❝𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚.❞
Selfishly fascinated with her own strength, Valen Ferreira is willing to do nearly anything and everyth...
UNLIKE SHIGANSHINA, Stohess District boasted ample, paved roads and exorbitant architecture, boutiques and jewelry shops lining the main avenues. Much like Wall Sina's majority, Stohess represented wealth, the remainder of humanity's prosperity— a city largely untouched by the disaster that struck humanity two years ago.
But she'd seen through its riches the second she'd come.
Locking the front gates of the property, Valen tugged on the bars and nodded approvingly— nice and locked. She settled the woven basket cradled in her arms on the pavement and smoothed her work uniform— a cotton, ivory apron layered over a flowing, black dress. Picking up the basket again, she set out for the market.
A carriage pulled by finely bred horses passed her. Valen had arrived in the Stohess District little under two years ago after being noticed by a nobleman who happened to be in Trost at the time of the breach. In hours, she was applying for a work permit and riding a carriage to Stohess. It was a stroke of pure luck— the sudden influx of refugees had greatly stretched Wall Rose's employment market. Fast forward two years, and she now worked as head maid, devoting her days to shining wood and setting tables. She didn't mind the work. Of course, her hands ached, and the workdays were brutal— but it was better than sowing Wall Rose's unfruitful fields.
Valen rounded a corner, entering a main road. Shop windows reflected her purposefully moving figure and her swinging basket. Stohess was not too bad of a city, Valen believed. For a place so close to the Underground, she'd only encountered a couple of human traffickers here and there. And the fashion—oh Walls, the fashion—was something Valen fondly appreciated. But the stares—the dark, mean, ugly stares—cornered her from all around. Perhaps in the winter they were more forgiving, but when summer darkened her skin, she was more conspicuous, easier to pick up on. A couple conversing on the side of the road stopped their conversation to gape at her, the woman perking the brim of her hat to eye her beadily.
I'd be more concerned for your poorly concealed sunburn.
Valen continued without sparing a glance— she'd grown accustomed to this treatment over a year ago. Picking up her pace, the produce market lay on the horizon, beckoning her. Even under the blazing sun, she breathed with ease— she'd get her job done, get paid, and maybe—just maybe—she could treat herself to a pastry on the way back—
