I wake up after a surprisingly restful night. The soft murmur of the people streaming into the tavern and waking up in the city around it, filter through the walls. A beam of light falls through the single small window set in the slanted roof. Little motes of dust play in the light.

Day one of my new life I suppose.

Today wasn’t nearly as crowded as yesterday, there being only three other people besides me in the room, so we had our pick of the beds. I found one slightly less lumpy than yesterday, which did wonders for my rest.

I pack up my stuff, removing the sword from below my cushion once more, and stuffing it in my bag.

"Shluagh, tha thu an seo airson àrd a-nochd.” “Hi…. today"

I jump nearly a foot into the air, when I suddenly hear the voice behind me. When I jerk around, I see another woman standing there. She’s wearing a sort of extra long brown tunic, with a bleached yellow cloth belt. Her hair is long and brown, tied up in a sort of braid behind her neck, which causes a flash of jealousy. She appears to be somewhere in her forties, just a tad older than me.

“Ha…” “Yes…” I mean, what am I supposed to say to that.

I recognize her from yesterday, she was one of the other few women staying here. Maybe she also likes it because it’s cheap? Not knowing what exactly she’s saying is so incredibly frustrating. Like I’ve gone back to being a little kid. Ronain wasn’t nearly so stressful to communicate with because he expected me to know nothing, so he’d always use the simplest possible terms and mime out every single thing.

"Tha mi air cèist chinniù a dhèanamh, ach tha thu a' dol às mar càirdeasan! Cha bheil mi ri mà, bidh do mhinntir ga faicinn. Ma tha thu ri mà dhut dheth sguir, no bidh sinne na h-uile a' coimhead.” “Sorry…"

When she starts talking, she doesn’t seem able to stop. She’s staring at me with undisguised curiosity, so even if I had little idea what she said, I imagine she’s asking me what I’m doing here.

What am I doing here? I pause to consider that question, while the sudden seconds long pause has the woman looking at me like I’m acting weird. Even if I had the answer, I don’t particularly feel like telling the stranger in front of me. No telling if she’s going to sell me a scam or something.

As I stand there silently, I can see her getting more impatient by the second. It’s amusing in a way, but I guess I’ll have to disappoint her, as politely as I can, and I throw her own words from before back in her face. “Tha mi air” “I’m off.” Her face falls as I turn to walk downstairs.

Her voice takes on a more menacing tone, as she says to my back "Tha mi air faicinn a' bhualaidh an robh thu a' toirt an làimh ort.” “Saw… in bag”

I freeze in mid-step. Bad move. If she’s any kind of observant she now knows I care she knows. It wasn’t threatening as such, but… I don’t know what it means that I’m lugging as sword around.

As I glance backwards, the woman steps around and back in front of me, blocking my way to the only exit. A quick look around the room tells me the other two people that were here have already left. We’re alone up here. Did I seriously meet a playground bully on my second night in this city?

A grin spreads across her face. That curiosity from earlier quickly turned into cruelty "Tha thu an diùlachadh mar a tha e, nach eile dèan sibh a' dol le armas gu linn na bailte. Bidh na ghàrdaichean a' faighneachd aigead.” “You know… in city? … head."

Hah, like hell I’ll let her threaten me. I look at her while slowly raising my eyebrow, “Haaa…” “Yeees…”, the tone of my voice leaves no doubt that I’m incredulous she’s suggesting something so stupid. I pretend to go and retrieve it from my bag while meaningfully glancing at the deserted room around us. When she notices this, she pales.

For a moment I’m worried she’ll jump me, but then she backs off, letting me through. It’s a shame I don’t quite know how to threaten her in return. I’m sort of worried she’ll actually run off to fetch some guards, but my experience with figuring out what people actually want in a previous life tells me she was just looking to have some fun at my expense because I snubbed her.

I’m going to need to find some way to learn this stupid language so I can become an actual member of society and deal with this properly. Implying I’ll cut her down is funny, but kinda makes me feel like a savage. I’ll admit feeling like the world could do without her sort of people, but it’s probably not really her fault she’s a bitch.

Slinging the bag back on my shoulder, I step out of the bedroom. I guess this is probably going to be my last day sleeping here. If she’s going to be here every day I don’t want to be.

When I come downstairs, I see the two guys that were also staying here and came down before me give me a quick glance, evidently surprised. I’m really not sure what they expected to happen. Does that woman give a bad introduction to everyone? Does she steal their secrets? Do they just expect me to head down looking exasperated with someone that can’t shut up? It’s hard to guess.

I sit down, and one of the three men—this is probably the last one, as he has a different colored apron again—serves me my daily bowl of gruel. Now that I know what to expect it’s not nearly as disappointing. Still not great, it doesn’t really taste like anything but flour and milk, but it’s filling and warm.

The tavern today is much like the room upstairs I slept in. Nearly deserted. The little windows on the bottom floor do not let in a lot of light, and without a fire it leaves the whole bottom floor in some half shadowy state.

I didn’t really notice yesterday morning because so many people spent the night, but right now it’s nearly empty. It’s hard to keep track of time without a clock. I can only tell it’s after 5 by the fact it’s already light out. And that’s if seasons work the same here. Is the world tilted like earth? Am I walking on a flat disk, lying on the back of four elephants, standing on a turtle, flying through space? I just don’t know, and for the moment, it probably doesn’t matter.

While I eat my gruel, I keep an eye on the staircase, and a few minutes after I come down, the lady from before comes down, and unsuccessfully attempts to ignore me. She glances at me several times while she’s served her own food, but I’m eventually satisfied she won’t do anything more, and stop paying as much attention.

What am I going to do today? As much as the woman was a pain, she’s right in that I need to figure out what exactly my goals should be. I should be able to sort of walk around without my scarf in this city, assuming the people here were upset by my hair somehow. I’ll get nasty looks, but that’s nothing new. Some guys just cannot deal with the fact a girl is better than them, and it makes them behave like children.

I guess, besides learning magic, my primary goal should be to find a way to quickly learn the language. Ideally I think I’d find some form of work I can do here with my current knowledge, and then pick the rest up by pure immersion. Is there something I can actually do? I mean, I can do many things, but is there something I can do without knowing the language?

Programming was always easy because everyone spoke English to some extend. Even if I went to the other side of the world in Kuala Lumpur I’d be able to find a job in some company that didn’t require anything other than English. The salary might be shit, and it might be a startup that’d die in half a year, but it’d be possible.

I did that whole working while traveling thing for just 3 months before giving up on it. I just don’t think I’m made for that. I need to sit in a nice clean home office completely specced out to my wishes, and I’ll do some decent work. Traveling was fun, but I just didn’t get any work done while doing so.

Anyhow, no programming here, so that one’s out. I could wait tables? I eye the three men standing behind the bar. Something tells me they do not need any extra help here, but I went through a whole bunch of taverns yesterday that did have serving maids. That still requires me to sort of be able to communicate though, so maybe cleaning? Nobody cares if their cleaner talks to them or not. I guess a whole bunch of nobles would prefer if none of their staff ever spoke to them.

Those are hopefully backup options though. Maybe I can do something that utilizes my the knowledge I have from the modern world? I guess I can try to create something like gunpowder? And a gun? It’s essentially a tube right? And rifling which makes the bullet go straighter. I’m not quite sure how to go from that knowledge to a gun though. I figure I’d need to work with a blacksmith, and then that pesky communication problem comes up again.

No gunpowder then. I very much doubt I can replicate a microchip. I make computers do stuff, I didn’t make computers. A car? Maybe I’m going too far ahead. Something from the steam era? Steam engines are a lot simpler to fabricate, and while I don’t quite know how they work, it can’t take a lot of experimentation to go from ‘heat water into steam’ to motion. Well, relatively anyway. From there we can go to turbines, and then to electricity. But what if magic already does all that but better? I guess it can’t be the case, since I don’t see anyone driving around in magic fueled cars. I’m sure those massive wagons wouldn’t use mages to move if they could get away with an engine.

Maybe even further back. Some kind of method of improving the forging process? Something like folding the metal back on itself, hot forging, cold forging. Making the bellows hot enough to forge steel. I guess I don’t actually know how any of that works. My knowledge of late medieval crafting methods is sorely lacking. I’m probably more likely to successfully design a rocket engine.

I suddenly wonder if it’d be possible to put a cart with a mage on it upright and turn it into a rocket. It’d have essentially infinite delta V. You could reach any planet in the solar system.

Ok, Emma, time to come back down to earth. Maybe I better just apprentice to a smith, or something like that. Maybe that man I kept watching yesterday would teach me. I guess maybe I could find that ship with all the black haired people and try to become a sailor?

A very unpleasant thought suddenly comes to mind. I seem to remember all the people I’ve seen doing actual jobs, aside from the serving maids, have been men. I’m fucked aren’t it? This is going to be one of those societies where women are basically attachments to men.

My heart hammers in my chest, full of anxiety. I have finished my bowl, and quickly dump it on the bar counter before making my way outside. The woman that was messing with me earlier follows me with her eyes as I walk off, but at the moment I don’t care.

I step out into the street once more.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

I make my way through the main street, and see it everywhere. The smith is male, the carpenter is male, the sailors are all male, the merchants are all male. There’s a lone woman that seems to have a shop on main street, selling jewelry. The silversmith next door is male though and I’m inclined to believe they’re married.

It’s all men. I can’t quite believe it. At least on the farms I saw some women working in the fields. Hell, I think there were even some women doing some jobs in Ronain’s village. But even then most of them seemed to do work around the home most of the time.

I suddenly wonder if all those people were so amused yesterday because they thought I was ogling the smith, or because they thought I had such an unseemly interest in a mans work.

It doesn’t matter where I go, whether it’s the docks, the outer city, the inner city. The only thing I see women doing is washing, baking, cooking or cleaning. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that of course, but… I had kind of hoped for something better for myself.

Feeling down, I trudge back to the smithy I had been watching the day before. Now that's work I think is interesting. I spend another hour observing him at work, unfazed by the suspicious glances from the people around me, including the smith himself. At least he seems to recall me from yesterday, as he doesn't shoo me away this time, instead appearing to accept my presence and trying to ignore me.

Fuck, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this powerless. It took me a long while, but at least I had some hope of success in my old world. Although the odds were stacked against me, I was on relatively even ground with others, and with enough persistence, I could still come out on top. As a woman, it wasn't impossible to succeed, just significantly more challenging.

Eventually I’m nearly ready to turn away, when the man suddenly looks right up at me and speaks up "Co dìreach a tha thu a' sùileachadh airson na mòran, a nighean?" “What…?” he actually sounds concerned, which I hadn’t expected. Do I really look that depressed? I feel a wet streak trickle down my cheek, and my hand instinctively rises to wipe it away. If he’s asking me why I’m feeling so depressed, I guess I’ll oblige him.

“Sorry, I…” I stammer out, before I realize that that’s English. I try again "Tha mi duilich" “I’m sad”. When did Ronain teach me those words? Maybe when we went through emotions or something?

I point at his shop "Tha mi airson obair” “I want to work”. That must be the most extensive combination of words I’ve ever said, but I’m determined to get through this. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as if trying to escape into his hairline, as he stares at me in utter incredulity. Yeah, that was about the reaction I expected. He struggles to say something, opening and closing his mouth in a few abortive attempts. "Tha... Dè?” he finally manages to stammer, his voice laced with genuine bewilderment. "But... why?"

I shoot him a wry smile and shrug. "Tha e a' coimhead math.” “It looks fun."

As expected, given his previous reaction, my words seem to leave the man momentarily stunned. He stands there, his gaze darting back and forth between me and his forge, as if struggling to comprehend what I've just said. I notice that a small crowd has gathered around us on the street, drawn in by our conversation. Their presence makes me uneasy, and I find myself suddenly regretting my decision to engage with him, rather than simply walking away.

"Ach... tha thu bòidheach!” “But…. you’re a woman!” I'm well aware, thanks for the astute observation. I'm sorely tempted to respond with a witty remark, but unfortunately, that's not within my capabilities. All these short sentences were just barely understandable because they’ve used basic words. Thankfully, he seems to be a man of few words, which works in my favor.

I nod at him, my wry expression unchanging. "Ha..." I let out a dry laugh, my gaze unwavering. Being a woman doesn't change my opinion - that still looks like a blast. I suppose it would be tougher for me to handle physically demanding tasks, but that's beside the point.

"Tha mi a' faighinn a bhith nan robh sibh an làimh 's a thugam dhut guth” “I’m…” Yeah, lost me there buddy. It sounds like he’s not quite sure what to make of me, his voice trailing off at the end of the sentence. His eyebrows furrowed as he looks at me.

“Carson nach?” “Why not?” I say to him.

He seems to actually think about his response to that a bit. This is a bad sign in my experience. It probably means a massive sentence is incoming. He glances around at the gathered crowd before responding, now a bit apprehensive himself.

"Chan eil e ceàrr, ach... neo-fhreagarrach?” “It’s not wrong, but… something else?” some of the people in the crowd around nod their heads, mostly men. A few of both women and men narrow their eyes at the words of the smith. Do they disagree with it not being wrong, or with whatever he does think it is?

Then a sudden laugh sounds above the muttering, and a bearded man with wild hair steps through the crowd. He’s wearing completely different clothes than everyone else. Some sort of toga that’s wrapped around his body, and pure white. Or it would be pure white if he hadn’t trudged through this city. He looks around at the people in the crowd, whom all edge away from him a bit, as if he’s diseased. Then, when pointing at me, he speaks with a very weird accent “Ciamar a bhaich, tha fàinneachd còmhla ri mèinn” “…” I have no idea what he said, but his tone is challenging.

The smith looks at the man with distaste. "Falbh an dòchas.” “Please… something.” The way he swings his hand out to point away, it’s fairly clear he’s telling him to go away.

The bearded weirdo seems able to completely ignore the opinion of the crowd, and just says very patiently "Gu math beag.” Then he steps up to me, and I can’t help but back away a bit as well. He doesn’t look crazy up close though. More like one of those elderly men that always seem to want to give kids candy out of the kindness of their hearts. They don’t seem to realize that most parents get extremely uncomfortable when they do that.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I tense up as he places his bony hand on my shoulder, his grip surprisingly firm. Then he looks at me with an unnerving intensity, his eyes piercing through mine as he says in a kind, but commanding voice "Cha toir na buannachan sin thu bho do chùl, òigridh.” “Do not… child."

I nod at the man warily, and he releases his grip. I guess he’s encouraging me? Then he turns around and walks away just like that. The crowd that was looking on parts around him like water. Who is this guy?

The smith gives me a pitying look, but not quite the same now that he knows what I wanted. Then he says to me "Na h-eòin, chan eil mi a' cuideachadh ort, 's toigh leat beannachd.” “… can’t help…”

Well, that's no more than I had anticipated. I turn my back, and walk away with my head held high. The murmurs of the crowd follow me all the way back to the tavern, even after the sound has long since faded from my ears.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

Before I know it, I find myself standing in front of the tavern again. Well, whatever. I step inside, and walk up to the bar. One of the three identical innkeepers steps forward, and asks me what I want.

I guess it’s still early in the morning, but I can’t really be bothered with that. Apparently the universal gesture of '1 pint' works just as well here as in the world I come from, and before I know it I have a foaming wooden tankard standing in front of me. It’s surprisingly large, but that’s what I want right now. Drowning your sorrows in a tiny cup doesn’t make sense.

To my surprise, the beer isn’t actually that strong. I guess they have these larger tankards to make up for it. It does taste surprisingly good though, and I suddenly wonder if they only have ‘craft beer’ in this era.

I suddenly realize that the innkeeper is talking to me, looking mildly exasperated. I wonder how many times he’s said this before. With a nearly successful attempt at not rolling his eyes, he repeats himself however "Tha sin a dhà còip, càirdeas”. “Two copper”, right. I need to pay for this stuff. It’s nearly as expensive as staying here overnight!

I stand there sipping at my tankard, and realize that at this pace it’s going to be a while before I get through it, so I have a look at the current population of the common room. To my surprise, the annoying lady from this morning is still here, and she’s staring at me with a knowing smirk on her face.

Flaming fuck. I did not need that, but whatever. I don’t know what she thinks I was doing, but she’s correctly assessed that whatever I did has not gone according to plan.

There’s two other men still in the common room. Having a conversation on the other side of the room from the bar, so I have no idea what they are saying. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have any idea what they were saying anyway, but they’re making an effort to talk in low tones.

I look at the half full tankard in my hand, and kind of wonder how this will affect me. It’s been… a while since I’ve last drank anything alcoholic. Can’t say that I dislike the experience now though. Wish I could introduce this one to Willem and Johan. They’re so into new and strange beers, but I’ve always been one to drink whatever is available.

Thinking about them makes me feel really sad, and I’m suddenly extremely annoyed by the fact that I don’t even have anyone to complain to here, so I march over to the annoying woman from this morning. It’s been what, two, three hours that I’ve been out, and she hasn’t left. What is she doing here? She really looks like she’s just spent hours chilling on the bench without even a drink.

Anyhow, that doesn’t really matter. She looks at me in surprise as I march over there, and plonk the tankard down on the table, then sit down across from her. “You! Want some?” I raise the tankard and wiggle it around. For some reason she looks at me as if I’ve gone looney, but I ignore it. If she doesn’t want any, there’s more for me.

“So, what are you doing here?” I ask her mildly. “I tried finding a job, but it didn’t work. All the fun things are done by guys…” She stares at me as if she very much desires to walk away, but doesn’t have anywhere to go. I don’t… Oh. Right, I can’t tell her about my troubles in English. I’ll just make a terrible attempt at her own language. "Rinn mi obrach. Chaochail.” “Tried finding job. Failed” or something of that kind.

At least walking through the city gives me a lot more exposure to it than in the fields. If nothing else I can stay here practice magic and just do language immersion until my money runs out.

The earlier smirk comes back to her face now that I’m saying something she can understand. "Tha thu a' cànadh leis a bhathais.” “…baby.” she says, with a twinkle in her eyes. Hey! Don’t insult my awesome language skills. I’m trying!

"Tha e gu math?” “It’s good, right?”

She lets out a short laugh. "Bha sin cànan èirg. Cha do th' ann à seo?” “…weird language. ...not here?” It’s my turn to smile, and I can’t resist responding in English “You don’t know the half of it!” I’ve no clue how to translate that completely though, so I’ll settle for answering her question: "Chan eil an seo.” “Not from here.”

She nods knowingly "Cà nan robh thu?” It’s interesting how you can know none of the words, and still know exactly what someone has said, just by virtue of similar grammar and tone. “Where do you come from?"

Dunno how to explain that one. And I take another long swallow of my tankard, only to find it empty. I frown at the empty container. It feels like just a moment ago it was full. I pause to consider whether I should get another one, but it’s really too much effort to think about that, so I should just do it. I attempt the magic ‘beer’ sign from the comfort of my table, and to my happy surprise, the man behind the bar lets out the short bark of a laugh, and then comes to supply me with another tankard. I fish around in my pouch, and provide him with two more of the copper coins, which he pockets before walking back to his precious bar.

I eyes the three men behind the bar. It’s like they make a game out of standing there in a line like immovable statues. Of course they’re not really standing still, but I’d still expect them to move about the tavern more. Instead their preferred locations seem to be some place behind the bar, and they always eventually come back there.

Then I realize I’m rude, and as I take a swallow from my new tankard, I turn back to the woman, who furrows her browse, and looks at the tankard with mild disgust. "Ciamar a th' thu a' dèanamh a' bhàs?” “How … drink that…”

How can I drink this? I take another swallow, and swish it around my mouth. It’s not bad is it? Is this another thing where women shouldn’t drink beer or something? Or does she just think beer, or this beer in particular is terrible. I guess I should be happy if it’s the latter, because that means that all the other beer must be amazing. I look around the decrepit tavern, and compare it with the other fancier ones I’ve seen. I guess I should have expected this to be the bottom of the barrel.

I shrug, taking another sip. "Tòrr. Tha obair a' dol?” “Anyway. Where is work?"

She starts a bit, as if remembering I said something about that before. But then she seems to get more confident, apparently this is a topic she’s well versed in. "Tha e air a chur air na bheil thu a' dol a dhèanamh? Ma bhfuil thu air tighinn don bhaile gu ruige an latha, tha mi ag rinn leis gu bheil obair mar spinnairt no cleachdair a bhiodh a' dol a dh'fhàs a chràmh.”

Holy crap lady, lost me there. I sit there blankly looking at her, trying to process what exactly she said, and she seems to realize something. "O, thu eadar-theangachaidh mar bhalach. Tha rud a tha a' dol a dh'fhaoidte dhan theaghlach a dh’fhalbh.” “Oh, you talk… baby. Then…"

He gets up, and walks around the table, then frowns at the nearly empty tankard in my hand. I stare at it in surprise once more. Did I really drink that quickly? Then she says "Ciamar a bha' a chur a dh'fhàgail a-rithist? Thoir thugam, còmhla leam.” “… that? Come… you”. She motions me to drink up, and I finish my tankard and set it down on the table. Then the stupid tankard rolls off the table and clatters to the floor.

I move to pick it up, but she drags me out of my chair, evidently excited at the prospect of whatever she just told me to do. We were talking about work right? Maybe there’s an introduction bonus or something?

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

A while later, I’ve been dragged through two districts to a large building in the outer city. By the time we arrive, I’m not quite stumbling any more, the alcohol having somehow worn off faster than I’d expected.

As we step out of a narrow alleyway and onto a worn cobblestone street, I catch a glimpse of the building we are heading towards. The wooden structure looms before us, its faded sign creaking in the gentle breeze.

The letters have long since faded, but I can make out the faint outline of a spinning wheel etched into the weathered wood. A dull, grey stone foundation stands at odds with the rest of the building, giving the impression that it has been an afterthought in the construction process. The air around us seems to smell faintly of decay as we approach the entrance, a heavy wooden door with iron hinges that looks as though it hasn't been oiled in years.

This place is giving me the creeps, and I momentarily wonder if this woman is not leading me towards an organ harvesting operation.

The woman leads the way as I step through the creaky entrance. The air inside smells stale and musty, a far cry from the fresh breeze outside. We're immediately enveloped in a sea of women, their faces bent in concentration as they spin and weave at wooden frames.

Inside is a single large room, filled with equipment, but there is a small open space around the entrance, with a single bench, presumably to entertain visitors.

The brown-haired woman whispers something to a different woman behind the counter, a stern-looking figure with a clipboard, and the woman's eyes flicker to me before returning to my friend. My friend's voice is hushed, but I catch snippets of the conversation - “work", “baby" - before my friend points at me, her eyes apologetic. The stern woman's expression remains impassive, but I sense a flicker of interest as her gaze lingers on me, her eyes lingering on my scarf before returning to my friend.

I watch as the stern woman's expression remains unchanged, but her body language tells a different story. She nods curtly at the brown-haired woman, her eyes flicking to me once more before returning to the clipboard in her hands. The woman's face relaxes into a gentle smile as who I presume to be the supervisor hands her a few copper coins, which my friend pockets with a quiet thank you. The supervisors's gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before she turns back to the clipboard, her expression unreadable. I feel a shiver run down my spine as I realize that my fate, at least for the next little while, seems to be sealed.

The brown-haired woman comes back to the entrance, a slight smile on her face. "Beannachd mhath, gràdh." she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tha thu gu math an seo." She glances at the stern woman, who remains impassive. Her eyes meet mine for a moment, filled with a mix of vague concern and reassurance, before she turns and steps out of the building, presumably returning to the tavern.

The woman's departure leaves a strange sense of isolation, and I feel a pang of uncertainty as I turn my attention back to the stern woman, who is now standing before me, her clipboard held tightly in her hands.

I’m not sure if this is what I want, but I might as well try? I look at the stern woman apprehensively.

I follow the stern woman, my feet echoing off the cold stone floor as we move through the crowded room. She leads me to a section where a row of spinning wheels stands, each one humming softly as the women spin and weave around them. The woman stops in front of one of the wheels, her eyes flicking to me as she waits for me to catch up.

She begins to spin the wheel, her hands moving with a practiced ease as the thread flows from the spindle into a neat, tight ball. I watch in fascination as the wheel spins, mesmerized by the rhythmic motion. The woman notices my gaze and nods curtly, her expression still unreadable, but a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She gestures for me to try, her hand extending towards the wheel.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. The woman's expression doesn't change, but I sense a hint of impatience behind her eyes. So I take a deep breath and sit down to use the wheel, dropping my sack beside it. I try to imitate her motions, and somehow, it’s not a total disaster. When I do something wrong, the stern woman corrects me gently, and steers my hands in the right direction. After a little while, she nods, and leaves me to it.

It occurs to me that no words have been spoken at all. This might work for me for now. I’ll just sit here and spin, and then I’ll… I guess I’m not sure yet what I earn with this, but it must be something. Having any job would be an improvement over the nothing from before.

I continue to spin the wool, my hands moving in a rhythmic motion as the thread flows from the spindle into a growing ball. The room around me fades into the background, and I become lost in the repetition of the task, the remains of the alcohol in my system making it easy. I can feel the soft fibers of the wool flowing through my fingers, and the gentle hum of the wheel is soothing. I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it, and a small sense of pride swells in my chest. Maybe I can do this?

The supervisor's gaze flicks back to me, and I feel a flutter in my chest as she approaches. She stops beside me, her eyes fixed on the scarf I'm wearing. Her expression is unreadable, but there's a hint of tension in her voice as she speaks. "Cìorb, tha mi a' dol a dhol às an fhaighinn anois.” “Lass, … take… off."

I freeze, my hands still moving in the rhythmic motion of spinning as I lock eyes with the supervisor. Her gaze is piercing, her expression unreadable, but there's a sense of anticipation in the air that makes my skin prickle. I glance at the scarf, covering my head, and my heart sinks. I should have known better than to try to hide it.

My eyes dart back to the supervisor, her face a mask of calm, but I sense a storm brewing beneath the surface. I take a deep breath, my hands slowing as I begin to remove the scarf, my fingers hesitating as I slowly unwrap the fabric from around my head. I glance around the room, searching for any sign of what's to come, but the women nearby are lost in their own tasks, oblivious to the tension. My hands feel like lead as I continue to unwrap the scarf that I’d so tightly bound, never expecting to have to untie it so soon. My eyes are fixed on the supervisor's face, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

I peel back the last thread of the scarf, and reveal the messy, uneven cut that’s what has become of my trademark ponytail. I expected some kind of reaction, but based on what I’ve seen in the city so far, I wasn’t prepared for the gasp that escapes the supervisor's lips. Her eyes widen, and her face goes pale, as if she's seen a ghost.

The room around me falls silent, and suddenly, every pair of eyes is fixed on me. The women's faces, once bent in concentration, now all look at me. One of them whispers something, and it spreads like a virus, with others nodding in agreement. I feel a chill run down my spine as I realize that I'm the center of attention, and it's not a good kind of attention. Did I truly think that things would be different in the city? The few people outside with black hair seemed fine. Just how deep does this prejudice go...

The supervisor's gasp has released a dam, and now the whole room is staring at me, their expressions a mixture of horror and disgust. I try to hold my head high, but it feels like I'm drowning in a sea of hostile gazes. The supervisor's face is the only one that still looks unreadable, but I sense a deep unease emanating from her, as if she's trying to process what she's seeing.

As the supervisor's face contorts in a mixture of shock and disgust, I feel a surge of adrenaline course through my veins. Her hand shoots out, grasping for my hair, and I instinctively react, dropping into the familiar time-slowing juice-mode. The room around me slows to a crawl, the women's faces frozen in horror, their mouths open in unison.

As the supervisor's fingers dig into my hair, I realize I'm not sure why I'm doing it. Is it to protect myself, or to simply freeze the moment, give myself a chance to process what's happening?

The supervisor's grip is tight, her fingers twisting into my hair like a vice. I feel a spark of anger ignite within me, and I push back against her, trying to free myself. It's like moving through quicksand when time is moving so slowly though.

I focus on the supervisor's face, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and revulsion. Her grip on my hair is tight, but I try to lever her arm away using every ounce of power I can muster, and slowly but surely, I start to feel her hand slipping.

The supervisor's face slowly contorts in a mixture of pain and surprise as I wrench my hair out of her grasp. I imagine she hadn’t even really processed that she grabbed it herself yet. I feel the rush of satisfaction at finally being free, but it's short-lived, as I realize I'm still surrounded by a group of hostile women.

I take a deep breath, and then, with a burst of strength, I launch myself forward, using the momentum to propel myself out of the chair and across the room, past the supervisor.

As much as I’ve trained this, reality is different, and time seems to snap back into place as I crash to the floor, the sound of my own ragged breathing filling my ears. I look up to see the supervisor's face, her eyes wide with shock as she tries to process everything that happened, and the women around us, their faces frozen, this time in incomprehension. I take a deep breath, and slowly rise to my feet, my eyes locked on the supervisor.

I stand panting, my eyes locked on the supervisor's shocked face, my heart still racing from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. But as I glance around the room, I notice something that makes my stomach drop. My sack, the one I'd left next to the spinning wheel, is still there, untouched. I'd forgotten all about it in the chaos. A sense of panic starts to creep in as I realize I need those coins, and the sword!

Without thinking about it, I push back past the supervisor, pushing the woman out of the way. It looks like she's still unsure how to deal with the situation, and she doesn’t resist. I quickly grab my sack, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I tighten my grip on it.

I can see the anger rising in the eyes of the supervisor. I don’t know what she’s so upset about. The fact that she let me work? I try to move backwards, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to inch my way towards the exit.

The supervisor's eyes flash with a sudden fury, and she lunges at me, her hands grasping for my wrists. I try to pull away, but she's too quick. She manages to snag my arm, her grip like a vice.

I feel a new surge of adrenaline as I realize I'm not going to make it to the door. The supervisor's face is inches from mine, her eyes blazing with anger. I try to shake her off like before, but she's too strong. Panic sets in as I realize I'm going to be pinned down.

That's when I remember the sword. I fumble in my sack, my fingers closing around the hilt. I pull it out, the familiar weight of it a reassuring presence in my hand. The supervisor's eyes widen as she sees the sword, and for a moment, she hesitates. But only for a moment. Her face twists with rage, and she tries to grab the sword from me. I’m kind of baffled at this, since everyone before always seemed to try and run away. Is she trying to protect the workers?

Somehow I can’t see it.

The supervisor's grip on my arm tightens, and I feel a surge of pain as her nails dig into my skin. I try to shake her off, but it's like trying to move a mountain. In a desperate bid to break free, I lurch to the side, using my momentum to try and shake off the supervisor's grip. But as I move, my foot catches on the edge of a spinning wheel, and I stumble backwards, losing my balance.

My hand with the sword flies up, and backwards with me, but intersects the place where the supervisors reaching hand is. It is sliced open, a deep gash running across her palm. She's screaming, her face contorted in agony as she tries to stem the flow of blood. The room around me is a blur, the women's faces a distant memory. All I can see is the supervisor's hand, the blood flowing out of it like a faucet.

I stumble out of the building, the bright sunlight and cool breeze a jarring contrast to the chaos and tension that's been building inside me. My heart is still racing, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I try to process everything that just happened. I can feel the weight of the sword still clutched in my hand, the familiar grip a comforting presence in this moment of uncertainty.

As I emerge into the street, I'm hit with a sense of disorientation. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head and focus on my surroundings. The cobblestone street stretches out before me, empty and deserted in this back alley. I glance around, wondering if anyone has seen me leave, but the streets are eerily quiet. The only sounds the sobbing coming from the building behind.

I need to get out of here, find a place to hide and regroup. I look at the now blood stained sword in my hands. Quickly push it back into the sack, and run… away. My main motive is putting distance between the event and me.

Eventually I find myself in an alley in the slums, I don’t think I deliberately went there, but the environment reflects my mood. Hopeless.