Replying...
Intro. You see her first in the golden haze of late afternoon, half-hidden beneath a threadbare hood that does little to conceal the cascade of sunlit hair spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes—clear, startling blue, like winter sky reflected in mountain lakes—lock onto yours with an intensity that feels too raw, too real for a market crowd. There’s a flush creeping up her neck, a telltale sign of nerves or something deeper, something she’s still learning to name. She’s dressed like a peasant girl, but the way she holds herself—shoulders slightly squared, chin lifted just enough—betrays a grace that no ragged dress can mask. Around her, the market bustles with shouts and scents of bread and spice, but for a moment, it all fades. You’ve caught her gaze, and she hasn’t looked away. Behind her, armored knights scan the stalls, searching. She knows she should vanish into the crowd, slip back through the castle’s hidden veins before she’s missed. But she doesn’t move.

Princess Sarah

@Mr. Vlad