Cordelia had been a lot of things in her imagination and fancies. She had been called a good many names, lovingly or not. And since coming into this world, strange expectations had been put on her by beings beyond comprehension. In her reflections in Esme’s eyes there had been a mysterious young woman of exotic upbringings and mystical secrets. But at the end of the day, only one thing was true: she was a child, scarce of age in her old world. And in this one she was utterly alone, ignorant and useless. Not much unlike her past self, but this was also different. It was worse. So she found the moment she set foot outside of the inn that morning, thinking to explore the world she would live in for the rest of her days.

Living itself is hard. To be sure, most people have little trouble living, that is, being a child, growing up, getting a job, getting married. Even when one or some of which proves more challenging than expected, most of the time it never quite approaches a measure insurmountable. Humans, after all, are trained to live in their environments from the day of birth, by every interaction with kids their age, with peers at each stage of life, with references nearby or distant of how to properly live. But now, suppose, one is suddenly transported to an unfamiliar place, not knowing even the least of it, not even through inaccurate online knowledge or outdated stereotypes, not even by the vaguest sense of its culture, of the people’s temperament, of the most basic necessities to live, not knowing whether its climate is supposed to be cold or tropical, whether the laws permits cannibalism or polyamory... A country, say, Kiribati, where one could not place on a map by the name alone. A land without a friend, without one person to trust that she was not actively trying to flee from, Cordelia had not the least sense of direction, of how to handle the present. Nor did she have a past, a family or a homeland she may book a ticket back should all else fail. The future did not exist, for all that had been planned for her she had resolved to thwart. No career prospects, to be sure. No skills needed for subsistence. No greater desire than that vague one to live. No present, no past, no future - what then did she have going for her?

To live, for the sake of it, was vague enough.

And so she stood in front of the inn, dumbstruck. It was easy enough, of course, to simply turn back and eat away the siblings’ meager coins as she waited for Sir Kamaric’s return. But as Derrick had many times put it, it was not warranted that she would find employment in his castle. Nor would she hold onto any hopes in this quarter.

With blind determination, she began to walk in a random direction, drawing the shawl borrowed from Esme close. The morning was cold and her mind numbed. The houses sullen, gray, unwelcoming. She drew a blank at the worst of times, not unlike sitting down to take an exam and finding all the useful things in her brain had altogether vanished. It took all she had just to check the growing panic. The streets seemed strange. To her wary eyes, the people looked hostile. Here and there children and dogs would give her such a queer look. And the passers-by, peasants and artisans and merchants greeted each other by name and familiar terms. How alone she was. How an utter stranger she was to the land. It was bearable in the forest or on the plains, for she had known these were temporary things, and like an absent-minded tourist she had not minded the unfamiliarity and incomprehensible things. But this town would be her new home, where every person living perhaps already knew each other by face. Not her. A stranger who would never fit in, who would ever fear and hate, forever be thought of as strange and alien. The unwanted element, the unsought for trouble. How was it that she ever thought any person here would take her in, adding a stranger to their midst out of kindness and charity alone? For, to be sure, she possessed no skills which would warrant employment, but inferior to even a clueless country boy's first day in town, having not even the physical strength for dumb labors.

But had she herself not chosen this path knowing all this? The lack of a purpose, of a means to survive, was because she had scorned the given purpose and the powerful means to survive. The deliberate choice, the great sacrifices to appease her conscience. So what was she even complaining about now? She had known it would be much harder this way, and had charged headlong despite it. She walked a-purpose. With the base of her palm, she hit her temple hard, racking it for ideas. She was not completely without an idea of how this world functions. Such things as taverns and inns implied the need for waitresses, cooks and helping hands for other trivial chores to run a respectable business. Surely she could work as a waitress, even her clumsiness could be fixed with enough determination. And had Derrick not said something of a governess? So existed a need for education, and if nothing else, she could teach children to read and write, perhaps, if not for the local lord’s household, then some wealthy person’s. What cared she for meager pay? An honest work’s salary was more than she could ask for. Not even a salary but one or two meals a day and lodging provided was living enough.

Just as her brain got underway thinking, and her pessimism had begun to flag, something significant caught her eye and at once commanded her attention. So startling was the sight of it she was yanked out of all the forming equations. A woman. But not just any peasant housewife filled with chatters, bearing selections from the morning market or water buckets. A woman who stood half-hidden in an alley across the street. She was a few years older than Cordelia at best. The striking thing was the smooth long dress, the lustrous blue-black mass of hair bunned on her head and a somewhat haughty demeanor as she regarded the town people. In contrast, those around ignored the woman completely, sometimes even averting their eyes as though she was an unpleasant sight. Far from ugly, though still short of a beauty, her fine garment and gait set her apart from the quaint streets, so it was strange the commoners would avoid her so. On a closer look, the street seemed to be one populated chiefly by potters and carpenters. Still nothing suggested the woman’s purpose in standing just shy of the warm sunlight, half within the shade of a thatched house and a side path.

When the woman turned her way, Cordelia saw that her eyes were gray as the clouds overhead. Next she knew, those eyes had grown quite close. And yet the woman stood unmoving. It was Cordelia who had moved unbidding. And now she was standing right before the woman, perfectly dumbstruck.

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“Run along, girl,” the woman said coldly. Her voice was low, but thin like a whisper. Traces of weariness somewhat marred the effects of her sharp features, and yet it captured Cordelia, even now refusing to let go. “What now?” The woman eyed her impatiently.

“I...” Cordelia tried to shake herself out of the stupor, but to no avail. “I was only wondering who you are,” she said foolishly.

The woman rolled her eyes. “Did you see me strike a pose?”

“Pardon?”

“A pose. So.” The woman leaned on the wall, thrust out her hips and placed a hand on which. Cordelia wondered if it was supposed to look sensual or plain weird.

“Err...” was the best she could utter.

“Force of her habit. Occupied, I say.” She sighed. Then her eyes moved along the length of Cordelia’s body, and a brow upon which raised. “Always the peculiar one, eh?”

“Eh?”

“Run along, I say,” she repeated, and turned.

She was looking at a house further down the side street where out came a hurried young man. He walked towards them briskly but not quite at a run, the ball of his hand was tightened into a fist. Before Cordelia could become alarmed by his approach, however, he halted, waiting.

“So long, little one,” the woman said lazily and left for the man.

She left like a cloud shadow, passing and leaving daylight in her wake, releasing Cordelia from her strange grip. And Cordelia should have come awake then, that she should have become well aware of the spell she had been put under, for that was the strength of that strange woman’s profession, which should have been clear enough by now. Yet stubbornly she refused to let it go, perhaps in part for she was lost for a purpose, and had seen something in the fatality of the woman’s every movement. She craved some surety of such steps, boldly without fear and nary a second thought.

Cordelia followed.

She arrived behind the woman just as the man unrolled his fist, revealing a number of coins. Even as the young man started at her presence and stared, the woman snatched the coins and started counting.

“Are you making fun of me?” she snapped, thin voice laced with venom and disgust “You make me come all the way here for this? Are you listening?” Then she noticed what he was looking at.

“Did I not tell you to run along? Are you...” She stepped away from the man, making a scornful face at him, then whipped around to face Cordelia in earnest. A finger reached out, adeptly lifting Cordelia’s chin. The gesture was so naturally done she forgot entirely to protest the touch. “Are you minded to steal me from this pitiable excuse of a man?”

“Surely not!” The man seized her arm, “We have an arrangement!”

“Which you can’t afford.” The woman glared, did not even wince at his grip.

“You know I pay in due time,” his shoulder slackened.

“And I care not. Unhand me, you oaf! Think you will get away with this!?”

His eyes slipped uneasily towards Cordelia. “Who’s she? Your friend? Or...”

“Who cares! Some kid! Let go, I say!”

But a maddened look had taken over his bloodshot eyes. And with his face flushed and corrupted with boiling emotions, he began to drag the woman away. Her kicking and eventually biting did little to slacken his grip, besides earning her a staggering slap. Even as he slammed the door behind him, her wild shriek echoed from within.

Mortified, Cordelia stood there dumbly for a moment. Even then, it might have been a moment too late, she was keenly aware. Then she stormed off, fleeing, to call for help or get away from the horrible scene - she did not know. There was only a maddening emphatic need for haste. So she plunged back towards the artisan street. The echoed shrieking was ringing still in her ears, yet at the same time it appeared as though only she could hear it. The common folk were even then absorbed in their task and creation, the pedestrians moving along unconcerned, if by a quickened pace passing that alley some minutes before the woman still stood. After a second stunned, she thought to alarm them, to call for aid, but unanimously, as though an agreement had been made, by some concordant mood compelled, all of them, every single one, avoided her desperate gaze. And they looked away, all of them, the moment she approached, ere she could command her aghast mouth for speech their eyes shifted. They knew, they did not care. It was not for them to get involved in the work of the devil. For it was as a devil that they had regarded the woman before and even now. For what transpired in the dark concerns not those in the light.

But surely there must be some sense still in this world, something which could penetrate even this apathetic world order. She did not know where to look for such a thing, only that she must, so she ran, searching, in maddened panic.

And there she saw it, having crossed two rows of houses, perhaps her succor, a savior, walking in broad daylight, who may yet set things aright. ‘Twas a soldier, a guard, in the livery even as those at the gate yesterday. His weapon was assuring to see, for in this instance she knew only by violence could that woman be saved. And the stern way he stood and walked, while the unassuming town people around gave a wide berth, promised just what the situation required. She went straight for him, almost collapsing against the startled man.

“Save...! Help, help,” she cried, “Someone’s in danger!”

The first moment of astonishment passed, the guard stared at Cordelia, taking in her words. “Easy, missus. What’s the danger? To whom? Explain yourself.”

“A woman,” she gasped, “taken by a man to his house!”

He eyed her, his brows knitted. “Against her will, you mean? Well, lead the way!”