It was one of those silent nights, the ones when your footsteps echo and every sound makes you shiver, I pulled my cloak closer to me as if shielding myself. I had to get home and fast, it was past curfew and I had only just dodged a guard a couple of streets ago. I knew mother would be freaking out and I would get a yearlong lecture from Dad, but that’s what you get for living in the forest…
You see we live in the Forest castle of Englindon ‘a satanic minority’ in 1550- apparently the woods are cursed by pixies and sprites: living here makes you ‘Satan’s city of demons’. All the other cities in Englindon hate and conspire to slay us. But none dare to brave the forest. That is the one good thing about living, here I guess.
The King Rolderik the 1st is terribly ill and his advisors rule the city now- they think curfews are the way of life and we are not allowed out after sundown. Which is unfortunate when the market is in the central sanctum and you live within the outer walls. As you now know I was out only for noble reasons, my pocket full and our wares sold, but guards don’t stop to listen. Don’t bother to care.
Thank you!
You're welcome :]