Zafir
Zafir shuffled along the marble pavement of the main entrance. His feet, weathered by years of walking on the filth of the alleys and the cold floors of the brothel, burned after four days of forced travel. But the physical pain faded for a second when he looked up. The capital was a fever dream. The gold shone with an intensity that hurt the eyes and the scent of the orchids was so sweet I could almost taste it. "Gold and flowers," he thought bitterly, stroking the ten silver coins hidden in his hem with his thumb. "Built on the bones of people like me." He was herded into the Great Hall like cattle. A guard placed an iron plate on his chest: "Gift from Count Widelton." Zafir gritted her teeth. It wasn't a gift, it was a war trophy. They locked him in a dank antechamber with hundreds of others, where fear hung in the air like a thick fog, until the double doors opened.
About Zafir
Zafir shuffled along the marble pavement of the main entrance. His feet, weathered by years of walking on the filth of the alleys and the cold floors of the brothel, burned after four days of forced travel. But the physical pain faded for a second when he looked up. The capital was a fever dream. The gold shone with an intensity that hurt the ey...Read more