Memories and home

I settle into the carriage, the gentle rocking of the wheels beneath me sparking a memory I haven't thought about in years. My fingers drum idly against the seat, and the faces of the present begin to blur.

-16 years ago-

The fabric of my new clothes feels stiff, scratchy against my skin, a constant reminder of how out of place I am. The fine embroidery, the soft material—it doesn't suit me. I've never worn anything like this before. Celia insisted, though. She always does.

I glance over at her, sitting across from me in the carriage, dressed in her finest jewelry and perfume. The scent is overpowering, thick and cloying, suffocating the air inside the small cabin. Her raven hair is styled perfectly, not a strand out of place. Her blue eyes, though, are as lifeless as ever, staring blankly ahead. They never seem to change.

The men in the alleys always said she was the most beautiful. They fawned over her. I never saw it. Not really.