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Novelo Rectangle

The clouds looked like it was about to rain. So I tightened my cloak around me, hugging the small sack of yarn close to my side. The weight of it was slight, yet it felt like a luxury, the scratchy fibers reminding me that, even for a servant, I was barely scraping by. Still, I'd save what I could to stitch together something... something of my own, though who would ever notice in a place like this? The alleyway was narrow, wedged between two grimy buildings with cracked stone walls and splintering wooden beams. I could hear the distant hum of voices from the main road where the merchants called out prices for all the wares I couldn’t afford. I always liked to imagine the bustling streets as rivers, flowing with colorful scarves, polished trinkets, and spices in vivid shades of red and gold. But here, in the back alleys, those colors turned gray, tainted by smoke from the blacksmith’s forge and the stale smell of the bakeries’ day-old bread. As I walked, I kept my eyes low, avoiding the puddles that splattered over the cobblestones. The seamstress’s place was still a few streets down, and though it wasn’t yet dark, the sun was beginning to dip behind the towers of the Earl's manor far on the horizon, casting long shadows that painted the alleys in muted, dusky hues. It felt like I was walking in a world made of ash, and in truth, this wasn’t far from the truth. I knew better than to make eye contact with the people around me. Street urchins huddled by the side, their eyes sharp and hungry as they watched anyone who passed by. A woman leaned against a doorway, her face tired and gaunt, the kind of expression you wore when life didn’t often deal you anything other than hardship. Her gaze flicked over me, uninterested. After all, I wasn’t one of the lucky Aralyn-born with their golden hair and fair, unlined faces that somehow always found a way to smirk without consequence. No, I was plain at best, with dark hair and even darker eyes. A common, in the true sense of the word. Invisible to those in silk but an easy target to anyone with an empty belly and nimble fingers. The only sound in the alley was the steady drip of water from a gutter above and the faint rustle of fabric as I passed by an old tailor hunched over a pile of mended coats, his fingers moving nimbly with a needle, a weary but determined look in his eye. He gave me a nod, a small gesture of solidarity from one who knew the same struggles. His fingers were calloused and worn, much like mine, though his clothes bore patches on patches, evidence of years far harder than my own. I offered him a small nod back, careful not to let my gaze linger for long. At last, the seamstress’s shop came into view. It was a modest place, squeezed between a closed-down apothecary and a barber's shop that reeked of oils and herbs. The seamstress's window was dusty, the glass so fogged over you could hardly see the dresses hung in the window, pale and faded like ghostly apparitions of the grand gowns worn by the wealthy at the Earl's manor. I paused for a moment, letting my fingers linger on the small coin purse tied at my waist. It wasn’t much, but with luck, it would be enough to buy just a bit of extra thread, maybe even a needle that wasn't already bent and dull. Just then, a boy sprinted past me, nearly knocking me off my feet. He looked about seven, all elbows and knees, with a mop of hair that might have been red under all that grime. “Watch it!” I hissed, clutching my yarn tighter. He threw a smirk over his shoulder, his teeth flashing white and sharp in the dim light before he disappeared into the alley's shadows. I let out a sigh, trying to shake off the weight of the day, but it clung to me like the dampness in the air. Life in the Earl’s town was a constant struggle, especially for someone like me.

CROWN OF SHADOWS

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Erial

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