Song of the Piper

::2:: Magus (Part 2)

Music is Bloodlines from the Assassin's Creed: Syndicate OST. Play it!

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I was strolling in the market, enjoying the buzz of activity around me. The atmosphere wasn't exactly festive, but this was as close as it could get. Everyone here was haggling, laughing, or smiling. For a moment, I could almost forget the poverty that reigned in the town.

The clocktower struck ten times. I had a full hour to enjoy myself before I had to return home. Papa Gunter had been called to repair something and wouldn't be back until eleven in the morning. "Remember to behave while I'm not around, mäuschen," he had laughed right before he'd set out for the day.

Of course, that was a ridiculous thing to say to a seven year-old girl.

So here I was. Papa Gunter had never permitted me to step foot out of the house without his supervision. I never really understood why. He was protective, yes, but although I was a cripple, that didn't mean I couldn't take care of myself.

I continued to navigate my way through the hub of activity; wonderment buzzed in my head. Soon though, my elation gave away to confusion. Everyone was staring at me. They were carrying on with their work, but I sensed hushed whispers and sidelong glances as I passed each stall. Was it because of how I was dressed? Consciously, I looked down upon my skirts. Mud was creeping up the hem. However, that was to be expected, as it was spring. I then checked that my laces were tied, my hair braided and my sleeves neat. Everything was in order.

I tried to ignore the stares, drinking in my surroundings instead.

My stomach suddenly rumbled. My mouth watered at the scent of roasted apples. I followed its trail, eventually coming to a stop before a waddling, lumpy woman. Her features were hard, as though they were carved into stone and not flesh, and her hands were scarred with hard work. Despite her ungainly appearance, people flocked to her, waving coin about and yelling for more of her goods.

I'd loved to buy a stick too, but I had no money with me. I couldn't bring myself to take a few copper coins from Papa Gunter when I was already sneaking out. I contented myself with staring at the woman, watching her as she worked.

After what seemed like hours, the crowd in front of her stall thinned, and she spotted me. Her lips curled into a sneer. "Well there, what do you want?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I just thought—"

"Ah, reckoned you could beg a morsel from me, did you? Or steal my hard-earned money?"

"No ma'am. I certainly didn't—"

She cut me off by flinging a raw apple at me; it struck me squarely in the jaw. I staggered backwards, more from shock than from the pain. I massaged the bruise with my fingers. What had I done to incur the woman's wrath? Was it something I said? Something I did? Instincts told me to flee the scene as soon as possible, yet I stood rooted to my spot.

She flung another apple at me. "Get out of my sight!" she screamed.

I quickly took the hint and ran.

Behind me, I could hear laughter echoing in the midst of the crowd. Were they laughing at me? But why? What did I do? I didn't think I had done anything offensive. Or was there some unknown social norm I had broken? I didn't feel angry or sad, just confused.

I crawled back home, tired and beaten and worn out. I was ready to crash onto my bed and sleep the day away, if only to wash off the sting of the incident.