She was sprinting, running for her life in the backstreets of Bilford. The little girl repeatedly glanced behind, sighing with each glimpse, thanking the heavens that whoever was chasing her had finally given up it seemed. However the moment she felt relieved to turn onto a side street, she crashed onto a solid figure, and her behind met the stone paved streets.
“It hurts,” her little mouth wheezed a small cry.
She rubbed the still reddish tip of her nose and looked up. The man’s wrinkled face contorted in fury, his fancy apparel was dirtied by something thick and glossy and yellow. It was the eggs she was supposed to deliver to a certain home, but now it was ruined, and that certain “Mister” would certainly get mad.
The man, who couldn’t contain his anger, spat and shouted, “Damn peasant! How would you reimburse me with this mess, huh?!”
Appalled at what she saw, Poppie ripped a small piece of her tunic and desperately cleaned the man’s clothes.
“Sorry…” she apologized, sighing deep inside. Her shoulder length brown hair shook a little as she grimaced.
Why does she have to be careless at such a crucial time? The orphanage could barely survive with their everyday needs she couldn’t possibly afford to replace such an expensive-looking clothes with her side job alone. Clenching her teeth, she thought of smacking herself for such carelessness.
“Hmm,” raising an eyebrow, the man gave her a suspicious glare, and his eyes moved from top to bottom.
Poppie felt her hair standing on end. What could this man possibly want as a reimbursement? Right after she asked herself that question, the man grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm up to get a good look at her face.
“This face is good enough,” the man said, grinning. “There’s a small market for dirty girls like you, but you’ll fetch a hefty sum nonetheless.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Poppie’s face darkened. It was enough for her to realize what the man really wants.
“No,” Poppie wailed and flailed her arms, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “Help!” she cried, dismayed, but her voice was immediately muffled by the piece of cloth that fell from her hand.
Someone… Please!
Muffled and subdued, the man dragged her towards the dark alleyways of Bilford—a place where no one would her scream, and even if it did, it wouldn’t land on the nicest ears. She struggled to her fate, but a little girl could only do as much against a grown man. It was useless. But no matter how dim her situation had become, she never once thought of resigning to her fate.
Desperate, Poppie swung her arms and did whatever she could on her position. The man raised a fist to quiet her down, and Poppie winced back at the sight of it, but before it could even reached her face, his fist stopped midair, inches away from her face.
Poppie blinked twice. Why did he stop? She questioned herself, moving her eyes upward to the man’s frozen stare. Tracing the origin of this bewilderment, Poppie tilted her head to the side and looked.
With his swept-back black hair, the young man carrying his sheathed sword over his shoulders stole her attention, the sword’s belt dangled below his waist as he walked toward them. A small glass container strung around his neck like a jewelry, and his dark eyes glaring at the man beside her was that of a predator. If looks could kill, the man would’ve died a thousand times.
“My eggs… What did you do to my eggs?”
……Huh? My… Eggs?