Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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Esmera let out an exasperated breath, pretending that a smile didn't tease at her mouth, while the Prince and his pompous cat snickered.
She might've had a retort, but it disappeared as soon as they stepped out onto the streets of Parnakshi.
All around them were buildings with sharp corners and white walls interrupted by glossy black doors. The roofs curled out at the edges like inky, calligraphic swirls. They might have been black once, but the snow and other elements had battered the colour out of them, turning them grey.
Esmera's mouth fell open at the explosion of colours fluttering out of windows, the lines of little triangular flags waving where they hung across the fronts of buildings, the clothes flapping as children chased each other along the road. Esmera had thought she'd blend in better if she covered her bright parsi with a darker shawl, but that only made her stand out.
Even so, she pulled it tighter across her chest. She'd rather stand out as a mysterious, faceless figure than reveal her identity to anyone. These people were all strangers to her. Anyone could've killed her family. Anyone could've ordered their massacre. She shivered at the thought.
Whoever had sent Esmera away from Milatanur had probably meant to keep her safe from this world, not for her to find her way back to it, but a goddess's will had overwhelmed theirs.
There wasn't a hint of murder in any of the faces Esmera passed, even though the people they belonged to were all different shapes and colours. Some were taller and some shorter, some fairer like Esmera, some darker like Belaren. It was a barrage of sights, an assault of different voices and dialects and sounds.
Even their clothes varied slightly, their belts knotted differently around their waists, their parsis tucked in different styles, the fabrics and embroidery on their clothing speaking of different occupations and classes and maybe even towns for all Esmera knew.
This was Milatanur's beating heart. It thrummed within Esmera like nothing she had ever felt before, yet there was something unmistakably familiar about this atmosphere.
Perhaps she had come here as an infant on her mother's hip, too long ago for her to remember now. Perhaps they had strolled through the marketplace, her mother telling her about the spices and colours and trinkets. She tried to picture it, but the figures were faceless in the image her mind conjured up.
Esmera abandoned the daydream, trailing after Tauram and Lundas instead. She stayed close enough to them to avoid anyone noticing that she was the only human in sight without a snake slithering at her ankles or a butterfly fluttering about her head.
That would change, soon. Soon, Esmera would have a bird on her shoulder. Soon, she'd be as happy and whole and content as these laughing, smiling, chattering Milatanurans. She didn't have to worry about them noticing her otherness. They were oblivious to anything but their joy and the work that filled their days and their pockets.
