Journey To Hellspost (TXT X READER)

17

  ⚠️This chapter contains description of murder and other possibly disturbing things. Please don't read if you're easily disturbed⚠️

  The wind was cold, biting at any expose skin. Anyone in the kingdom had resorted to staying inside by their fires, sighing happily in their warm hearths. The warm orange tones of their homes juxtaposed the blues, greys and whites that could be seen outside. Those who were otherwise stuck outside had gone into an inn. Most inns were filled to the brim with ale. Children were to be kept away from the main floors of the inns, taken into rooms rented by the parents.

  That is why a young child sat outside, cowering by the side of a wall, attempting to escape the harsh bite of the wind. She had nothing but a large adult sized cloak to cover her and the thin fabric helped not against the harshness of the wind that changed direction every few seconds. She brought her fingers closer to her chest in an attempt to warm them but it seemed her body was all out of heat to spare. She'd looked for any warm store who would allow her in, but she'd been cast away so many times that she'd given up on warmth.

  She raised her fingers to the slightly pointed tips of her ears. She couldn't feel them at all. All she could feel was how cold they were and the slight sting of frostbite as it froze and killed the flesh of her ear. This was not the first time she had been stuck in the cold, nor was it the first time she'd experienced the relentless bite of the cold on her previously sensitive ears. Now, she couldn't feel a single thing other than a slight sting when it got cold. Even in the warmth, her ears were numbed to the touch of anything.

  She curled into a ball, her entire body shaking as the wind whipped around her, slashing at her cloak, blowing through it as if it were nothing. She was simply glad that it was not raining. She shakily raised her hand to her forehead that burnt. The feeling was unpleasant, but she warmed her frozen fingers on her forehead. Her nose was dripping and she sniffled, attempting to keep from wiping her nose on her cloak.

  "Well what do we have here?" She heard.

  She raised her head and was met with a man dressed in warm clothing with a thick winter cloak covering his shoulders, the hood pulled up making him feel even more ominous.

  "You seem cold," he said, observing her shrivelled posture.

  Her head tilted. She didn't understand the Westron tongue. She had heard many speak the tongue. It was all they spoke here. She'd even heard the words spill from her late fathers mouth. Her parents rarely spoke the Westron tongue around her. She only learned Sindarin when she lived in the forest. When she'd been left in the centre of the city, she couldn't ask anyone for help. Seldom had she felt so scared. When she found her father, he was in some strange contraption in front of an audience. The next thing she knew, his head was in a basket and with no explanation, she was whisked off in the crowd who spoke in the strange tongue.

  "Come with me," the man said, offering a hand.

  The half elf didn't know what to do. She couldn't understand this strange man. But he was offering hand. Offering help, right? She reached out her feeble and skinny arms, placing her freezing hand in his warm hand. His grip was solid, but warm. She let out a sigh of relief as her hand was warmed in his.

  "Pedil edhellen?" She asked, hoping he would understand her. He looked down at her with furrowed brows, his warm grip tightening. He knelt down, reaching for her hood, yanking it down. He brushed her hair behind her ear. As he did this, the young elf maids expression changed to discomfort. He observed the points of her ears, rubbing his fingers over the point.