Chapter 82: Forbidden Words
Dylan stepped out of the house, closing the wooden door behind him. It creaked softly on its hinges, just like every morning.
The autumn sun had already opened up in the sky, pale and golden, dusting the slate rooftops with a gentle light. The air was crisp, carried by a light wind that swept up armfuls of dead leaves, dancing through the alleys like whispered secrets.
The city lived — vibrant, murmuring.
The church bells rang out the half-hour with a voice both clear and deep. In the distance, the clock tower in the market district beat the rhythm of morning. Hooves clattered against cobblestones, pulling carts filled with fabric, apples, steaming baskets. Soldiers’ boots clicked in cadence, crossing paths with children running and laughing, a loaf of bread under one arm.
Dylan descended the porch steps, carefully carrying his bucket — two fine hands, measured movements, back straight, just like Mama had taught him. His dress brushed the stone, the fabric breathing with each step.
He liked this neighborhood.
The open shutters, the smell of fresh bread, the cloths hung between windows... There was peace here. Something simple, something right. An ordinary morning in an ordinary town. But everything felt too right.
As he crossed a small square, he spotted other girls gathered near the well.
They were laughing, passing around a letter, commenting on a new poster nailed to the wall — one for the traveling theatre troupe that had arrived two days ago.
One of them wore a blue dress a bit too light for the season. Another held a sleeping cat in a basket. They talked about their mothers, a boy they’d seen at the bakery, a neighbor who’d fallen ill, what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Simple things. Natural.