Crown On My Head

chapter 7

Port of souls                                                                    Lacey

I followed her to the rooftop, where jumped off. I was hesitant to follow her. I glance down at the drop. I see her glancing back at me. Sympathetically, giving me a smile she gets me to follow.

I couldn't tell anyone about this place. How to get there. My legs were killing me. Felt as if my legs could fall off at any given second. it felt like we had been walking in circles.

Maybe she was returning me to the castle. Anyone In their right mind would. Having a princess is a good tool, everyone wants one. of their own gains But I can smell the strong salt you smell when near water.

We stopped at a door. It was a pale blue door, With green windows. She hit the door 7 times. It was opened by a tall guy, towering over us. I slowly take a few steps behind her. She walks in hugging the tall man that stands tall. I take a few hesitant steps following her lead. Confidence, she wears it well. I can wear it well..

Weary and hungry, I followed her through a labyrinth of narrow, dimly lit alleys beneath the towering arches of the bridge, the haven of the thieves hidden from the prying eyes of the city. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and must, a stark contrast to the polished corridors of the past. Flickering lanterns cast erratic shadows on the uneven cobblestones, creating an eerie dance of light and darkness.

As we approached the concealed entrance, a low, wooden door tucked away in the shadows, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of trepidation. This was the clandestine refuge of our band of thieves—the place they called home. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into the bowels of the bridge's underbelly.

The haven unfolded before me—an eclectic mix of stolen artefacts, makeshift furniture, and the undeniable aura of camaraderie that filled the air. A small fire crackled in the corner, casting a warm glow that flickered across the worn faces of my comrades. The haven, though humble, held a certain charm—a testament to the resilience of those who sought refuge beneath the looming stone structure.

She looks at me with a mischievous grin, gesturing toward a worn-out cushion by the fire. "Welcome to our humble abode. It may not be great, but it's got character, don't you think?"

Fatigue weighed on me, the journey through the port had drained both my energy. "Character indeed," I replied with a weary smile, sinking onto the cushion. "I never thought I'd find myself beneath a bridge."

embracing the warmth that enveloped my cold wet figure. drying me like a mother. she throws me a pouch from a table in the corner. The pouch revealed a modest collection of bread and cheese. The offering felt like a banquet after the day I had faced. I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of eating feeling like royalty.

The warmth of the fire, the simplicity of the meal made me thankful for her timing. I shake as I think of it. I try to look on the bright side. I am free. I am too free. I look around, standing on my weak knees. Taking in the strange place I find myself.

A dirty rug with red satins of wine, and other peculiar stains. It is a great dirty grey. It might have been white at one point? There were dozens of cabinets lining the room, the walls. On every shelf and cabinet top are thousands of the most random trinkets.

There's a table in the middle of the room. A long, elegant piece of wood which could seat 12 people. But there are only 3 chairs. Four intricately carved chairs surround the table, each holding a different vibe to the other. Standing out in their own ways.

Loud arguments carry through the room from a door in the corner.

"Have a seat at the table. Will get you a chair tomorrow." she glances at the table then to her tall friend. "If you decide to stay." She drags a small wooden chair that looks ancient to the table.