Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ Turning Red ❯ Heart ( Chapter 14 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Trixie rises from her hammock, taking a big stretch and rubbing her eyes. She looks over at Phoenix’s bed, then at Thirteen’s, and feels relief with a smidgen of apprehension.  

She tip-toes towards Phoenix’s bed, leaning in towards her. Phoenix is sleeping soundly, her breathing rhythmically moving the bed covers; her face stained with blood. 

Trixie climbs the bunk and sees Thirteen sleeping. He looks up at Trixie instinctively, half-dozing, sighs and collapses back into bed. 

“Well?” Trixie asks. 

“Two elves are dead,” a muffled reply emerges from underneath the covers. “I had to fucking kill one to protect her, the other she finished off herself.”

“Who were they?” 

“Drunks. They tried to rape her. She did a half-assed job of trying to bury them in the sand. We’ll need to get rid of them…”

Trixie responds angrily, whispering loudly with a snap: “Oh great. That’s just great.”

As she steps down the ladder, she notices a bare foot protruding from underneath Phoenix’s bed. 

Trixie places her head in her hands and moves across the other side of the room to Henry, who is laying in his bed and starting to wake. 

“I need you to get rid of two bodies with Falkor” she says. “And get the blood out of her clothes.”

“More bodies and blood?! You know he doesn’t like doing this, Trixie,” he protests.

“Just get it done,” she snaps.

Over the next hour, the rest of the crew rise, except Phoenix, who remains exhausted from the night before. She sleeps through conversation, through laughter, through breakfast, even through a little ditty played on a lute by Harris. 

Falkor has the unenviable task of removing the bodies - quite literally. Henry accompanies him to the beach and finds the bodies, as per Thirteen’s instructions. Falkor uses light magic to disintegrate the bodies into thin air. It takes a good half an hour and a lot of strain from the talented little elf, but the bodies and their bloodied clothes eventually disappear. The child doesn’t look happy to be using magic in this way, but he does it for the good of the group, for Seven, even for Phoenix, hoping at the same time her own luck will improve. 




At around midday, Phoenix wakes. The taste of old wine and bread lingers at the back of her throat from the night before. She remains in bed, staring out at the cavern around her. Seven looks back from the table, where Falkor is teaching him how to play chess, and flickers an unsure smile her way. She returns it and, bringing a finger to her hair to brush it aside, feels the hard crack of dried blood that has stuck parts of her ginger hair together. She feels awkward in this state and rises a bit too quickly, her own blood rushing to her head. 

“You okay, Phoenix?” Seven asks bluntly, masking his concern for her.

She turns around towards him and nods, her face flushing with mild embarrassment at the thought of having to tell him what she did to those elves. The flush is pointless as it is impossible to notice beneath all the dried blood flecking across her face, like she’s been in a warzone - and emerged victorious. Seven secretly admires this young woman, her bravery, her raw fighting style and bloodlust. Perhaps they are not too different, he thinks to himself.

“Talk in a bit,” she croaks, having not yet fully woken up. 

She heads to the washroom for a soak and to remove the last of the blood from her skin. Once inside, Phoenix notices her bloodied blue clothes from the night before are gone. She takes her time to soak, get her head straight and scrub as much of the blood as she possibly can from the night before. By the end of her bath, the water is like a deep crimson. Phoenix feels a little sick thinking back to the mauled elf and what they tried to do to her, and all the warm blood on her face and clothes after her blackout. While she feels a little sick, she also feels a little proud at passing Trixie’s test. 

Once ready, Phoenix leaves the room dressed in her old brown outfit again and looks forward to some late breakfast and a chat with Seven.

Instead, she is faced with Trixie. A smug, grinning Trixie, who rushes towards her with arms open. Phoenix crouches down and embraces the goblin, who kisses Phoenix’s cheek like a sister would to her younger sibling. Seven glances over from the table.

“You did it, ya passed our final test,” Trixie says jubilantly, grinning emphatically. “I knew ya would.”

Phoenix shrugs. “Just about, I suppose,” she replies. “I mean, I’m still here I guess.”

“I’m assuming you were attacked?” Trixie asks, pulling away from Phoenix to hold eye contact with her. “You okay? 

Phoenix smiles awkwardly before replying, stumbling over her words. She says: “I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t easy, and I was scared, and I had to bury two bodies in the sand but -”

“Shh,” Trixie covers Phoenix’s mouth with a little green finger. “Come with me.”

Trixie grabs Phoenix’s hand and directs her through the main room and into a turning at the far corner. The room curves round here, leading towards a single door. It’s big enough for Trixie to fit through, but seemingly impossible for the likes of Seven, Django or the dwarves.

Trixie takes some keys from her jacket. 

“Look away, redhead,” she smiles at Phoenix, who does so, turning her back on the goblin. It sounds like there are multiple locks in the door; Trixie works with efficiency and rhythm as she unlocks this pint-sized door. After a few moments there is a loud unlocking noise, the lock lifts and the door creaks open. 

“Mind your head,” Trixie says, prompting Phoenix into the room with her. 

Phoenix, who was already peeking a little, turns herself forwards and bends down to fit into the narrow doorway behind Trixie. 

After shuffling through, the room opens up into a cosy makeshift office and storage space. There’s a writing desk up against the wall, covered in parchment and letters, with a couple of chairs beside it. A spyglass sits atop the desk, alongside an inkwell, quill and stacks of gold coins. There are drawers on either side of it; Phoenix wonders what secrets reside in this room.

There are several boxes and a few small chests scattered around, with what appears to be junk piling to the ceiling. There are some weapons, shields, mana crystals, trinkets, armour and other goods dotted around the room, which at first glance looks a mess, but Phoenix reckons Trixie probably has some sort of system to the chaos. 

“Take a seat, kid,” Trixie says, tapping one of the chairs beside the writing desk and plopping herself onto the other. 

“How did you get those chests through the doorway?” Phoenix asks, pointing at them. 

“Don’t worry your little red head,” Trixie waves her comment away. “We got everything we needed down here, then closed up the entrance into a narrower  space. And with the dwarves’ guidance, we can dig through and make new rooms if we wish.”

Trixie winks with her one eye, the other covered by her trademark eye-patch. She opens a drawer and rummages through, eventually pulling out a long piece of parchment that’s been folded over a few times. She slaps it onto the table and turns to face Phoenix.

“This is a list of our crew,” Trixie states. “We’ll need your name to officially add you to our ranks. Now, some don’t like to use their real names, they like to start afresh when they join us and leave their old lives behind. For them, we give them a number, or a different name. Hence Seven and Thirteen. Some older numbers become available as time moves on.” 

Phoenix wonders if she means that happens when crewmates die, and she stares as she thinks about the danger she’s drawing herself into.

“Do you want a new name or not, kid?” the goblin asks.

Phoenix thinks hard about this and stares at the writing desk. She does want a new start... Could she take the number 16 after her age? Phoenix instead thinks about her current name.

She shakes her head at Trixie, deciding not to elaborate on her choice.

“Fair enough.”

The goblin dips the quill in the inkwell and writes ‘Phoenix’ eloquently at the bottom of the list. She draws a small heart to the left of her name. Phoenix notices an inverted triangle in the corner of the parchment.

“What’s your surname again?” Trixie asks.

“Uh, Dreamfoil,” Phoenix replies.

Trixie mutters under her breath: “Interesting name.”

“Sign here,” Trixie says, passing the quill to Phoenix and tapping her finger onto a blank space on the parchment.

Phoenix signs, without asking any questions, placing full trust in Trixie.

The goblin smiles at the elf, who smiles back. The pair embrace. 

“Welcome kid,” Trixie whispers, her head nestled near Phoenix’s ear. “Now,” she adds, pulling away and raising her voice. “Your inauguration gift.”

Phoenix’s eyes light up as Trixie stands and moves to a makeshift arsenal in the corner, with swords and staves and other weapons lined up. There are knuckle-dusters, knives, cutlasses and different types of swords here.

“Oh that cutlass looks nice,” Phoenix says.

“Ah ah ah,” Trixie tuts at Phoenix and raises her hand in the air towards her. “The weapon selection is made by me and is named by me. You then have to grow into it. If it’s not working after a month or so, we go back to the drawing board.”

Trixie strokes her chin, staring at the blades on the wall, in thought.

“There is no real question here,” Trixie says. “No, none of these will do,” she adds, letting out an exaggerated sigh and raising her hands in the air, as if she’s playing out some sort of pre-planned sketch. 

Trixie moves towards a humble-sized chest nestled between other boxes and piles of junk. It has been painted crimson red and has gold etchings and a padlock on it. She carefully lifts it out and, shoving some junk away on a nearby table, making room for it. Trixie takes the keys from her pocket and unlocks it, before lifting the chest’s lid.

She carefully pulls out an object, and raises it, her back still facing her new apprentice. Phoenix can see the gleam of a blade to the left side of Trixie’s small frame and a silver and gold hilt on the right. Excitement flickers inside her.

Trixie turns around slowly, grinning from ear to ear as she holds out the sword in front of her.

Phoenix has never really been interested in swords or weapons before, until now. The rapier is exquisite. Its silver blade is long, narrow and pointed and combines with the beautiful hilt naturally. It’s not like usual hilts, which often look as if they’ve been plonked on as a makeshift handle, a throwaway thought. The sword widens as it reaches the hilt, which is golden with a small silver pommel at the end. Above the hilt there is a curved semi-circle of silver, designed to protect the wielder’s hand from any attacks, standard for a rapier. There are a few golden spikes emanating from this semi-circle, complementing Phoenix’s jagged personality.

Phoenix doesn’t know what to say. She looks down at the sword and back up at Trixie again, her mouth parting slightly as she just stares. Trixie passes the sword to her and Phoenix slowly reaches out for it. She grips the hilt in her left hand and points the sword outwards. Phoenix lifts it again and slides her right forefinger from the tip to the base of the sword, tapping the point at the end. It is impossibly sharp. 

As Phoenix is admiring the sword, Trixie pulls some more items from the trunk. She holds out a small bottle of oil and a cloth to Phoenix, and places them on the table.

“You’ll need to look after it, like a child,” Trixie says. “To keep it in check of course. Keep it in order and it will keep you alive. I’ll show you how to care for it.”

Phoenix nods excitedly. 

“Thank you, thank you-” she starts, cut off by Trixie.

“We’ll need to name it before it’s officially yours.”

“Okay,” Phoenix says, half-ignoring Trixie, enamoured by her very own weapon.

Trixie puts her chin in her hand again and looks around the room. 

“I did have a name for it,” Trixie trails off. “But I think it might have been too obvious. You have a rage burning inside of you, kid. We could have easily called this rage, or fire, or anger, or anything like that. But I think that doesn’t really capture the whole of… you.”

Trixie looks at the parchment on the table and the small heart shape she drew next to Phoenix’s name. 

“You’ve got something that’s not easy to come by, a spirit, an honesty… coupled with pain.”

Trixie makes eye contact with the elf. “You’ve got heart, kid,” she adds.

“Heart!” Phoenix says aloud. “I love it, it suits it so well.”

Trixie nods, taking on a more serious tone. “More than you know,” she smiles. 

The words are lost on Phoenix, who is enamoured by the blade.

“Oh, there is one more thing,” Trixie states. She leans into the chest again and pulls out a red leather scabbard, flecked with gold around the edges. 

She throws the scabbard gently to Phoenix, who catches it in her right hand, places the sword up against the wall and attaches the scabbard to her belt. 

“Two more things, actually. I don’t think that’s your colour,” Trixie says, eyeing Phoenix’s clothes. “And definitely not blue. Your outfit last night came back almost entirely red as there was so much blood on it. Why don’t we just save ya the trouble next time and dye your clothes that colour instead?”

Phoenix nods. “Whatever you say, boss,” she smiles.

Trixie creases her face up and says quickly: “Oh come on, ya don’t need to call me that.” 

While Phoenix continues to admire her sword, Trixie moves to a low shelf beside the desk and scans her eyes across several bottles, before taking one. She then rummages through another small chest of clothes and different materials and pulls out a long piece of white silk. She grabs a pair of scissors from the desk and cuts a shape into the material.

Trixie turns to Phoenix, holding up the bottle of blood-red dye and the piece of silk. “Come on, redhead, let’s dye you,” she says.

The pair walk back through the main area to the washroom, Phoenix feeling in high spirits with her new sword by her side. Thirteen and the dwarves are nowhere to be seen. 

Django is lying on his bed. At the table, Falkor has taken most of Seven’s chess pieces and moves his queen across the board, his blindness not seeming to affect his awareness of the board’s layout.

Seven grunts: “Ah, check. Again.”

“Where are the others?” Phoenix asks Trixie along the way.

“Out running errands, tying up some deals,” Trixie replies. “They’re our main eyes and ears in the day, you and Seven will work at night, as discussed. I’ve got something planned for ya both tomorrow. That’s why it’s important we get your outfit right today.”

Phoenix and Trixie enter the washroom and the goblin closes the door behind them. Trixie spends the next few hours helping to dye Phoenix’s blue clothes a crimson red, starting with her blue unbloodied boots she left behind the night before and moving to the tunic, hood and gloves, and finally the piece of silk. The belt is left alone as black leather, matching her dark tights.

As well as teaching the elf the basics of dying clothes, Trixie covers some techniques for removing bloodstains and offers advice on when and how to change her appearance. 

“You know you really should dye your hair too,” Trixie says, her serious look turning into a smile, “but I don’t think I can bear myself to take that fire away.”

Together, they spend most of the day meticulously removing bloodstains and dying clothes, allowing them to soak and dry at different intervals with the occasional help from Falkor.

Eventually, Trixie hangs the outfit on the back of the door and leaves it to fully dry overnight, taking the piece of deep-red silk with her.

Phoenix tells the goblin about the members of the gang in black she spotted snooping around and speaks again about her remorse for killing Chrim. But aside from a smattering of serious talk, the pair are happy in each other’s company, sharing jokes and speaking about everything from the kind of jobs and payment Trixie has for Phoenix, the rest of the group’s history and how to care for her new blade. 

Phoenix’s weapon gets tested thoroughly in the evening as she spars gently with her companions. The day is over in a flash.




The next morning, Phoenix awakes feeling excited about the thought of wearing her new outfit and accompanying Seven on the night’s mission. After breakfast and some quick exercises, Phoenix heads into the washroom to find the outfit stretched out nicely on the back of the door. 

She runs her fingers across the deep-red tunic hanging up and takes a moment to pore her eyes over it, over the gloves folded over the hood and the boots on the floor. The tights have been replaced by red leather trousers. She feels enamoured by the outfit: something just feels right to her about the vibe and colour of it. Phoenix smiles at the thought Trixie has put into it and quickly changes from her older brown outfit into the red one.

There’s a knock out the door. Phoenix, who is now dressed and attaching her holster to her belt, opens it. Trixie’s beaming face is in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“Sure,” Phoenix smiles, feeling proud in her deep-red outfit.

“You whipped into your new outfit quickly I see,” Trixie says. “I wanted to put on the finishing touch and see what ya look like! May I?”

Phoenix nods with eagerness and curiosity.

Trixie takes the deep-red piece of silk from her pocket and holds it out to Phoenix. The goblin has made some adjustments to the material, which is now stitched together to create a loop, leaving a large gap in the middle for her head to fit.

“A mask, like Seven’s,” Trixie states, prompting the elf to place it over her head. 

She does so, swivelling around like a model on a catwalk, throwing all manner of ridiculous poses at Trixie and placing the hood over her head. It covers the bottom half of her face, leaving her eyes showing.

The little goblin giggles. “Wonderful,” she adds. “You look like a proper bandit, like Seven; no one can see your face.” 

As Trixie opens the door to leave, smiling, she turns to Phoenix and says: “Remember, it’s not just you we’re hiding. We don’t want any more people killed in this area if we can help it, we don’t want anyone picking up our trail, especially now the Steelfeathers are looking for us. You’ve been close to giving our location away before.”

Phoenix nods again. 

“I won’t let you down,” she responds.

“You know you’ve been nothing but trouble, redhead, ever since I first laid eyes on ya in that cart-...cave,” Trixie smiles, correcting herself. “Time to start repaying us now.”

Trixie walks into the main room, leaving the door open for Phoenix behind her. The elf steps into it and freezes, a sudden confusion washing over her, quickly replaced by a nagging frustration. She pulls her bandit mask down.

“Wait a minute, what did you say?” Phoenix’s words cut through the air towards the goblin, a little louder than necessary.

Trixie spins on her heel and turns to look at Phoenix. Her eyebrows raise and she stares at Phoenix, at the aggravation in her eyes and the frown on her head. 

“What, are you deaf?” Trixie laughs, trying to make a joke. “I said you’ve been nothing but trouble since I first laid eyes on you.”

Phoenix shakes her head.

“You said you first laid eyes on me in a cart. What cart?”

Phoenix walks slowly towards the little goblin, whose single eye darts around not knowing where to look. Phoenix’s confusion turns to clarity; her heart thuds fast in her chest as adrenaline kicks in.

“Did I say cart? I meant cave,” Trixie says. She’s good at lying, but not that good. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I heard you clearly. You’ve been following me, before we met, haven’t you?” Phoenix asks quietly, the words lingering in the air as she leans over Trixie. The rest of the group are still eating breakfast at the table, not noticing the exchange, except for Seven, who looks around and spots Phoenix’s aggressive body language.

Trixie cannot contain the lie. “Look, kid-”

“You stole from me, didn’t you!” Phoenix shrieks. The rest of the crew look around at the noise.

Trixie claps twice, loudly, commanding the group to come to her side. Seven is already there.

Phoenix continues: “You took my savings, my gold. YOU are the reason I was attacked and left for dead!”

“Phoenix, you need to calm down,” Trixie speaks serenely, tilting her head forwards and placing her hands out in front of her.

“No!” Phoenix shouts, stepping back into the doorway. “No. No! Not you as well. Not you. I trusted you. This is all a lie, this,” Phoenix stammers hysterically, starting to shake as she backs into the washroom. “Get away from me!”

The group are standing beside Trixie now, looking at her and awaiting their instructions. Phoenix is talking quietly now, speaking incoherently almost to herself.

Django, standing behind Trixie, leans down to one of her ears and says with a harsh temper: “What did you do dis time?”

“I gave away the fact I stole from her in the cart, alright? I slipped up!” Trixie turns to the troll raising her voice.

“For de loa’s sake Trix, tell her da truth!” Django booms. The dwarves, Falkor and Seven look at Django and Trixie. Thirteen scowls with contempt.

“Which one?” Trixie asks. Django just returns her question with an angry look.

Trixie steps into the doorway slowly, Phoenix pacing the walls behind the bath without thought or control. Tears are streaming down her reddened face but she is not weeping. They are cold tears of anger, of broken trust. 

“Don’t come near me,” she whimpers, “I-”

“Phoenix, I did steal from you,” Trixie says, the group standing behind her in the doorway. “Just hear me out. The truth now.”

Phoenix loses balance, the cavernous walls around her blurring thickly. She leans into the wall and breathes deeply, the heartbeat inside her chest thundering at a great pace as she struggles to retain consciousness from the rising anger and emotion coursing through her. 

“I stole from you because I am an opportunist,” Trixie says, calmly. “Some would say I’m a thief. You know this, I have told you so before. But we both know I am - we all are - much more than that.”

Trixie opens her arms and swivels, referring to the rest of the crew.  Phoenix, snarling, closes her eyes and shakes her head, fighting with every breath not to lose consciousness.

“I had no idea who you were or where you were going,” Trixie adds. “The cart’s driver had stopped for a break, to feed the hawkstriders. While he was fetching water for them, I came up and went through your bag.”

Another tear on Phoenix’s face falls. The elf treads along the fine line between rage and control precariously, tempting the red mist of no return.

“As I was leaving, I turned back and saw the driver notice you there and feel pity, I think, as he left you alone.”

Trixie pauses, trying a dab of humour instead. “I bet you didn’t even know he stopped. Not looking or seeing again, huh?” she laughs.

Phoenix dives towards the green goblin with impressive agility and swings for her face.

The rest of the group dash towards Trixie, pulling her away and protecting her as Seven rushes to Phoenix’s side, grabbing her in a bear hug and lifting her aloft.

“Liar!” Phoenix snaps, struggling in Seven’s grasp. “You lied to me. All this time.”

Trixie walks calmly beside the angry elf, expecting her to fully see red and lose control at any moment. The uncertainty fills her mind with concern, but the goblin holds her composure.

“Lying is a part of life,” Trixie says, slowly. 

Phoenix responds with more wriggling and shouts: “Let me go! You liar, you thief. You stole my trust. Let go!”

Trixie considers for a moment as the elf struggles in the orc’s arms. The rest of the group looks on with concern. 

“So be it,” Trixie says. “You heard the girl, let her down, Seven.”

The orc looks at the little goblin, bemused. 

“It’s alright,” Trixie confirms, nodding. 

Seven slowly lowers Phoenix and loosens his grasp on her. She juts free and looks at Trixie with uncertainty, her face an inch away from the goblin’s. It is furious.

“What will attacking me achieve?” Trixie states, staring into Phoenix’s eyes of fire, of anger. 

The pair stand off against one another, Phoenix precariously close to tipping over the edge.

“It’ll make me feel fucking better for one,” Phoenix spits.

But the words tumble through her head - and heart - and it’s now Phoenix’s turn to look bewildered. Trixie’s question, her logic, has caught her off guard. As her restraint is fully lifted, she hesitates, then steps backwards to get a better look at Trixie, still confused and furious, still tingling with anxiety and shaking with rage. But listening. 

“You might injure me, but the rest of the crew here would at best restrain you, at worst seriously injure you,” Trixie continues. “For what? To release your anger? Make you feel better? We want to help you, redhead. The rest of the world doesn’t.”

Trixie caresses a strand of Phoenix’s ginger hair between her thumb and forefinger, like stroking a wild cat that could claw her at any moment. The elf is breathing slower now, her face a mess, her tear-stained cheeks puffy and her mouth quivering. Phoenix puts her hand into her pocket and grips the old coin from Django tightly. 

“Lying is a part of life,” Trixie repeats. “But friends do not lie to one another. You were not my friend when I met you, but you are now.”

She pauses.

“Anyway,” Trixie continues. “I do not like the word ‘lying’. I prefer ‘withholding information’. And withholding it until trust is earnt. That’s an important distinction to make.”

Trixie looks up at Phoenix, her back to the others, and lifts her eye patch up for two seconds. There is one perfectly healthy looking eye beneath it, which winks casually at Phoenix before the patch covers it again. 

Phoenix is even more puzzled now, her conscious mind so preoccupied with this new information, she just stands and listens to what Trixie has to say. She is breathing a little more calmer now, but still quickly, like a child who has been distracted mid-tantrum. She grabs Trixie’s shoulders and looks lost in thought. 

For the first time since Phoenix started experiencing blackouts, this one looks like it’s been averted. Could Trixie be somehow taming the beast within the elf’s mind?

“Don’t lie to me - or withhold information - again,” Phoenix whispers, leaning down to the goblin’s face, a cold edge to her voice interlaced with desperation. “Please.”

Her eyes linger at Trixie’s faux eye patch as she wonders what it achieves. The goblin notices this and simply smiles back with an air of smugness. Phoenix’s breathing slows to a more normal state.

Trixie ignores Phoenix’s words, leans in further and whispers back, just so Phoenix can hear: “ Some in our trade like to be faceless, I prefer to leave a lasting impression. Plus, this thing has brought me luck.”

The goblin places a hand on the side of Phoenix’s face, wipes a tear away and rubs her cheek gently with her little green thumb. She strokes her hair again and embraces the elf in a hug.

Phoenix remains in thought, kneeling down against the goblin as the pair share a moment. The rest of the crew leave them behind, Seven lingering a little longer just to make certain the situation is resolved. He closes the door behind them.

The elf is a ball of emotion; a rainbow of feelings curdle inside her confusingly. Anger, admiration, bliss and pain. Can she trust this goblin? What other choice does she have?

“Now, we won’t do this again, will we?” Trixie says, low and calm, speaking to the elf like a young child, like she’s the one who’s done wrong. “We’re your friends.”

The goblin has managed to turn the tables without once apologising to this broken young elf.

Phoenix shakes her head instantly, looking away, the thought of Trixie lying to her and stealing from her now just a grain of sand in the rough sea that is her mind. She feels she’s learnt a valuable lesson on trust, deceit, secrecy and self-control all at once. And she owes it to Trixie, doesn’t she?

Phoenix looks into the goblin’s eyes with expectation and wonder, like a lost lamb who has wandered into a bull’s field. Trixie smirks wickedly. Follow, or there will be trouble. 

“As I mentioned, tomorrow you’ll do your first full job for me, with Seven by your side. Think you can handle it?” Trixie adds. “No more incidents. No more tantrums. No questions asked. Just a simple job, completed professionally in exchange for a few gold. How does that sound?”

Phoenix nods and replies: “Good.”

And her mind is largely set on this. But a little part of her is thinking about how she can escape Trixie and go it alone.