The Red of the Writing

Eight | Maliha

At first glance, the stranger is rather plain - brown-haired, with ivory skin and gray eyes widened in terror. But, upon further inspection, it's not hard to pick out trace amounts of blonde at her hair's roots.

This tells me two things: one, her hair is dyed. If I had to guess, I'd say she used a paste made from the leaves of the ruva plant, which is abundant throughout northeastern Ayera.

And two?

She's running from somebody. Hair dye is a luxury, usually indulged by only the richest in society, which she obviously isn't. Nobody else dyes their hair, not unless they don't want to be found.

"Who are you?" I finally take some mercy on the poor woman, who must be around my age. My lengthy silence is clearly getting to her.

She hesitates, searching for my face under my oversized black hood. "Who are you?"

She's brave, I'll give her that. "Are you really in the place to ask questions right now?" I shift the knife, not enough to hurt her, but just to remind her of the situation she's in.

She doesn't seem like a threat, but looks can be deceiving.

"A-Aurora." She stutters out, reluctant, and I raise an eyebrow at her.

She's lying.

But I don't push her, not even for her supposed last name. I can respect a person's secrets. Tavono knows how many I have, after all.

And, truth be told, I wasn't expecting her to give her real name anyways. That's rule number one of being a runaway. I just expected her to be better at lying.

"Well then, Aurora. Are you going to try to stab me with that knife that's strapped under your sleeve if I let you up?"

Somehow, her eyes widen even more, confirming my statement. "How did you-"

"-know?" I grin, shifting my knife arm marginally, so she can see the flash of sunlight hitting metal where my sleeve has hitched up slightly. "I recognize my own tricks. Is that a yes or a no?"

"Oh, uh, no." She scrambles for words, looking panicked. "No, definitely not going to stab you. Promise."

How long has she been on the run? The woman in front of me is wearing her heart on her sleeve, a huge no-no for runaways. Either this is a moment of uncontrolled panic speaking, or the people chasing her are fools.

I retract my blade from her throat, and she lets out an audible sigh of relief. I offer her my hand, and, after a moment, she accepts it.

"Nice to meet you." In one swift motion, I pull my hood down, exposing my face to her. My initial plan of keeping my head down and mouth shut is out the window, anyways. She's already heard my distinctly female voice, and I'd rather expose myself on my own terms than let it happen when I least expect it. "I'm Maliha."

She stares at me. I wait for her response.

I don't know what I'm expecting. A comment on how pretty I am, maybe, because beauty is obviously the only thing that matters, never mind the shady location, sketchy clothing, and knife in my hand. Or maybe some stuttering about how I'm a woman, because women apparently shouldn't be able to carry knives or kick butt. But she'd be the biggest hypocrite in the world if she said that.

Whatever I'm expecting, it's certainly not for her to shake her head, as though snapping herself out of a trance, and ask, "So, what are you doing here?"

I blink, stunned, but manage to recover quickly. "Searching for someone." It's an evasive, vague answer, but the woman seems to accept it. "What about you? Who were you trying to escape when you crashed into here?"