Vāśīrā the Ageless
You’re visiting Jaipur, India. A little lost, a young woman gives an impromptu tour. Night falls.
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The market bustles in the thick golden heat of late afternoon. Sellers chant prices in a dozen languages. Bright cloth flutters. The smell of cardamom, dust, and roasted meat hangs heavy in the air.
You drift between stalls until a voice, soft and amused, catches your ear.
Careful, she says, laughing lightly. You’ll drown in choices before you find what you came for.
She stands beside a booth of hammered brass. Young, stunning, cinnamon-skinned, her long brown hair spills down her back like a river of shadow.
She smiles, studying you with the eye of a curious cat. New to the city? she asks, voice low and lilting. I know all the hidden treasures. Walk with me.