The Young Aristocrat

by Sebastian Ordonez

The dirty streets reeked with filth and muck, and Jonas was beginning to desire a cold bath in the river. He could feel the dirt and grime, the stench in the air itself, clinging to him and gripping at him with wretched hands. Even his well-adjusted sense of smell was having trouble keeping the stench from penetrating. He felt a longing in his heart for clean clothes, a warm fire, and a hearty meal; but he knew he would not get it. If only we had more money, he thought ruefully. 

With what meager money he had managed to scrape together, he had bought enough food for a good dinner. He had spent the day running around the Slope completing odd jobs for odd people, taking the unfulfilling payments with gratitude despite knowing he ought to demand more. He had mailed letters to various people (what few letters they had to send), he had delivered a set of tools to a woodworker, chopped wood for old Mrs. McCragmire, and even scrubbed Mr. Mason’s cobbled walkway clean of filth and excrement. Then he had taken the money he had assembled, brought it to one of the bakers in the market, and managed to buy a warm loaf of bread, a small piece of cheese, and some thin strips of ham: dinner for him and his mother. 

On his way home, it began to rain. The rain stirred up the dirt and grime in the streets and raised its stench into the air, amplifying it. With a grim smile, Jonas thought that Mr. Mason’s cobbled walkway was probably awash with dirt and mud. 

The rain was coming down harder now and it was beginning to pool in the streets; if the basket in his hands spent any more time exposed, the water would soon penetrate the exterior and reach the warm, fresh food within. 

Jonas ran off to the side of the empty street to a building with an overhanging edge under which he could take shelter, and to his surprise, he saw that it was not unoccupied. His surprise did not stem from the fact that someone else was seeking refuge from the rain. Rather, the first thing that caused him surprise was the person’s clothing. His tunic was white with a frilled collar and gold-thread edges and he wore white wrist cuffs. His pants were sleek black and shoes freshly shined. That he had been drenched by the rain did not distract from the reality that his clothing was outlandishly out of place in the Slope. His face, furthermore, was clean-shaven and bright, chiseled with fair and even features, a far cry from the rugged, marked faces Jonas was accustomed to.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” the stranger asked. His voice was clear and level and contained a hint of an accent. Jonas realized that this young man was from the Western Ridge, the sprawling urban center of the city, far from the Slope, where the rich and wealthy lived. Everyone in the Slope, and truly, in the entire city, knew about the new West Ridge children. A new generation, the children of those who had settled in West Ridge, was beginning to bloom into adulthood. Everyone had heard of their lavish parties, their excessive generosity, their beautiful faces, mansions full of good food that never spoiled, jewels that shone like stars, and endless vaults of riches and rare artifacts. This young man before him—his age, his accent, and his clothing—revealed in an instant to Jonas that he was from West Ridge, and furthermore, that he was of these New Aristocrats. 

“You’re from West Ridge,” Jonas said, a statement rather than a question and with some awe in his tone. “Whatever are you doing in a place like this?” No New Aristocrats were ever seen in the Slope, as far as Jonas was aware. Why would they ever have need? Everything they could want and everyone they could care for could be found in West Ridge. 

“You could tell?” asked the young aristocrat, swelling with some pride and self-importance and beginning to straighten out his clothing. “If you must know, I am here in the Slope to purchase a few goods. You see, there’s this particular kind of flower which can only be found here, at the edge of the world. West Ridge, however odd it may appear, simply doesn’t seem to suit it very well. No one can manage to grow them. But out here, in the dirt and muck, the flower grows plentifully. Odd, no?”

Jonas suddenly felt deeply inferior. The young aristocrat’s manner of speaking and his accent made Jonas feel that he was a young child still learning the language. His beautifully elegant clothing made Jonas painfully aware of the sad state of his own appearance. He suddenly thought how vulgar he looked, standing next to the young aristocrat, with his unkempt hair, filthy clothing, mud-caked shoes, fingernails caked in dirt, drenched in rainwater, and holding a shabby old basket containing barely enough food for him and his mother. 

“Flowers?” Jonas said, “For what could you possibly need flowers from the Slope? There are flowers in West Ridge that are much more beautiful, I’m sure.” 

“Too true. Seeing as we’ve just met, however, I believe I am justified in withholding my reasons from you. How about we start with names instead? I’m Darius.”

Jonas was a bit surprised. He had believed, up to this point, that no one in West Ridge would ever care to make his acquaintance. “I’m Jonas,” he said politely. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Jonas. Tell me then, do you know where I can find violet camrians?” 

“I know an old woman in the market who sells them,” Jonas replied. “When the rain dies down, I could take you to her, if you like. Only, I can’t be too long; I’ve got to be home soon.” 

“Fine with me,” Darius responded gratefully, “Now we wait for the rain.” 

While they waited for the rain to die down, Jonas seized this opportunity to question Darius about West Ridge. Everyone who lived in the Slope wondered at the lives of the wealthy, and Jonas was no exception. They’d heard incredible stories about metal pipes constantly supplying clean water and families who hired servants to live with them and cater to their needs. They could never confirm these rumors, however, because no one from the Slope ever visited West Ridge, and the people of West Ridge had no reason to visit the Slope. 

In their conversation, Darius affirmed many of Jonas’s suspicions, and told him many new things he’d never heard before. He talked of their expensive clothing, lavish parties, and machines on wheels called automobiles which took you where you needed to go. Darius seemed to enjoy his enthusiasm and wonder, and was content to discuss his own life while never asking a single question of Jonas. Before they knew it, the rain let up. After Jonas led Darius to old Mrs. Hutton’s flower stall and they bid each other farewell, Jonas found himself wishing they had more time together. 

Jonas found himself thinking often of all the exciting and amazing things he’d heard about life in West Ridge. He began to dream of what his life would be like if he had such wealth. His friends and neighbors would listen to his talk eagerly and with open ears. They asked him questions about the things he said, many of which he couldn’t answer. 

For the next couple of days, Jonas found himself passing by Mrs. Hutton’s flower stall in between jobs, hoping to catch a glimpse of Darius buying more violet camrians. Each time Darius failed to appear, he felt disappointed. Then one day, as he passed up the busy street, he noticed a crowd gathered around Mrs. Hutton’s stall. Darius was once again in the Slope, buying violet camrians. 

Jonas forced his way through the crowd to greet him. He found him enjoying the attention and admiration of the crowd, looking pleased with the many fixed eyes of eager onlookers and excited passersby. There were also, Jonas noticed, many who eyed Darius with suspicion and distrust, though Darius seemed not to notice. He greeted Jonas cheerfully, and—after escaping the crowd—they spoke of many things, and Jonas was able to repeat to him the questions he hadn’t been able to answer. 

It quickly became routine. Every few days, Darius would return to the Slope to buy more camrians; each time he did, he and Jonas would greet each other like old friends and speak of many things for a time. After a few weeks, the people of the Slope became accustomed to Darius’s presence at Mrs. Hutton’s stall, and he became more a welcome visitor than famed celebrity. 

Jonas enjoyed the attention he was receiving from people eager to hear all the information he was receiving, and there were always more people who wanted to listen. It seemed everyone in the Slope was happy to listen, learn, and gossip about the lives of the wealthy. 

All except one. 

Izabelle cared nothing for his new friend. 

At the beginning of each day, Jonas would wake and greet his mother before going to visit Izabelle. They would spend a few hours each morning enjoying each other’s company, sometimes talking endlessly and other times not saying a word. It didn’t matter if they spoke or not, or what they spoke about. It didn’t matter if they stayed in Izabelle’s home with her parents, or if they went wandering around the streets or market. What mattered to them was spending time together, however it was spent. 

Izabelle didn’t like Darius, or anything that had to do with West Ridge. 

“Those people only care about money,” she told Jonas one day, as they strolled through the market. “They never so much as look at us here in the Slope. They look down on us. They think they’re better,” she added with a frown, “because they’re more wealthy. Especially those young aristocrats. They think they own everything, they think they can do what they want, but their money isn’t even theirs. It’s their parents’ money, and they haven’t done a thing to earn it. Don’t think for a moment Darius actually cares about you. He’s a filthy snob, just like all the rest.” 

“He isn’t, I promise,” Jonas said, feeling a need to defend his friend. “He talks to me, answers my questions; he’s always glad to see me. We’re friends, Belle, and he’s a good person.” 

“Fool,” she scowled, “Don’t be so naive, my love. He’s only here to buy violet camrians, for whatever purpose. You’re just someone to talk to so he doesn’t get bored.” 

Jonas loved her, but he didn’t believe her. Darius always regarded him kindly, spoke openly and plainly. He had even taken to asking about the Slope recently. He would listen patiently and with some fascination while Jonas told him what life was like for them, and he never seemed to believe he was above them. 

Izabelle wasn’t the only one who felt this way about West Ridge. There were many in the Slope who resented them; they thought the same as Izabelle, and regarded the rich with cold suspicion. For that, Jonas couldn’t fault her. It was only natural for her to feel envious of those born with more. She’d always held a rooted sense of community and a deep suspicion of outsiders. It was these feelings, in part, which had driven her to save his life.

Jonas slowly opened his eyes, and as he did, his senses began to return. He felt an extremely intense pain in his head, like something was trying to split it open. His wrist was numb, and he felt as though something sharp and painful was piercing it. Then, he became aware of the fact that he was covered in bandages; he was also lying on his back inside a house, although it wasn’t his own. 

He tried to recall how he had gotten there. It had been raining heavily for some days, and he had been rushing through the flooded streets to return home. Then, he caught a faint glimpse of a memory… water rushing about him, flooding into the streets… something hitting him on the head in the commotion, and slowly losing his grip on his senses…  

He opened his eyes and looked up at the concerned face that was peering down at him. She seemed to be about his age, and she was beautiful. Her tanned skin was smooth and rich, though it had the characteristic sheen of dirt and grime of an inhabitant of the Slope. Her hair was rich and dark, thick with waves and collected into locks and strands which hung loosely from her face, dangling over him. Her eyes looked down at him with pity. 

“Don’t try to move too much,” she said, “Or you’ll end up hurting yourself more.” Her voice was light and feminine, and it conveyed a calm concern that sought to reassure him. 

“Who…?” He was going to ask, ‘Who are you?’, but his voice rasped unnaturally and caused him to cough. 

“Don’t speak, either,” she said with a small smile. “Your throat was also damaged, and it’ll be a few days before you recover. Do you… remember what happened?” 

He nodded silently. He could see flashes of images in his mind: a rushing water, the dark streets of the Slope, the pouring rain. 

“The waves carried you off,” she said, “and I found you near here. You’re in rough shape, but you’ll be fine. I don’t know where you came from, but we can figure it out later, okay?” 

He nodded again. His thoughts flicked to his mother. She was a weak and sickly woman, and couldn’t do much work, so he provided for her. He knew she would be worried about where he was, but he didn’t worry about her too much. He knew they had neighbors who would help her get food if she asked. So Jonas spent the next few days focusing on his recovery. 

For the next few days, the girl named Izabelle nursed him back to health. She was gone most of the day, but she would check in on him periodically, changing his bandages, feeding him, and monitoring his progress; and each time she did, he felt more guilty. 

On the third day of his stay with her, as she sat next to him, he asked her, in a deep rasping voice which made it difficult to speak, “Why do you care for me? You should be caring only for yourself, and your family. I am another mouth to feed. I feel terrible taking your food and medicine. Why would you waste the resources to take care of me?” 

“Don’t talk too much until your throat has fully healed, or you’ll damage it more,” Izabelle chided. “I’m taking care of you because you can’t take care of yourself. It’s that simple. We’re both from the Slope, so we should take care of each other, right?” 

“But I’m taking your things and giving nothing in return,” he rasped.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said, smiling down at him, “you can come do work for me after you’re healed to pay me back. My parents could also use the help.” 

“I’ll do that,” he promised. 

Jonas had spent the next few weeks recovering from his injuries. The next few days, he’d stayed with Izabelle, and she’d continued to take care of him. Once his throat had healed, he began talking to her more. At night, when her day was finished, she would come and stay with him, talking to him late into the night. He had enjoyed those hours, because it was the only time she seemed free from stress. She would laugh at his jokes and stories, which he enjoyed telling because she had a sweet laugh like a warm sunbeam on a summer day. She had a passion for art, which she would practice while they talked. She'd show him her drawings and ask him to critique them honestly. She would draw birds and skies and clouds, and she especially loved drawing flowers. Tulips, roses, sunflowers, daisies, dandelions, orchids, and, of course, violet camrians, the strange flowers that refused to bloom except in the Slope. She also loved drawing people, houses, and landscapes from the Slope. Everything and everyone she drew with the utmost care. 

After a week of recovery, Jonas had finally gone back home. He’d finished recovering in another few weeks, and immediately began making good on his promise. He would start each morning by going over to Izabelle’s and helping her or her parents complete odd jobs they needed doing; then, he would get lunch for his mother before beginning his work. After Izabelle and her parents promised him he had paid back his debt, however, he didn’t stop going to visit. Each morning was spent working with them or simply spending time with Izabelle. Eventually, he knew he had fallen in love with her. 

When he’d see her face, Jonas would feel the desire to simply admire her beauty and her smile. When he heard her laugh, he felt a warm glow within him. When they had to say goodbye each day, he felt a pit in his gut as though it hurt him to be apart from her. He longed simply to be at her side and spend time in her company. He wanted, more than anything, for her to be happy and safe. It was when he realized this that he knew for certain what he felt. 

Jonas had told her he wanted to spend every day with her; he’d said he wanted to hear her laugh, to watch her draw, and to help her with whatever she needed. Izabelle fell in love with him too. She told him she admired his kindness and his honor, his commitment to keeping his promise and paying her kindness back. She loved how he listened to her when she talked to him, how he made her feel safe and comfortable. She loved how he’d smile at her and make her laugh. She loved how he would listen patiently to her problems—however minute—and make her feel as if they’d all go away. 

Their lives were simple and happy, and—like the lives of most in the Slope—nothing ever changed. 

Then, one day in the rain, Jonas met a young aristocrat from West Ridge.  

In those days, some of Jonas’s old dreams came alive again. Over the years, he had learned to be content with his station. Especially since he had met Izabelle, he had stopped feeling the lure of money or dreaming of moving out of the Slope. His curiosity and admiration for West Ridge had been dampened. 

Darius’s appearance in his life turned back the clock. Each time they spoke, Jonas felt those old dreams slowly stirring and coming to life. He began to wonder about life in West Ridge and about how nice it would be to have that much money to spend.

This dream never came closer to reality than on one particularly grim day in autumn. 

“Very well, I’ll tell you, since you’re so keen on knowing,” Darius said with an amused tone. ”The truth is, the camrians are for a girl named Sienna.” It had taken much badgering on Jonas’s part to get to this point in the conversation. “The truth is that I’m courting her, and her favorite flower just so happens to be the violet camrian, a piece of information I labored tirelessly to obtain. She has many potential suitors and interested young men, so I bring her violet camrians every time I see her. I hope it will make her feel appreciated, since she must surely know that there’s only one place from which I could be getting them.” 

Jonas considered this for a moment. “What do you think? Does she love you?” 

Darius sighed deeply, leaning back against the street’s stone wall and looking up into the heavens, a bouquet of violet camrians in the crook of his right arm. “Hard to say definitively.” 

“What about you? Do you love her?” 

“Of course I do, she’s beautiful.” 

“What do you like about her?” 

“Well, her face is something of a marvel, perfectly symmetrical and feminine,” Darius said wonderingly, “and her eyes are bright and gentle. Her skin is fair and her shape, fairer. It’s no wonder she attracts so much rapt attention. She really is something to look at.” 

Jonas huffed with a short smile. “That’s not what I was asking about.” 

“Of course,” Darius responded distractedly. 

“Well,” Jonas tried, “Have you told her you love her?” 

“Me?” Darius looked down suddenly with a nervous expression. “Why of course not. What would I go and do that for? She must know I love her by now. Everyone loves her. It’s now down to her to choose whom she will. I desperately hope she chooses me, otherwise these sojourns into the Slope will have been for nothing. Well, maybe not for nothing,” he added, glancing sideways at Jonas with a smile. 

“Oh, I know!” Darius suddenly brightened with delight; he seemed to have been possessed by a marvelous idea, the kind that had to be shared immediately and without delay. “You should come meet her!” 

“Me? What good would that do?” Jonas was more than a little startled at the suggestion. But Darius wasn’t listening to him. 

“Yes, I see it now,” he mused, a smile on his lips, “You should come attend my birthday party tomorrow evening! Tomorrow as the clock strikes twelve, I shall be eighteen years old. It’ll be a marvelous feast full of good food and drink and plenty of lovely women, not to mention the wealth. You should come and celebrate with me.” 

“Hold on a minute, are you sure about this?” 

“Yes, yes,” Darius brushed his feeble protests away. “Of course, I’ll have to give you a good bath at my residence so you don’t smell too… poor, and I’ll give you some of my finest clothes to wear. I’ll introduce you to everyone, of course, and to Sienna, most importantly of all. I’ll make an excuse to leave, a desire for more refreshments, and you’ll stay talking to her. Yes, of course! Just do me this favor, I beg of you. Tell her all the things you like about me. Tell her that I’m loyal and smart and witty and brave and strong. Make sure to tell her that you think me noble of heart, that I wouldn’t dare lay claim to her enormous fortune or her father’s exceedingly full treasury. He is a billionaire, you know, and I don’t want her to think that I’m marrying her for her money. I have to be different, I have to stand out. There are many that want her hand only for her money, so I mustn’t be just another stone in the pavement. 

“Tell her I genuinely love her, a deep and real affection that only I hold for her, and that it has nothing to do with her money. Too many people think too poorly of me, but just you wait! When she marries me, I’ll have all the money I could ever want, and it won’t matter that I’m a mere millionaire, I’ll be so rich they’ll kiss up to me and do whatever I ask with a smile and a generous outpouring of ‘my pleasure’s and ‘at once sir’s. And, of course, to thank you, I’ll let you live in a wing in my mansion, and you can bring your mother with you, anything you want. I’ll let you indulge in all the secret passions and excitements of West Ridge! I’ll count you among the greatest of my friends. 

“No one else but you could do it. Don’t you see? The reason she can’t pick between her suitors is because all she knows about them is what they tell her, and what their friends tell her. How can she trust that? If it were anyone else, anyone from West Ridge, she would be suspicious. She would know that they’d have an ulterior motive, a secret desire. But you, sweet, innocent Jonas from the Slope, making his first move into the big world…! You’re not yet a part of that world. She’ll have an opinion from an unbiased source, a rare commodity in West Ridge. So what do you think? Will you accept my invitation or not?” 

Jonas felt some hesitation at the sudden request, but he found an entirely new world of possibilities opening up before him. He could leave the Slope! He could turn his back on the filth and the mud and wave farewell to days of endless work. He and his mother would be well provided for, and she’d never have to worry about starving or getting sick again. Jonas also felt the secret desire flare up in his heart once more, like a dying ember catching onto a dry log. He wanted to see with his own eyes all the wonders of West Ridge. He wanted to spend a night at one of those parties he’d heard so much about, a glimpse into what his life could become. His friendship with Darius would open that door for him. 

“Will you not help your friend in his endeavor?” Darius pressed him. 

“Just one thing. There is a girl here whom I love. Would you be willing to let her and her family stay also, so that she and I might not be separated?”

“Anything, anything!” Darius promised ecstatically. “We’re friends, of course, and if you help me to win Sienna over, to show her the depths of my love, then I would gladly house the whole of the Slope in my manor!” 

“Very well then,” Jonas felt his heart beating excitedly. “I will gladly celebrate with you.” 

Izabelle, however, would not let him go. 

“What use,” she asked coldly, “would you have in going there?” The old suspicion flared in her eyes and guided her thoughts. 

He did not want to tell her that he was trying to secure for himself, his mother, and for her, a life in West Ridge. He was afraid he knew how she’d react. She’d tell him she didn’t want to live in West Ridge. ‘Better to live in dirt with angels than in splendor with demons,’ she’d say. He had told her instead that he’d been invited to Darius’s birthday party, and that he had accepted. 

“What use is it that I celebrate my own birthday or yours? Or those of my friends and family?” Jonas refuted. “It is a day to celebrate with friends, and since he took the time to ask me so kindly, I feel rude refusing him.” 

No matter how many excuses or well-crafted arguments he constructed, however, Izabelle refused to debate the point further. She hated the people of West Ridge with a learned passion and fierce fire that wasn’t even her own. 

“Promise me, promise me that you won’t go.” 

“But Belle—”

“Promise me,” she repeated, staring into the deep pools of his eyes. She seemed to be searching for his reply and his honesty. 

“Very well,” Jonas reluctantly agreed. “I promise that I shall not go.” 

But the thought of the celebration festered in his mind. Had he not promised Darius he would attend? Had he not agreed to accept?

He had promised to celebrate the night with him and to assist him in his courting of Lady Sienna. 

In the end, the desire of his heart won out against his desire to keep his promise. Shortly after noon, he departed the Slope for the first time and walked through the unforgiving city streets towards West Ridge and the address Darius had given him. 

Darius welcomed him excitedly into his home, despite his dirt and filth. “Of course, you shall be bathed before the ceremony,” he said. He called maids to attendance, and they took him at once to a bath, where they cleaned him of weeks’ worth of dirt and grime and prepared fresh, clean clothes for him. 

Jonas was in quite a state of shock. As he had walked through the city, he had seen the poor neighborhoods of the Slope slowly transform into larger houses, and then tall buildings with many residents, until finally, he was walking among the enormous mansions of West Ridge. Darius’s home impressed him to no end and filled him with a quiet and reverent awe. Everything was clean and shining white marble. There was so much space in the large rooms indoors, he found himself feeling he was still outside. The bathroom was larger than his entire house. Hearing about these things was one thing, but witnessing them first-hand turned out to be quite another. 

Once the maids had finished cleaning him, they dressed him in clothing of the finest silk and tossed out his old ‘rags’. He found himself wearing a frilled, white linen shirt of the smoothest texture and sleek black pants soft to the touch. In addition, they gave him a brilliant white overcoat with a splash of gold stripes and buttons. Jonas felt he was wearing more than the value of his neighborhood. 

When Jonas was dressed, Darius came to collect him, and led him downstairs to where the birthday party had begun. 

The party guests had all arrived and were settled comfortably when Jonas made his way into the foreign world of the wealthy. He and Darius emerged from the upper halls of the manor, and down a sloping stairway into the main hall. Jonas was taken aback by the pervasive buzz of conversation and the sea of people so thick, there was hardly room to walk. 

At the head of the stairs, Darius stopped him as the visitors took notice. They applauded and greeted him with shouts of joy and merriment, many calling ‘Happy Birthday!’ excitedly. Darius then called to the crowd, “Thank you all for coming at my request, I am so pleased you all could make it! I am happy to introduce to you all,” he said, gesturing towards Jonas, “a very great friend of mine, Jonas, from the Slope! Please treat him with all the respect and grace that any one of us deserves.” The crowd applauded and cheered and Jonas felt very out of place, having the sudden desire to escape back into the room from whence he came and avoid the many staring eyes. He shook off the feeling quickly. 

Darius pulled him down by the hand into the horde and—with much enthusiasm—began showing him around and making introductions. Jonas shook hands with so many people that he hardly remembered any of their names or faces afterwards. He almost immediately noticed that there were only the young in attendance; there seemed to be nobody in the entire mansion over the age of perhaps twenty-two. 

Almost everyone he met was dressed extravagantly. They put the rich silks he was wearing to shame with their many jewels and suits and dresses of dazzling colors. Almost all of them were extremely attractive, and they spoke with such eloquence as made Jonas feel simple and uneducated. Darius simply continued to parade him around, introducing him warmly as ‘Jonas of the Slope,’ contributing greatly to Jonas’s embarrassment. This introduction, however, did not cause them to shun him. Rather, they only became more excited by his presence. “A child of the Slope!” they said in eager whispers, “Let’s ask him to tell us what life is like without money.” And they spent much of their time pestering him with curious questions and acting shook with horror at certain revelations. 

“No clean water?”

”Baths? In the river?” 

“How horrible!”

“No servants in any of the houses?” 

They were quite shocked by all he had to say, but soon turned that shock into humor. They made many jokes about the ‘uneducated masses’ (“Except for you, of course, Jonas dear,” they’d add), and the conditions in which they lived. 

This attention they showered on Jonas also extended towards Darius, who seemed flattered and delighted when anyone spoke with him. They showered him with many kindnesses and birthday wishes, naturally, but they also asked him constantly how he had come to know Jonas. 

Jonas himself was, inevitably, quite overwhelmed by the sea of introductions and endless flurry of conversation on topics he had no knowledge about. 

“What’s wrong, Jonas?” Darius asked him between introductions. “You’re looking a bit pale. Come on, let’s get you something to drink.” 

Darius herded him through two doors, many bunched up groups of people, and into one room where food and refreshments were being served. Against one wall were rows of tables upon which there were many platters heaped with all kinds of foods. A few servants were managing it all, replacing empty trays with fresh food from the kitchens. Next, there were tables of glasses and bottles of all kinds, which a pretty young female servant was managing, serving drinks with a smile and often refilling used glasses. 

Darius whispered instructions to her while Jonas waited. While he did, he picked up a wisp of conversation from a group standing nearby. 

“Oh, the things I’d do to her would cause a scandal,” said the voice of a young male with short, combed brown hair, much to the amusement of his friends. “In fact, I’m going to go speak to her and tell her as much, tell her exactly what I want to do with her.” 

Darius returned at that moment and quickly handed a drink to Jonas. “Here you are Jonas, drink this and feel better.” It didn’t make him feel any better, however. In fact, he despised the taste of whatever it was he was drinking. Everyone else was drinking though and—not wanting to deny Darius’s kindness—he drained the glass. He was beginning to feel very out of place once more, but he quickly pushed the feeling away as Darius began to speak in his ear. “I’ll be directing us towards Sienna soon. You know what to do.” After selecting a drink from a bottle with a name Jonas could not pronounce, but which sounded very elegant, Darius led him into the crowd again, and Jonas felt a feeling like a hole in his stomach growing within him. There had been something that was bothering him as he was making all those introductions, but he couldn’t quite place it. It seemed to continue bothering him now. He was once more assaulted by the feeling of being very out of place. 

As they pushed through, he caught another shred of a conversation. “Yes, I told him I loved him,” a young girl excitedly whispered to her friend, “and he believed every word! He’ll be inviting me to the gala next week, thinking I’m there to be with him, but he has friends in such high places and who are stunningly attractive, dear. I’m going to make sure to make all of their acquaintances, and I’ll probably leave him that very same night!” 

“I honestly think I might marry her, at this rate,” another young man was saying to a group of males, “Or at least, I’ll keep her as my woman for another few months, I think. Her face isn’t even that appealing, but she has so much money and gets me such lavish and expensive gifts. We’re always eating extravagant meals and I never have to pay a single cent!” 

At this point, Darius had brought him before another group of young aristocrats conversing, and at his arrival, one of the women excused herself to come and speak with him. 

“Happy Birthday Darius, dear,” she embraced him with a sweet smile. 

“How are you, Sienna?” Darius greeted her. 

Sienna was an extraordinary beauty, who put even the other young aristocrats in the room to shame. Her skin was beautiful, smooth, and very white, and her gorgeous brown hair was brought into a long braid behind her. Her lips were a bright red and the powder on her face made her look young, though Jonas guessed she was about twenty. She was holding a glass and was dressed with a long, ornate red dress—deep red, adorned with rubies—which, combined with her height, gave her an air of maturity and elegance. 

She and Darius engaged in a few pleasantries before Darius drained his glass and excused himself to refill it. 

“So you are the Jonas I’ve heard so much about,” she offered him a kind smile. 

“The one and only,” Jonas responded, gathering as much elegance of speech as he could muster. “And you must be the fair Lady Sienna I’ve heard so much about. Darius never stops talking of how sweet and beautiful you are.” 

“Oh, please, you flatter me,” she said pleasantly. 

“Yes, I’d say he fancies you quite a bit. He’s a very true and loyal friend,” Jonas began, doing his best to remember what he should say, “and I know he holds a deep and true love for you in his heart. He’s—”

“I think we can stop lying to each other,” Sienna cut him off quietly, surprising Jonas. She was still smiling pleasantly, but there was a quiet look in her eyes that told otherwise. “Darius asked you to tell me all these things, didn’t he? I can tell by that look in your face that I’m right. You could have just flattered me, and I’d have accepted the lies with grace. But… saying he holds a deep love for me in his heart? That’s a lie I simply can’t accept without calling it out. You are new here, young filth, but I shall tell you how the world works. No one in West Ridge truly loves another. Everyone here knows it, but not many acknowledge it. This idea of ‘true love’ you speak of, means nothing to us. We date, we love, we marry, but never for the sake of love; it is always for something else entirely. 

“Darius is such a simple and vulgar child, I’m amazed that this is the night he passes into adulthood. He is just another suitor in a long line who fancy me. I am, after all, a true gem among gems: a natural beauty with such extreme wealth, I put most of my peers to shame. My father is a billionaire, after all, and Darius is nothing more than a lowly millionaire. He tries so hard, doesn’t he? He must really think there’s a chance I’d consider marrying him. He had his friend Georg asking around about me, playing it off like he wasn’t involved, trying to figure out what I liked. No doubt he thought if he learned of some secret desire of mine, he’d stand out among my suitors. I planted that lie about my love of violet camrians among my friends to throw him off. I had hoped that he’d never lower himself far enough as to walk into a city of filth and garbage to retrieve those flowers for me, and that he’d have enough dignity to pick himself up and move along to another woman. But no, instead, he began visiting the Slope and then bringing me those wretched flowers, and I’ve been stuck with a desperate pest I simply can’t get rid of, no matter how hard I try.

“Don’t misunderstand, young filth of the Slope. Darius is a vulgar creature, dejected and lonely. In truth, he is only an aristocrat by a few hairs, so he feels distant from us. He seeks our attention, our validation… the fool! He asked you no doubt to speak to me on his behalf. He hopes if he marries me, he’ll get my money and truly become one of us, but he’s mistaken if he thinks I’d ever lower myself to his standard. Why do you think, young filth, that he invited you here in the first place? Why do you think he’s running you around, showing you off like a trophy to all his guests? Do you not notice his excited demeanor when he becomes the center of attention? He simply sought to amplify that feeling on his birthday by having you here, an exotic pet, if you will, for the enjoyment of his guests. 

“So please, let us not tell lies to one another. I know him far better than you ever will, and I am not even considering him for a husband. In fact, I think I’ll just come out and tell him that myself, the next time I see him. Then he can finally put these foolish ambitions to rest. Now if you’ll excuse me, young filth, I have more important matters to discuss.” 

She laughed cruelly before falling back into the fold of the crowd. Her words had hit Jonas like a hammer on a nail. She had spoken of Darius with revulsion and contempt; but when she spoke of the Slope and looked at Jonas, her complete and utter disgust was only too clear. Jonas looked around now, wondering how many of the other guests thought the way she did. He was assaulted once more by the feeling of aloofness, of being in a dangerous place surrounded by potential threats. He realized then what it was he saw in the people’s faces. All their smiles, all their laughter… It wasn’t true joy and laughter, the kind that comes from celebrating a joyous occasion with friends. It was a hollow, superficial laughter of spectacle and pleasure. He thought of how they were speaking and behaving towards one another:

The things I’d do to her would cause a scandal.

I told him I loved him and he believed every word! 

I’ll probably leave him that very same night! 

She has so much money and gets me such lavish and expensive things. 

An image of Izabelle, urging him not to go, sketching with pencil and paper, looking down at him from above, concern blooming in her eyes…

Love? Jonas thought violently. What do these people know about love! I’ve felt love haven’t I? I should be able to recognize it and yet…! I don’t see love in any one of these people. They don’t love each other, they just want each other! To each other, they’re only a means to an end. Only as useful as their bodies are attractive, or as how much money they own, or the size and quality of their connections, or their social status. Beyond that they mean nothing to each other! 

Darius! he thought with a jolt. He’ll be heartbroken. If Sienna rejected him, Darius would be crushed. All the effort he had put into winning her favor, all the long trips to the Slope to buy violet camrians just for her. It had all been a waste, and Darius would be devastated. He wasn’t like these other people, who only looked at each other with selfish designs…

Or was he? What was it Darius had said when Jonas asked him what he loved about her? 

She really is something to look at. 

Jonas abandoned his glass and desperately began pushing through the fog that closed in around him, searching for his one friend amidst the sea of strangers. He had to find Darius and tell him the truth before Sienna could reach him. But try as he might, Jonas could not find him. He checked the refreshment tables, the grand hall, the side rooms; he looked for what felt like an hour; he felt like he was constantly running into the same faces but never did Darius appear. 

The atmosphere changed as his search went on. There was an air of drunkenness that quickly overtook the party. Laughter more freely and wildly rang out. A sharp, tangy smell lingered in the air, and the intoxication was only continuing to grow. Still, Darius was nowhere to be found. 

There was wicked laughter and much movement now. Several hours, at least, had surely passed. The horde was becoming restless and the air itself seemed to quiver with dark excitement. Some of them shoved Jonas as he passed; imitating Sienna, they called him ‘street rat’ and ‘dirt-blood’. 

Jonas was beginning to lose his nerve and his hope of ever locating Darius when he heard a few shouts of astonishment from the next room, and a voice crying out loudly over the others. He pushed his way into the grand hall to view the commotion. There, on the balcony of the upper walkway, standing on the railing, was Darius. 

“Attention everyone, your attention!” he called. “I have an announcement, an important announcement!” 

It was clear in his rosy, blushing face and the slurring of his words that he had been drinking ravenously. His puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks suggested that he had been sobbing not too long before. 

“I have an announcement! An extremely important announcement!” 

He was calling down to them, balancing precariously on the railing. Jonas had seen enough. He began pushing his way desperately through the crowd towards the staircase, from which he could climb to the upper walkway and pull Darius to safety before he hurt himself. But the crowd in the room was becoming too thick to move past. 

Each time Darius cried out about the announcement, more people lost interest and turned away. This seemed to cause him visible dismay. “Get down!” Jonas shouted, “Get down, Darius!” But his words became lost in the uproar.

Then, from somewhere in the mansion, a loud ringing began. A clock somewhere was ringing loudly, announcing the arrival of midnight. Jonas watched in horror as Darius looked around, startled by the sudden ringing, and then slipped. He fell down onto the floor with a sickening crack and stirred no more. There were a few gasps and loud shrieks from the crowd, but then one voice rang out with high-pitched laughter, and soon the room was filled with roaring hilarity. 

Jonas had a glimpse of where Darius had fallen as the crowd shifted. He lay a crumpled mess on the floor, like a dropped doll, and made no attempts to stir. A small pool of blood flowed outward from his head. Jonas struggled forward with his full strength, but his efforts were fruitless. 

The crowd had reached a frenzied state of excitedness. People jumped and ran about, screaming, shouting, and laughing. The knowledge of Darius crumpled up on the floor passed out of all minds except one. Jonas pleaded with the tangled mess of people, but they could barely understand him anymore. He pushed and shoved, and tears began streaming from his eyes, but there was no help for Darius, whose body remained motionless where he had fallen. The crowd closed in around his body, and now they were simply stepping on him as though he’d become part of the floor. Some of the crowd began to notice him then, and they began grabbing at him. 

“Dance with us, Jonas!” 

“Drink more!” One boy tried to hand him another glass. “You haven’t drunk nearly enough!” 

“Celebrate with us!” 

“Join us, Jonas, join us!” 

Not a single one of them acknowledged Darius. 

Jonas had had enough. He changed courses and made for the door, kicking it open and bursting free to the outside. He was focused narrow-mindedly on leaving West Ridge, and escaping to his home in the Slope. He began running all the way back. He tripped once outside the mansion, falling into the dirt and mud, ruining his silken shirt and coat; but he picked himself up at once and kept running. 

Jonas’s thoughts turned quickly to his mother, and then to Izabelle. Izabelle! he thought to himself, You were right! How foolish he seemed in hindsight. Living in the mansion with Darius, or even anywhere at all within West Ridge, seemed like a disconnected thought. It was a bird taking flight and flying far, far away from him. The memory of Darius lying on the floor where he had fallen, ignored and abandoned, surrounded by crazed young men and women who continued their mad frenzy despite his injured state… There was a tugging in his heart, willing him to go back to the aristocrat who had shown him kindness. But he could not bring himself to stop running. Worst of all, the doubts Sienna had implanted assaulted him relentlessly. Did Darius merely see him as an exotic pet, something to attract the guests’ attention? Had Darius ever even considered him a friend? Or had he merely sought to take advantage of him, waving the promise of a life of wealth over his head? 

Tears stung his cheeks as the houses along the streets turned small, and the familiar yet revolting smell of home enveloped him. His thoughts were focused solely on Izabelle. She’d be furious with him, of course, and he would not be able to conceal what he had done. 

The dirty streets reeked with filth and muck, and Jonas desired a cold bath in the river. He could feel the dirt and grime, the stench in the air itself, beginning to cling to him and grip at him with wretched hands once more. His well-adjusted sense of smell, which had breathed clean air for almost a full day, was having trouble readjusting and keeping the stench from penetrating. He no longer felt a longing in his heart for clean clothes, a warm fire, a hearty meal, or even money. He had seen what happened to those who possessed it. All he longed for now was the comfort of family and home, love and companionship. He had the feeling that—despite their poverty and the harshness of life—all things would work out if he could only reach her, the girl who offered him a love no wealth could buy.