Emilie couldn't help it; she smiled softly, sadly to herself when Rodeo called her "shadow queen." Not so long ago, she dreamed of rising up in the ranks, of being crowned with bones and gore and teeth and wielding all the power that one could grasp down in the tunnels. But even Emilie, as crazy as she was, knew that she was dying. There would be no crown.
There wouldn't even be a grave. She'd likely be cast aside, her body robbed of every article of clothing and anything else of worth, and she would rot like so many others down in the tunnels.
When he opened up the bag and offered her the food, Emilie blinked, caught off guard. Her attention was more on the stereo than the food, and she dropped to her knees to gingerly reach out with leather-clothed fingers to lift it up. Fuck, she missed music. Miz used to play her music when she was in the throes of withdrawal.
"Not hungry," she said, tilting her face up to look at Rodeo. "Play me something pretty."