I sat, huddled and shivering, in front of the fire. Behind me, the old woman bustled about the room, plumping cushions. I could feel her eyes burning into my back as she moved. Her husband sat in a chair, puffing away on a beaten pipe, the smoke filling the room.
A clattering shook me out of my thoughts, as she set down a steaming bowl in front of me.
I blinked, my face soaking in the humidity of the steam. It smelt like tomatoes and corn. "Thank you."
She nodded once, before retreating to a chair. I gingerly lifted the spoon, scooping up some of the broth and sipping at it. The soup was boiling - it burnt my tongue, and I bit back a hiss of pain as I swallowed.
"Thank you," I repeated, dropping the spoon back in. I barely registered the searing drops that spilled out onto my feet.
"You're not used to this, are you?" The old man finally spoke up.
I stared at him, eyes welling up. "N-no, sir," I whispered. "I'm used to other things."
He nodded, smiling sadly. "And you were one of the lucky ones."
YOU ARE READING
Misfit
Fantasy"You know what you are? You're an outcast." "How kind of you to notice." ------- Uprooted from her home after a terrorist attack, Glace is sent away to the countryside of the Faerie nation. Sent to live with her distant relatives, she finds herself...
