the older boys squinted at her before sneering. "Who's this?"

Another, a girl with missing teeth, wrinkled her nose. "Ew, look at her. She's all muddy."

A boy with curly hair stepped forward, smirking. "What's wrong, homeless? You lost?"

Stitch clutched Mendy tighter, shifting her weight awkwardly. "I… I just wanted to see if maybe…" she hesitated, lowering her head, "if maybe I could stay here for a little bit… just for the night."

For a brief second, there was silence. Then laughter. Loud, cruel, unrestrained.

"You think we'd let a stinky little rat like you stay here?" one of the girls scoffed.

"Go back to the garbage where you belong!" another boy jeered.

Stitch flinched as one of them shoved her shoulder, causing her to stumble back.

"She's got a stupid little doll!" the curly-haired boy sneered, reaching for Mendy. "What, you gonna cry if I take it?"

Stitch yanked Mendy away protectively. "D-Don't touch him!" she cried.

"Ohhh, don't touch her," the boy mocked in a high-pitched voice, making the others laugh harder.

"Maybe we should give her a bath!" one of the kids shouted.

"Yeah, in the mud!"

Before Stitch could react, rough hands shoved her backward. She lost her footing, tumbling into a puddle with a harsh splash. Cold, murky water seeped into her clothes, and she gasped at the chill. The children erupted into laughter.

"Look at her! She's like a wet cat!"

"Bet she's used to being in the dirt!"

Stitch's vision blurred with tears as she scrambled to her feet, Mendy clutched to her chest. Her hands trembled, not just from the cold, but from the pain of being treated like this—like she was nothing.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight back. But what could she do? She was just one little girl against a world that had already decided she was worthless.

With her head hanging low, she turned and ran. Away from the laughter, away from the cruelty. Away from the city that refused to show her kindness.

To be continued...