Poisoned Lips

22: Fox

When the roofs of houses started to appear, the sun had almost set.

Freyja covered her face with her scarf and hid her head in her hood.

Freyja remembered the last time that she came to this part of town. It was raining heavily, and her mother had just died. It felt like an eternity ago, but it happened just a bit over a month ago.

She moved to the open and faced the forest, trying to remember which tree she hid the bag in. Thanks to spring, the trees had blossomed; the leaves were green, fruits were growing.

Her eyes searched below the trees till she found the brown-colored bag. She pulled it down and inspected the contents. When she was sure everything was in its place, she slipped the note that Lydia gave her before she died into the big brown book. She shoved her small bag into it, and it tied it shut.

Freyja slung the bag over her shoulders. She had one stop to take before continuing her journey.

Head bent and shoulders tucked, Freyja walked to Lydia's bar.

"Hello, ma'am! What may I serve you today?" The chubby waitress asked. "This doesn't seem to be your scene!" She laughed.

"Where is Lydia?"

"Why?"

"I owe her," Freyja replied.

"She will be back in a few days. Today is Afoya market day. She shades some jewelry in Afoya Bourg. May I take your order-"

Freyja slammed the door of the bar shut.

It was too late to travel to Sugarcane village, she couldn't sleep in her house, and she had no ally.

The immaculate white walls of a house on the opposite street caught her eyes. It was Lydia's and it was empty.

Freyja crossed the street.

Fake Lydia wouldn't mind, would she?

She knocked on the door. When no one answered, she jingled the handle. It was locked. Obviously.

Freyja didn't know how to pick locks, so she went with the next option. She grabbed a solid stone and hurled it at the window. It shattered. She brought out a blanket from her bag and used it as a cushion to climb in.

The house was the same as before; white walls and expensive furniture. Freyja should've questioned that there was nothing homey about the house the first time she came in. Her capture was her fault. She let her guard down too easily.

The bag still on her shoulders, Freyja moved to the bathroom. She needed a bath. With an eye roll, she turned on the fancy tap and let it flow into the tub.

Just as a precaution, Freyja decided to make sure the rooms were empty. She yanked closet doors open and searched under the beds. When she went to the last room, she tensed.

She saw her old clothes- the ones she had before her arrest- on the bed. Her stomach twisted. But as she touched the smooth material of her cloak, it felt like someone lit a candle of joy in her stomach. Her mother gifted her these on her last birthday.

She took her pants with her cloak and went back to the bathroom. She turned off the tap and peeled the legging from her body. Freyja threw it in the trash.

Looking in the mirror, she cringed. She looked terrible. Especially her hair! It was an abandoned bird nest. Her eye bags were darker than a raven, and her lips were drier than a vulture's neck. There were so many scabs on her oily face and not enough color on her skin.

She added bath salt and got into the bath. She let the water calm her pulsing muscles.

Freyja leaned her head back and closed her eyes.