Location: Eye of the Beholder
As Thalia made her way down the stairs, it felt like the very air around her changed. Conversations stumbled momentarily, allowing her to sense the ripple of curiosity that swept through the room. It was not a loud disturbance, but a subtle shift—a soft whisper that hinted she was the center of attention. At least for the few faces that turned towards her, some glancing away like startled deer, while others seeming to linger, their curiosity painting a picture of intrigue.
She instinctively smoothed her scarf, her fingers gliding gently over the delicate threads that danced against her skin. The pale embroidery shimmered in the light, creating a sharp contrast against the earthy tones of her surroundings. Perhaps it drew too much attention in this rugged place, where every face seemed weathered and worn, or maybe it was her coat. Its deep green colour, both rich and refined, wrapped around her like a protective cloak, yet it seemed to display an image of sophistication, marking her as an outsider among the rough-hewn settlers clad in patched and frayed clothing. Or barely any at all.
Thalia allowed her hands to drop like heavy stones at her sides, her shoulders rising as if they were mountains bracing against the wind. A surge of thoughts rushed through her mind, like a river flowing too fast to navigate. What is it that exposed me so easily? she pondered.
Her hair? It shimmered a vibrant auburn that could hardly escape notice, of course. In the warm glow of the flickering firelight, each strand seemed to capture the attention of anyone nearby. Or perhaps it was the elegance of her walk, each step graceful like a dancer gliding across a stage—a skill honed from years spent in courtrooms and polished corridors, where every movement felt significant.
Or it’s just that I am no longer significant. That I do not belong, even here, and everyone can tell, she thought bitterly.
The redhead pushed the troubling thought to the back of her mind and glided toward an empty table. As she walked, she could feel the weight of curious eyes on her, as if they were invisible hands reaching out to grab her. By the time she settled into her chair, the buzz of chatter slowly regained its life, yet the feeling of being the main topic in those hushed discussions refused to fade.
Her eyes wandered to the nearby table. There sat a small gathering of settlers, clinking their mugs together in camaraderie, and among them was a wiry man, studying her with an open gaze that sparkled with curiosity but bore no hint of malice. He leaned into the woman beside him, though Thalia couldn’t grasp the words they exchanged from where she was. The woman shot a fleeting glance, her expression unreadable, before returning her focus to her drink, seemingly indulging in its warmth.
Thalia battled the urge to pull her scarf snugger around her neck, seeking the warm comfort it could provide. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the musicians gathered near the crackling hearth, their lively tunes swirling through the room like warm honey. Each note gradually eased the tightness that had taken residence in her shoulders, and just for a moment, the idea of surrendering to the rhythm washed over her.
As if summoned by an unseen force, a shadow loomed over her table, causing Thalia to blink and snap back to reality. A man materialized beside her, his smile twisted like a gnarled old tree, filled with awkward angles and an air of anxious energy. Eagerness spilled from him like a river overflowing its banks, the sensation quickening her heartbeat with a hint of wariness. With a wave of his hand toward the empty chair facing her, he began to speak, his words tumbling out as though he hoped to catch her attention with a net made of chatter.
But Thalia was no mere catch.
Just as she was about to voice her strong refusal to his attempts, a sudden presence appeared. This newcomer, radiating confidence and willpower, seized the first man's collar and yanked him away with such intensity that the chair legs shrieked in protest against the floor. The newcomer then glided into the now-empty chair with graceful ease, settling in as if he had just performed the most generous act in the world.
Thalia narrowed her eyes, feeling a surge of irritation bubbling within her as she observed the man. He appeared completely at ease, a picture of confidence that seemed almost ridiculous in the face of her annoyance. His arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other hand loosely cradling a bottle that glittered with warm, amber liquid. For a brief moment, he appeared oblivious, his dark eyes drifting over the tavern like a king surveying his realm, lost in thought and a world all his own.
Then, like a predator spotting its prey, his gaze landed on her.
Thalia never thought much of the well-worn phrase about charming men possessing smirks that could unravel the strongest wills, but now, faced with this man, she understood its truth.
His face resembled a masterpiece, crafted with such captivating features that he appeared to be plucked from a fairy tale. High cheekbones towered like mountains above a sturdy jawline, while a soft sprinkle of stubble hugged his skin, giving him a rugged yet elegant charm. His complexion radiated with a warm golden hue, reminiscent of the sunlight that had once caressed their world tenderly before vanishing completely, leaving only persistent darkness in its wake. Thalia watched as a rebellious curl of hair fell from its place, tumbling freely and framing his strong jaw as if it possessed a spirit of its own, refusing to conform to the rigid rules of style. It was as though his hair, probably much like his personality, did not incline to follow anyone’s lead, particularly not hers.
Still...everything about the man spoke of arrogance, and it wasn’t the overcompensating kind she was used to seeing in nobles, like Ayel, or soldiers. No, this man was arrogant because he could be—because he knew, and likely had been told countless times, that he was the most compelling figure in any room he stepped into. At least that’s what Thalia told herself.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, even as her mind reluctantly conceded his effect. He was handsome, no doubt, but the kind of handsome that carried a warning. Like the curve of a blade—dangerous and enticing, depending on how you handled it.
When he finally broke the silence, Thalia tilted her head, surprised. His words fell from his lips without the courtesy of introductions, and he barely glanced her way, as if he held the script to their encounter in his pocket. The sheer boldness of his attitude was maddening, yet, to her chagrin, it sparked a flicker of curiosity deep within her.
Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms, her eyes darting briefly to Arnold—or whatever name he went by—who was now awkwardly attempting to sweet-talk another hapless individual.
“And what, pray tell, do you call your little performance here? Some kind of charitable endeavour then?” she questioned somewhat genuinely. It was one thing to be approached, to be wooed with heartfelt intention. However, what was possibly unfolding before her was a different story entirely. Though she was a newcomer in this place, she wasn’t naive; she understood the game being played despite being only familiar with a few of its rules.
“Are you here to offer me some kind of cure for this apparent plague?”
Tally Dor,
ctrlsaltdel,
Snowdrops,
Cleveraptor,
PrinceAlexus,
LanaStorm,
Herald,
Kaithe Dame,
Eviledd1984,
Little Bird
