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Anupuma was trembling, and fortunately no-one was looking very hard at the drapes partitioning the transepts from the throne room. It was supposed to be a random afternoon spying on their father as he addressed his small council! Anupuma, second of their name, hadn't understood why they weren't invited to the councils, anyway. It would be their role, after their sister's coronation. To sit at the triangular table along with the High Inquisitor of the Cloth and the General Commissioner of the Rod. To manage the spiritual and the financial, and leave matters of state and leadership to Her Majesty their Esteemed Sister. Well. Not anymore. Not if what Anupuma, suddenly not very sure they wanted to know what the first of their name was, but very sure they had heard it order their execution. For what? "He" (and they felt a brief moment of anger, and then resignation) "is not of our blood, my son." I wat? "I saw the birth myself, Exalted One," was answering their father. "The birth of your son, you saw, but not the birth of this one." Anupuma faltered, and the cloth they were hanging on rustled loudly. Their father(?)'s head turned. The horrifying face of flame and bent red hot steel that had been, for all their life, a rather beautiful pipe organ, sneered. They blanched, volte-faced, and ran.
Sarju just could not believe it. A winning ticket? No. Nothing such happened to the Lukkad. The Lukkad did not have good luck. That was the antithesis of their very being. She could see the golden edges, and the stamp of authenticity which shined under the street light. She should cash it in. It would be revealed, at the last minute, that the paper had been a mistake. She was Lukkad. Luck did not benefit them: bad luck was her life, so that good luck could happen for the rest of the City. Yes. She would go, and she would cash it in, and she would suffer the consequences, and then she would redeem her story of bad luck at the Lukkad Chapel in exchange for a meal and shelter. Today was a bad day: she was sure of it.
Sarju just could not believe it. The winning ticket had been real. She had more money than she knew what to do with. More still had been placed in a bank account. Lukkad did not have bank accounts. Lukkad lost everything they had the moment it was close enough to touch. Yes. She had gotten a winning ticket, and she had money, but she was Lukkad. Tomorrow would be a worse day than all the days before. From higher, Lukkad fell harder. It was her turn now. She would fall harder.
Anupuma turned a corner at full pelt, and before they could stop themself, barrelled into a boy with long tresses, dressed in rags and carrying a large money purse of purple silk. Coin, golden coin, went flying everywhere. "Oh bad!" the boy exclaimed. "Lukk curse me, some bad luck!" And nonsensically, the boy offered a hand to Anupuma, who was panicking and apologising all at once, not making much comprehensible noise. "Come on, stranger. You just bought me my daily food. I'll share, and you'll share some of your bad luck.