It had been several days since the Cleric convinced the village elders to grant them sanctuary, yet Margaret still awoke each morning half-expecting it all to have been a dream. To open her eyes and find herself once more on the run through the wilderness or be back inside the temple
But no, this was their new reality - a quaint village of thatched cottages and cobblestone lanes with carriages and other strange things she’s never seen before cross its road. A world steeped in the trappings of medieval fantasy that both entranced and unsettled her with its foreign customs.
Thankfully they had Aaron to guide them and the rest of the villagers they came to know. All of them had been so considerate to the both of them, Aaron especially. That man had almost made it his personal mission to check up on them every once in a while to make sure they were doing alright and acclimating to their new home.
Which was sweet, she had to admit. It was hard not to appreciate him after all the kind things he’s done for them. Asha had started to warm up to him too, as time passed. Acting more politely and even looking forward to his visits. Although, mostly just to see Mistral who she’d grown excessively attached too.
For the most part they were doing well, all things considered. Margaret and Asha didn’t have much to their name but a warm bed, a cozy fire and a roof over their head to keep the winter chill out was more than what they could ask for.
Both of them were still at a loss of what they planned to do going forward, however. They’ve just been living at the inn and mingling with the townsfolk. Which gave her plenty of time to think and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
A soft snore drew Margaret's gaze to the pallet beside her own, where Asha was tangled in a cocoon of rough-spun blankets. The young girl's chest rose and fell with the slow cadence of peaceful slumber, a faint smile playing across her lips.
Despite everything, her daughter seemed to be adjusting to this strange new existence with typical childlike resiliency. Asha had been over the moon with delight upon learning they could remain, instantly enamored with the fairytale aesthetics and friendly faces of their otherworldly neighbors.
For Margaret, however, the transition was more...complicated.
It was hard… getting used to all the new things, the concept of races other than human, magic, maybe even monsters if the stories they heard from the other villagers were true. It was too much to ask of someone like her to get used to in a heartbeat.
She still flinched every time she came across one of the dragon folk or a troll, worst of all that one time with a giant where she had screamed and nearly bolted into a cart full of cabbages. It was too strange for her too soon and too fast. From a distance it was fine but when she came face to face with them it was just a reminder of how out of her depth she was.
It made her instinctively clutch Asha close to her side whenever a non-human drew near, unable to quell the nagging fear that one of these beings might try to hurt her daughter.
But those fears had so far proven unfounded. If anything, she was the strange one by constantly being on guard and suspicious as though she had never seen any of them before. Which she didn’t, but it would be impossible to explain how she was from another world.
Though, she was fine with the more humanoid races. Burly dwarves with thick braided beards haggled boisterously in the marketplace. Sylphlike elven hunters prowled the surrounding woods with lethal grace. Even more bizarre creatures like gnomes, and halflings were fine.
Margaret realized she had to calm down and get used to things soon or else she’d set such a bad example for Asha. Not to mention how hard it was getting to explain her actions to confused villagers, soon enough they’d start spreading rumors about her which would affect her daughter. One of the worst ways to make an impression on your new neighbors.
Though the other races regarded Margaret and Asha with open curiosity, none showed any hostility. Although there were a fair amount put off and insulted by her behavior. Mostly, she sensed an unspoken sympathy from many of the elder residents who watched over them with kind indulgence.
Due to her reluctance to divulge information about their past, Margaret had accepted the convenient lie that she was a single mother running away from a difficult situation involving her old tribe. A detail Aaron had come up with. Why’d he’d ever play along was beyond her though.
But it was that welcoming spirit that eventually allowed Margaret to slowly loosen the reins on her reservations. She was determined to make this village work as a permanent home for Asha, which would mean acclimating to the cultural hodgepodge around them.
Which was how, after several days, without Aaron’s supervision and on her insistence, they were able to walk around the Market by themselves without any major incidents occurring.
Margaret was starting to realize how dependent they were getting on his support and it made her feel uncomfortable. Having lived in a situation where she wasn’t able to be independent and make her own decisions, this was important to her. And if this persisted she was scared of the implications it might have.
"C'mon mama, I wanna see all the neat stuff they have for sale!" Asha had wheedled excitedly, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Smoothing her hands over the rough linen of her plain skirt, Margaret had smiled at her rambunctious daughter, her strength having fully returned. "Alright sweetie. But you have to stay beside mommy at all times where I can keep my eye on you."
Now, as they wove through the bustling market stalls overflowing with exotic wares both functional and whimsical, Margaret clutched Asha's small hand tightly in her own. She couldn't help flinching each time a hulking minotaur lowed by or a pixie went whizzing past in a flutter of wings.
Margaret watched from the doorway of their modest thatched abode as Asha, with tentative steps, mingled among the village children. The sight eased a persistent weight within her chest, a knot that had tightened with each flicker of her daughter's unbidden magic. She marveled at how the girl's laughter, rare as it was, seemed to weave a more vibrant tapestry into the fabric of the mundane around them.
"Easy now, Asha," Margaret murmured under her breath, a silent incantation against the unforeseen. Her gaze followed every movement, ready to intervene should the air crackle with the scent of ozone—a herald of Asha's powers awakening.
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A soft breeze tousled Asha's hair, carrying with it the scents of earth and woodsmoke, grounding Margaret in the present. Yet, the tranquility offered her mind the treacherous luxury of retrospection. In the temple's chaos, with its stone-cold secrets and veiled threats, there had been no room for such indulgences. Survival had consumed every thought, every whisper of energy. But here, amidst the simple rhythms of village life, the past unfurled like a scroll before her.
Margaret's hands clenched, knuckles whitening. She remembered the shimmering barrier of the portal, the last glimpse of a world that had been both haven and prison, home and hell. Faces of friends and neighbors flashed behind her eyes, their features blurring with the passage of time and tears.
"Momma?" Asha's voice, laced with uncertainty, pulled her back across the bridge of years.
"Everything's fine, love." Margaret forced a smile, smoothing the crease between her brows with practiced ease. "Just thinking about... old friends."
"From before?" Asha asked, her small hand finding Margaret's.
"From before," she confirmed, her heart aching.
The echo of the temple's silent corridors haunted her, but she shook away the ghosts, focusing instead on the warmth of her daughter's touch. They were here now, forging new paths upon the untrodden ground.
"Let's see what the rest of the day brings us, shall we?" Margaret suggested, her tone threaded with a hope she wasn't sure she felt.
Asha nodded, her grip still firm on her mother's hand, as if anchoring her to this strange new reality they now called home.
Margaret's gaze wandered across the throng of villagers, the bustle of the market square a stark contrast to the tranquility of their small cottage on the village outskirts. Her fingers traced the rough weave of the basket she carried, filled with the day’s modest offerings from the local traders.
"Chicken!" Asha exclaimed, tugging at her sleeve, her eyes bright with delight at the sight golden and crispy meat skewered on a stick, so rare in the temple where austerity had been their constant companion.
"Let's get some," Margaret agreed, the simple act of buying apples feeling like an indulgence they could now afford.
As she handed over a few coins to the vendor, a sudden silence fell upon her heart—an eerie disquiet that made her skin prickle. She lifted her eyes and across the square, amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, one struck her with paralyzing familiarity. The broad shoulders, the way his hair curled just slightly at the nape...
Her breath hitched, her body rigid with fear. It couldn't be—how?
"Momma?" Asha's voice barely pierced the hammering in Margaret's chest.
"Is it...?" Asha followed her mother's gaze, her own face paling as she sensed the dread emanating from Margaret.
"No, it's nothing." Margaret forced the words out, tearing her gaze away from the figure that had caused such a stir within her. The man turned, revealing a face that was not her husband's—a stranger with a similar build, nothing more.
"Are you sure?" Asha's brow furrowed, mirroring the worry lines that often creased Margaret's forehead.
"Absolutely," Margaret said, though her voice trembled. She cleared her throat, trying to dispel the lingering terror. "Just thought I saw an old friend."
"Okay..." Asha bit her lip, clearly unconvinced but willing to let the matter drop.
Margaret took a deep breath, steadying herself against the torrent of what-ifs that threatened to engulf her. She had escaped; she had brought Asha to safety. This was their new reality, far from the shadows of a loveless marriage and the violent magic that lurked within their past.
"Let's go home, momma," Asha suggested, her words gentle, a balm to Margaret's frayed nerves.
"Yes, let's," Margaret agreed, mustering a smile for her daughter's sake. As they walked away from the market square, Margaret's hand sought Asha's, their fingers intertwining in silent reassurance.
The remainder of the day unfolded with a quiet normalcy that Margaret clung to desperately, the image of her husband's doppelganger fading but never quite disappearing.
Margaret's gaze lingered on the gentle sway of the willow trees that marked the village boundary, their leaves whispering secrets to the winds. Her thoughts meandered through the maze of what could have been, her heart an anchor in a sea of regret. She pondered if Asha ever dreamed of the father she had known only through a veil of fear and silence.
"Momma?" Asha's voice was a tether, pulling Margaret back from the edge of her ruminations. The girl's brow furrowed in concern, eyes studying her mother's distant expression with an intuition that belied her tender years.
"Is there something wrong?" Asha asked, her small hand squeezing Margaret's tighter.
Margaret's lips parted, a breath away from voicing the question that weighed on her soul, but the words dissolved before they could take flight. The chime of a bell, clear and resonant, cut through the still air of the village, arresting their attention.
The streets came alive as children emerged like a flock of vibrant birds taking flight. Their laughter, a tapestry of different tones and textures, mingled with the rustle of fabric and the soft patter of feet against the cobblestone road. Elven youngsters with pointed ears and bright eyes darted past, their grace rivaling that of the dancing leaves. Dwarven tots, sturdy and resolute, marched by with determined steps, their beards already hinting at future grandeur.
Asha's eyes widened, a spark of curiosity igniting within. She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of where the procession led. The children, a medley of races each with their own unique charm, were headed toward a building that stood proudly amidst the village—a school, its doors open like arms welcoming all who sought knowledge.
"Look, momma," Asha whispered, her voice tinged with wonder. "Where are they going?"
"To learn, to grow," Margaret replied, the swell of emotion unexpected, her voice thick with a hope she hadn't realized she'd harbored. "Just like you will."
Asha's gaze locked onto a human boy amidst the swarm of children. His brown hair tousled as he darted between two elven girls in a game of tag, his laughter ringing clear and true. With each burst of mirth from those blue, freckle-framed eyes, Asha felt an invisible thread tug at her, drawing her closer to the circle of joy that seemed so foreign yet inviting.
The boy stopped, his smile never waning, and extended a small hand in Asha's direction. As if caught in a sunbeam, she froze, her heart drumming a staccato rhythm against her ribs. The invitation was silent but potent, resonating with Asha's deep-seated yearning for connection, for normalcy in this strange new world.
"Momma," Asha murmured, her voice barely above the rustling leaves, "could I...?" Her eyes, wide pools of uncertainty, sought Margaret's for approval or perhaps reassurance. She twisted a lock of her hair around a tentative finger, a nervous habit that spoke volumes of her inner turmoil.
Margaret's heart clenched at the sight, sensing the gravity of the moment for her daughter. "Would you like to go play with them, sweetheart?"
Asha nodded, her stubborn spirit battling the shyness that threatened to root her to the spot. "And maybe... could I go to school here, too?" The words tumbled out, earnest and hopeful, a fragile dream taking its first breath in the open air.
The corners of Margaret's lips lifted into a gentle smile. "Of course you can, Asha." Her affirmation was a soft caress against the walls of doubt that had confined them both since their arrival. "You deserve to learn and make friends, just like any other child."
"Really?" Asha's voice hitched with a blend of disbelief and excitement, her earlier hesitation melting away under the warmth of her mother's support.
"Really," Margaret confirmed, her own fears subsiding in the face of Asha's burgeoning courage.
She didn’t have the heart to tell her daughter how light their coin pouch was getting. She spent almost all of it paying for their room at the inn and she was too embarrassed to ask Aaron for more.