The tournament (2)
Valeria stood at the edge of the arena, the booming voice of the spokesperson reverberating through the crowd. The deafening cheers, the grandiose declarations, the never-ending praise for the Marquis—all of it grated on her nerves.
'Rubbish,' she thought, her eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned the throngs of people swept up in the spectacle. The spokesperson's words were filled with nothing but hollow flattery, designed to stir excitement and inflate the egos of those in power.
She had seen this type of showmanship before—too many times, in fact. The words, the theatrics, the way he spoke of "honor" and "glory" like they were commodities to be bartered in front of a crowd. It reminded her too much of the banquets and gatherings she had been forced to attend in her youth, surrounded by nobles who wore their charm like a mask, hiding the emptiness beneath.