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I can still feel the weight of his body; the rough callouses of his hands as they eagerly searched my body to see if it lacked the femininity that my slender frame suggested.
It didn’t.
He was just the first to let his lust and curiosity get the better of him, but he was the last I allowed to hold power over me. After him, I swore I’d learn to become a shadow, if not the best thief in the city.
Agility and speed became my closest friends.
If they couldn’t catch me, they couldn’t run their hands over me. They couldn’t warm their bodies with my own.
It took years to become what I am. Years of abuse at the hands of strange men in dark alleyways. Years of pain and torment and bruising before I realized that what the man said was right.
The sooner you accept this, the better off you’ll be.
I’d learned to lean into their touch, choking back the bile and rage rising in my stomach. Learned to use their own vile cravings against them. To make them feel as powerless as they’d hoped to make me.
It often worked, leaving them emasculated, slinking away with their tail quite literally tucked between their legs. On the rare occasion that my behavior made things worse, I’d learned to tend my fair share of wounds.
The scars of which have helped keep more fickle hands at bay.
A shoulder slams into me, jarring me from my spiral of unwanted thoughts, and I blink away the memories better left forgotten. I stare out over the marketplace as the din of the morning begins to fill my ears.
I’m still alive. Against all odds, I survived.
It doesn’t matter what I’ve had to do to get here. I’m here. Alive and still within the city walls, far from the dangers that lie beyond.
It’s been years since I’ve had to allow another to touch me, and that alone is enough of a reward. I’ve survived far longer than anyone believed possible for a lanky orphan girl, and I will continue to survive, if only to prove everyone wrong.
No matter what it takes.
With a grounding breath, I square my shoulders and hold my head high as I allow myself to straighten to my full height.
The merchant with the brooches eyes me. His gaze makes me uncomfortable, but I refuse to shift under his stare. It’s easy, here in the early morning light, to convince myself that his gaze is that of a man worried I’m about to steal from him.
I’m not.
Giving him a curt nod, I move deeper into the market, weaving my way through the thickening crowd.
The murmur of soft conversation and the occasional soft whimper of a baby greet me as I wind between the stalls. I can feel their eyes follow me, but I don’t pay them any mind.
The corner of mouth lifts slightly as I hear them wonder at my height, trying to guess my ancestry before finally concluding that questioning it did little more than muddy the waters.
In all honesty, I wish I knew. I wish I could tell them my father was a great noble, or that my mother was just as tall as I am, and my father loved her for it.
But I have no idea.
Before too long, the crowd has had their fill of gaping at me, and I’m nothing more than another body among them.
My mouth waters as I leave the market stalls behind and set my sights on a nearby bakery. Just one of the dozens across the city that have been awake even longer than I have.
The warm aroma of freshly baked bread greets me as I slip down the narrow alley leading to the opposite street. Thanks to the heat of the ovens, the back door has been left open to cool their sweating brows, filling the alleyway with delicious scents.
I nearly smile to myself as I spot several small loaves of freshly baked rolls cooling just inside the door, practically begging to be lifted from their racks.
Pausing just long enough to listen, I make my move.
My steps don’t slow as I pass the door. With my eyes trained forward on the mouth of the alley ahead of me, my hand snakes toward the bread.
Tomorrow, I’ll slip a copper coin beneath the door for them to find. But today, I have no coins. No way to pay for my breakfast before spending the day on my feet.
