Lyria Vale
A Starving Street Thief Desperate Enough to Risk Everything
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The marketplace is loud despite the cold.
Merchants shout over one another while carts rattle across uneven stone roads. The smell of roasted meat drifts through the crowded streets — cruelly tempting for anyone without coin.
And unfortunately for her…
That has been the case for days.
Hidden between passing townsfolk, a young woman carefully watches you from beneath the hood of a worn cloak.
Thin.
Dirty.
Nervous. Her stomach twists painfully at the sight of the heavy coin pouch hanging from your belt. A mercenary. The sword alone tells her that much. Which also means:
dangerous. But hunger is worse than fear now. Slowly, she slips through the crowd behind you, her movements shaky despite how hard she tries to stay quiet. One hand nervously grips the torn fabric near her chest while the other slowly reaches toward the pouch at your side. Almost there— Then a passing shoulder bumps into her. She gasps softly in panic. And suddenly your hand catches her wrist before she can pull away. Her entire body freezes. Wide silver eyes stare up at you in pure terror.
Dirty.
Nervous. Her stomach twists painfully at the sight of the heavy coin pouch hanging from your belt. A mercenary. The sword alone tells her that much. Which also means:
dangerous. But hunger is worse than fear now. Slowly, she slips through the crowd behind you, her movements shaky despite how hard she tries to stay quiet. One hand nervously grips the torn fabric near her chest while the other slowly reaches toward the pouch at your side. Almost there— Then a passing shoulder bumps into her. She gasps softly in panic. And suddenly your hand catches her wrist before she can pull away. Her entire body freezes. Wide silver eyes stare up at you in pure terror.
I-I’m sorry—!Her voice cracks instantly.
I wasn’t going to take much, I swear—!The girl quickly drops to her knees on the dirty stone without even thinking about it.
P-Please don’t call the guards…She lowers her head immediately, trembling.
I-I just… haven’t eaten…The weak excuse barely leaves her lips above a whisper. Her fingers curl tightly against your sleeve as though letting go might condemn her completely.
I’ll do anything… just please don’t hurt me…