Her bare feet were blistered and chapped, but at least it wasn't the gravel anymore. The cobbled stones beneath her soles were slightly more forgiving—still cold, but not cruel. That, however, was the least of her concerns. Mae's gaze flicked nervously from one side of the street to the other, her breath ragged as the world around her twisted further from reason.
This wasn't just some strange city.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't a prank.
It couldn't be.
The marketplace she'd wandered into was alive with the scent of fish oil, dung, and something sour fermenting in the air. And the people… they stared at her like she was cursed. A woman in finery—barefoot, wild-eyed, her dress dragging dirt like bloodstains, and no escort in sight? Whispers bloomed like rot behind her. Eyes followed her, hungry, suspicious. But Mae was too dazed to notice.
"Where am I? How did I get here? Who are these people?"
She mumbled the questions like prayers. Like a woman who no longer expected answers.
Her eyes were still swollen from crying, the path from the palace long behind her, her mind raw from the truth that had finally settled:
Those people were not her parents.
They may have looked like them, spoken with voices that twisted her insides—but no, her mother and father were dead. And this? This was something else entirely.
At the edge of the market, a pair of beggars sat hunched beneath a half-broken statue of a faceless knight.
"Miss… spare a starling?"
Their voices were hoarse, barely human. Mud and grime clung to them like second skin.
Mae backed away, instinctively clutching her arms around her body.
This was no illusion. This filth, this stench… it was too real. The air stung with dampness, and every puddle on the uneven path reeked like a breeding ground for the plague. Her stomach churned as she stepped around a dead crow bloated with rot. The moment she slowed, she could feel them—eyes, male eyes, tracking her with something dark behind them.
Predatory.
She broke into a brisk walk, muttering to herself, "I need to figure out what the hell is going on… What year is this? Where am I? What is this world?"
It was as if she'd stepped into some decayed historical fantasy. Torches, actual burning torches, lined the corners of the street. The architecture was all stone and rotted wood, thick iron lanterns creaking with each gust of wind. The clothes people wore—wool, linen, leather—looked like something out of a dusty old painting. Nothing made sense.
"Time travel?"
She almost laughed out loud. But it didn't feel absurd anymore. It felt… likely.
Eventually, she found her way back toward what looked like the city's quieter side—lantern-lit alleyways, quieter shops. It was the same path she had fled from hours ago, now the only familiar corner in this foreign place.
She stumbled into the first building that looked like an inn. The moment she stepped inside, the noise hit her like a wave. The crash of mugs, the roar of laughter, the filthy cursing—and then the silence when they saw her.
Every head turned.
The inn was a crude hall soaked in beer, smoke, and the scent of unwashed men. Waitresses in ripped aprons flinched under rough hands, giggling like dolls trained to enjoy it. Mae felt like she had walked into a den of wolves wearing a dress made of meat. She wanted to throw up, her chest tightening.
The barkeep glanced up. He was polishing a mug that didn't look much cleaner than the floor.
"What'll it be, miss?" he said catching her attention.
"I–" she said gulping in her salvia before speaking again. "A room– i need." She stuttered, as the gazes of the men were not going away any time sooner. "You want a shared room or private?"
She blinked, swallowing. "Private?'
"You want your own room, that'll cost you two Glint. Comes with two meals, a hot bath, maybe some quiet if the drunks don't barge in."
She hesitated. A Glint? Does it mean money here? She thought but she didnt have any and it was just now that it dawned on her.
"I… I don't have money."
The innkeeper groaned and rolled his eyes. Her hands trembled as she looked down at herself—draped in jewels, gold-threaded fabric, her dress glinting even in this dim light. She looked like nobility fallen out of the sky. "Figures. Well, you're dressed like you got somethin'. Pawn shop's next door. They'll buy that pretty necklace of yours real quick."
Mae froze.
Jewelry.
She was wearing something absurd—necklace, bangles, a belt too intricate for peasants. She hadn't even thought about them until now.
The innkeeper smirked when he saw the panic flash in her eyes. "Pawn it, girl. Or sleep in the mud. And it will be gone by the morning anyway stolen perhaps." he said with a smirk.
She felt creeped out but had no choice and crawled back outside slowly starting to take of the jewelary all over her.
Her breath trembled as she muttered, "Pawn it is."
Just like the barkeep had said, the pawn shop sat right next to the inn—cramped between two crooked buildings like a shadow with walls. Its windows were fogged, the glass distorted with age, and the hanging sign above the door swayed with an eerie creak.
Mae paused at the threshold.
She looked down at her sleeves, the long flowing fabric practically dragging on the ground. With a sharp breath, she crouched beside the door and tore the seam of one sleeve up to her elbow, the sound of the fabric ripping surprisingly loud in the narrow street. She carefully bundled the glittering jewelry into it—rings, bracelets, a necklace heavier than it looked—and tied the scrap of sleeve into a tight knot. Then, with quick hands, she fastened the makeshift pouch beneath her waistband, blending it with the folds of her dress.
She left only a single golden earring in her hand. Taking cautious financial decisions in the unknown world.
Mae straightened her back, swallowed her nerves, and stepped into the pawn shop.