1
Rose
Iwatch from the shadows as rays of sunlight begin to drive the grayness from the sky. Somehow, I’ve managed to survive another day.
Slipping from the shadows, I tuck the lengths of my skirts around my legs as I hurry to climb down from my hidden perch above the streets before the rest of the city wakes.
The last thing I need is for someone else to find the little nook I’ve carved out for myself among the rooftops.
Thick curls of fog swirl around my ankles as I make my way toward the market, and I breathe in the sweet wetness of the air, yet to be tainted by the pungent smells of the day. The soft, worn leather soles of my boots pad softly against the cobblestone.
Using the lengths of my cloak to shift the fog from my feet, I try my best to avoid the puddles from last night’s downpour which have yet to be swallowed up by the warmth of the sun. There’s a hole in my boot that I can’t yet afford to fix, and I’m not looking to have damp toes all morning.
I shudder at the thought just as a chill morning gust whips down the alley. I pull the remnants of my cloak tighter about my shoulders, trying my best not to shiver against it as the swirling fog at my feet turns to streaming rivulets of white.
I should be used to the cold by now. After all, it’s been my closest companion for far too many years. That and the blazing heat of summer, now but a distant memory with the turn of the seasons.
Finally reaching the market, I slip into an enclave to watch as the merchants set out their wares for the day.
My eyes catch on a set of glistening brooches the man at the nearest stall to me is laying out. The care he takes with each one is all I need to see to know that he’s also the one who spends countless hours over the forge crafting them.
Though my fingers twitch for them, I force myself to look away. I have no use for something so pretty, let alone the ability to ever repay the man if I did. Besides, I’ve seen what happens to those who dare to reach for the shiny things their fingers so desperately itch for.
They were the ones who got caught. The ones who were disappeared from this place, never to be seen or heard from again.
If growing up on the cold streets has taught meanything, it’s that I should never take more than I can repay. Those whom I lift things from may not appreciate the meaning behind the small copper coins I leave for them to stumble across as a means of repaying them, but it helps me sleep a little better at night. After all, we are all forced to make our way in this heartless world one way or another, and the last thing I need is for the gods or fate to find mecompletelywanting of virtue.
There may not be much of a future for me here in the gray city that haunts my nightmares, but it’s far better than what awaits any lone human outside its dingy walls and cracked cobblestone.
A shiver works its way down my spine at the thought. Every night, despite being tucked safely away in my tiny nook in the heart of the city, I can hearthem.
Even now, their voices haunt my mind.
The howls of the wolves that call to each other through the darkness beyond the walls.
Even I know I’m far better off here than if I were to find myself face to face with the creatures that truly rule our world. It’s no secret that we humans are but pawns in a world of wolves. Nor is it a secret that they prey on our kind, especially our women.
I’m no stranger to the cruel ways of the world, and this city is certainly no place to let one’s guard down … but out there, it’s hunt or be hunted.
Kill or be killed.
Prey in a world of hunters.
We are nothing more than a means to an end.
This thought alone has me pulling my cloak even tighter around myself, not that it does me any good. Not for the cold, and certainly not from prying eyes.
Without wanting to, I stand out. A good hand taller than the other women, and even a fair few men, I tower over most of the morning’s crowd.
People can’t help but stare at my height as I move through the streets. Even as a child, I was taller than those around me.
I hated how easy it made me to point out in a crowd. Growing up on the streets, it meant I couldn’t slip away as easily as the others. On the other hand, it’s pushed me to find other means of escape.
My lip curls up at the thought, a twist of anger in my gut as I’m reminded of the times I couldn’t get away. The times no one cared.
Shut your mouth, girl. You’re nothing to them. You’ll always be nothing more than a body. Wherever you go, men will find you. Climb you. Use you, only to then cast you aside like last night’s refuse. You are a nobody with a pretty face. A street urchin of no consequence. The sooner you accept this, the better off you’ll be.
The words still haunt me all these years later, as does the man’s touch who said it ... and the guards who looked the other way even as I called for them.