The late afternoon sun slanted through the tavern's windows, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards as Mikhail sat at the counter. His borrowed red tunic felt strange against his skin - softer, finer than his usual attire. The fabric caught the golden light, transforming the simple garment into something almost regal.
He absently twirled his spear between practiced fingers, the familiar weight and balance grounding him as his thoughts wandered. The polished wood caught fragments of sunlight, sending them dancing across the tavern's walls like scattered stars. Around him, the Axe & Fiddle held its breath in the quiet hours before evening, the air rich with lingering scents of woodsmoke and ale.
His mind drifted to the streets outside, where the sounds of festival preparation filtered through the walls - hammers striking wood, snatches of music, the buzz of excitement building like electricity before a storm. Cedarcrest, for all its initial hostility, had begun to feel like somewhere they could belong. The town possessed a vital energy, a sense of possibility that called to something deep within him.
He could imagine a life here - working Thorgar's forge by day, coming home to Anora's smile each evening. Perhaps they could save enough to rent a small house, or even build one of their own someday. The thought brought a warmth to his chest that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
The spear's rhythmic movement faltered as darker thoughts intruded. Not everyone shared Thorgar's acceptance or Marta's warmth. He'd seen the sideways glances, heard the whispered comments that grew bolder with each passing day. His fingers tightened on the spear's shaft, then consciously relaxed.
"There ya are!"
Marta's voice shattered his reverie, making him start slightly. She stood in the doorway, her weathered face creased with approval as she took in his appearance. The borrowed clothes seemed to pass her inspection.
"Ya look good in those clothes," she declared, satisfaction evident in her tone. Her eyes held a glimmer of excitement as she asked, "Are ya ready to see your lass?"
Mikhail's heart began to race, his previous thoughts scattering like leaves in a sudden wind. He set his spear carefully aside, rising from his seat with an anticipation that made his palms sweat.
Mikhail nodded, his heart thundering in his chest as Marta stepped aside with a knowing smile. The moment Anora emerged, time itself seemed to pause, caught in the amber of this perfect instant.
The blue silk dress flowed around her small form like captured twilight, its silver embroidery catching the late afternoon light and transforming it into countless stars. The fabric moved with each step as if it were a living thing, responding to her presence with joyful animation. Madam Evylin's alterations had worked magic - the dress fit Anora as if it had been created from her dreams, enhancing her natural grace while celebrating her unique beauty.
Her red curls, usually wild and free, had been partially tamed by Marta's skilled hands. The blue ribbon wove through them like a stream through autumn leaves, drawing the mass back to expose the elegant line of her neck and the delicate points of her ears. Somehow, this simple change transformed her entire bearing, lending her an almost regal air.
Marta had applied cosmetics with a subtle touch that spoke of years of experience. A hint of color on her lips seemingly made them glow, while something shimmering around her eyes caused the orange irises to sparkle like sunlight through amber. Her freckles remained visible, dusting her green skin like copper stars, a testament to Marta's understanding that true beauty lies in enhancement rather than concealment.
"Give us a spin, lass," Marta prompted, her gruff voice carrying unmistakable pride.
Anora turned slowly, the dress billowing out around her like waves caught in moonlight. The movement sent ripples through the fabric, each fold catching and releasing light in a mesmerizing dance. When she completed her turn, she stood with hands clasped before her, orange eyes seeking Mikhail's face with barely concealed anxiety.
"Alright lad," Marta's voice cut through his stunned silence, amusement evident in her tone. "Pick yer jaw up off of the floor. Tell her what ya think." She crossed her arms, satisfaction radiating from her sturdy frame. "Not too shabby if I say so myself."
Mikhail stepped forward, his heart swelling as he took Anora's small hands in his. The contrast between her green skin and his sun-darkened palms seemed to him like forest meeting earth - natural, meant to be. He gazed down into her orange eyes, finding himself lost in their depths, like capturing the last moments of sunset in precious stones.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. The words felt inadequate against the vision before him, but they carried the weight of absolute truth.
Color bloomed across Anora's cheeks, darkening her green skin to emerald as she turned her head away, overcome by the intensity of his gaze. Her red curls caught the fading light, the blue ribbon a perfect accent to their copper fire.
Mikhail's hand found her chin, his touch gentle as he guided her face back to his. The simple gesture carried echoes of their first intimate moments - his acceptance, her trust, their shared defiance of a world that said they shouldn't be. He leaned down, drawn to her like a leaf falling in autumn, inevitable and graceful.
Their lips met in a kiss that spoke of deeper things than mere attraction. It carried the weight of their journey together, the promise of more to come, the quiet rebellion of love that refuses to bow to convention. The borrowed red tunic rustled against her blue silk as they came together, the fabrics whispering secrets only lovers know.
"Alright you two," Marta's gruff voice shattered the moment, though amusement colored her tone. "There'll be time for that later. Right now ya have a Festival to get to."
Mikhail and Anora broke apart, suddenly remembering Marta's presence. A flush colored his cheeks as he cleared his throat, moving to stand beside Anora with the fluid grace of someone trying very hard to appear casual. Their hands found each other instinctively, fingers intertwining like pieces of a puzzle finally coming together.
"Ready to go?" he asked softly, still slightly dazed by the vision before him. The blue silk caught the tavern's warm light, making Anora seem to glow from within. She nodded, her orange eyes bright with excitement and lingering traces of their shared moment.
They bid farewell to Marta, her weathered face creased with maternal affection as she shooed them toward the door. The evening air greeted them as they stepped outside, carrying hints of wood smoke and the rising excitement of the approaching festival.
But before the heavy door could swing shut behind them, Anora stopped abruptly. Her small hand squeezed Mikhail's as she turned to face him, the blue silk rustling with the movement. "Could you wait just a few minutes?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of urgency.
"Well sure," Mikhail replied, confusion evident in his tone. "Did you forget something?"
But Anora had already slipped from his grasp, her dress flowing around her like water as she darted back inside. The door closed with a solid thud, leaving Mikhail alone with the gathering dusk and the sounds of distant celebration floating on the cooling air.
He settled onto the worn wooden steps, their familiar creak a counterpoint to the growing festival sounds. The evening air carried hints of cedar smoke and roasting meat, mingling with the excited chatter of passing townspeople as they streamed toward the city center like a human river.
He watched the parade of faces, each one caught in the amber light of sunset. Predominantly human faces - some weathered by years of timber work, others soft with merchant prosperity, all animated by the promise of celebration. Their fine clothes rustled as they passed, a symphony of silk and wool that spoke of careful preparation for this special night.
Through the crowd, he spotted Eliath's distinctive form - too tall for a human, too sturdy for an elf, the half-blood apothecary moved with fluid grace. Behind him trailed Gareth's granddaughters, their young faces a study in contrast. While the younger girls gazed around with barely contained excitement, Elara's eyes found Mikhail on the steps. Her gaze struck him like physical force, carrying the weight of grief and accusation. The hatred there made his chest tighten with renewed guilt. He was going to have to make it up to them somehow one day. They had lost their provider and their home all due to him and Anora, though he dared not put any of the blame on Anora.
A group of dwarves passed by, their rich laughter rolling like distant thunder. Their elaborate beads and rings caught the fading light, creating miniature constellations in their braided beards. But Thorgar wasn't among them - perhaps the forge master considered such celebrations beneath his dignity.
As twilight deepened, Mikhail's heart grew heavy with growing awareness. Among all the races filling the streets, he had yet to see a single goblin face. The realization sat in his stomach like cold iron. His eyes searched the flow of festival-goers more intently now, seeking any flash of green skin or hint of pointed ears.
"Perhaps they're taking a different route," he whispered to himself, but the words rang hollow in the gathering dusk. The knot in his stomach tightened as he considered what Anora might face tonight - the stare’s, the whispers, the barely concealed hostility. He found himself unconsciously reaching for the knife at his belt, seeking reassurance in its familiar weight.
The festival sounds grew louder, music beginning to weave through the excited voices. Lanterns bloomed to life along the streets like earthbound stars, their warm glow pushing back the encroaching night. Still Mikhail waited, his thoughts as restless as the shadows dancing at the edge of lamplight.
The inn's heavy door swung open behind Mikhail, releasing a breath of warm air scented with wood smoke and ale. He rose from the worn steps, turning to see what had drawn Anora back inside. The answer gleamed at her waist - Rawl's blade, now transformed by purpose into her protector, hung from a makeshift belt against the blue silk of her dress. The weapon should have looked out of place against such finery, yet somehow it suited her - a reminder that beauty and strength could exist in the same form.
"Anora, you didn't have to get that. I'll be beside you all night and I have mine," Mikhail said gently, even as his eyes caught the determined set of her jaw. The knife's presence spoke of lessons hard-learned, of a world that had taught her to never fully trust in safety.
His hand flew to his forehead as realization struck. "Oh crap! I forgot to put my spear in the room." He made for the door, but Anora's small hand caught his arm, the touch feather-light against his borrowed tunic.
"Marta gave it to me. I put it in the room when I got my knife," she said, orange eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction in the gathering dusk. The last rays of sunset caught her red curls, setting them ablaze beneath the blue ribbon.
Mikhail's smile softened his features as he looked down at her. "Thank you," he said warmly, then added, "Still, you didn't have to get your knife."
Anora shrugged, a gesture that made the silver embroidery on her dress catch the lamplight like scattered stars. "It makes me feel safe," she replied simply, her words carrying the weight of years spent learning to trust only herself.
"I understand," Mikhail said softly, taking her hand in his. Their fingers intertwined naturally, green against his sun darkened white, a quiet defiance of the world's expectations. "Come on. Let's go have some fun."
Together they stepped into the flow of festival-goers, the current of celebration drawing them toward the town center. The knife at Anora's waist caught occasional glints of lamplight, a reminder that even on nights of magic, some shadows refused to fully retreat.
Selene emerged from the shadows like smoke made flesh, her dark hood pulled low to obscure her features. The evening air carried hints of cedar and woodsmoke as she melted into the stream of festival-goers, her movements liquid and purposeful. Several careful paces behind her quarry, she became just another shadow among many, unremarkable in the gathering dusk.
Her trained eyes never left the distinctive pair ahead - Mikhail's height and Anora's blue silk dress made them easy to track through the crowd. The goblin woman's transformation was remarkable, Selene had to admit. The dress flowed around her small form like captured twilight, while the blue ribbon tamed her copper curls into an elegant arrangement that emphasized her delicate features. The overall effect was striking - perhaps too striking.
'Beautiful, but conspicuous,' Selene mused, a cold smile playing at her lips beneath the hood. The very elegance that made Anora shine like a jewel would also make her an unmistakable target for the less tolerant elements of Cedarcrest society. The assassin noted the knife at the goblin woman's waist - a sensible precaution, if ultimately futile against what was to come.
The crowd's movement created natural eddies and flows, allowing Selene to drift closer then further back as needed, always maintaining optimal observation distance. Her soft boots made no sound on the cobblestones as she followed the couple toward the heart of celebration. Like a spider tracking prey across its web, she felt every vibration, noted every subtle shift in the evening's energies.
The gathering darkness was her ally, embracing her like an old friend as she wove through the press of bodies. Each oil lamp she passed cast her shadow in a different direction, making her seem to multiply and fade with each step. She was everywhere and nowhere, a hunter's patience made manifest in the deepening night.
As she drifted through the festival crowd like a shadow given form, her keen eyes cataloging every reaction to the unlikely couple before her. The evening air carried a complex tapestry of scents - roasting meats, sweet pastries, woodsmoke - but beneath it all, she could smell something far more intoxicating: growing tension.
As Mikhail and Anora passed by others, their joined hands a quiet defiance, faces in the crowd transformed like masks in a malevolent play. A merchant's welcoming smile curdled into disgust, his fingers tightening on his coin purse as if their very presence might taint his prosperity. A group of well-dressed women drew their shawls closer, turning away with exaggerated movements while whispering poisonous words behind raised hands.
"Disgraceful," muttered a graying timber worker, ale heavy on his breath as he spat into the gutter. "In my day, we knew how to deal with their kind." His companions nodded darkly, their weathered faces carved with lines of hatred.
Yet others in the crowd seemed untouched by the prejudice flowing around them. A young apprentice watched the couple pass with curious eyes, his head tilted like a bird studying something new and fascinating. An elderly woman smiled softly, perhaps remembering her own forbidden romance from years past.
Selene committed each face to memory - the hateful, the curious, the indifferent. Each would serve her purpose in time, pieces to be moved across the board in her deadly game. The timber worker's face particularly interested her - such raw hatred could be easily stoked into violence with the right provocations.
Through it all, Mikhail and Anora seemed wrapped in their own world, either genuinely oblivious to the reactions they sparked or choosing to ignore them. Their happiness was like a bubble of light in the gathering darkness - beautiful, but fragile. Selene's lips curved into a cold smile beneath her hood. Such bubbles were made to be burst, and she would be the needle that pierced their fleeting joy.
For now, though, she would wait and watch, letting them savor these precious moments. After all, the sweetest dreams were those from which one never wished to wake.
The cobblestone streets gave way to packed earth as Mikhail and Anora approached the town center, where cedar trees rose like ancient guardians around a sprawling celebration ground. Lanterns hung from their massive branches, their warm light transforming the falling evening into something magical and strange. The flames danced in the gentle breeze, casting ever-shifting shadows that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of distant drums.
A symphony of aromas washed over them - succulent meat slowly turning on spits, its fat dripping and sizzling on hot coals, creating spirals of fragrant smoke that wound through the air like invisible ribbons. Sweet rolls dusted with cinnamon and sugar called from nearby stalls, their warm, yeasty scent promising comfort and indulgence. Somewhere, apples roasted in honey and spices, their caramelizing sweetness making both their stomachs growl in eager anticipation.
Musicians had gathered near a great cedar stump, their instruments weaving together to create melodies that spoke of ancient forests and timeless celebrations. A flute trilled like birdsong, while drums kept time with deep, resonant beats that seemed to echo in Mikhail's chest. The music wrapped around them like a protective spell, trying to drown out the poison that leaked from passing lips.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
"Disgusting display..."
"Someone ought to teach that boy a lesson..."
"That dress is wasted on her kind..."
“I thought goblins were forbidden to attend the festival…”
The whispers slithered past like serpents in tall grass, each one making Mikhail's hand tighten around Anora's. His other hand kept straying to where his spear should be, finding only empty air. The borrowed red tunic suddenly felt too thin, too festive for the undercurrent of malice that threaded through the celebration like dark water beneath seemingly peaceful ice.
But Anora's small hand remained steady in his, her orange eyes bright with wonder as she took in the spectacular scene before them. The blue silk of her dress caught the lantern light, making her seem to glow from within. The knife at her waist gleamed occasionally - a reminder that even on this night of magic, they couldn't fully lower their guard.
Mikhail found himself captivated by Anora's unrestrained wonder, her joy pushing away his darker concerns like sunrise chasing shadows. Her orange eyes darted from spectacle to spectacle, trying to absorb every detail of the magical scene unfolding around them. The blue ribbon in her copper curls caught the lantern light as she turned her head, creating brief flashes like captured starfire.
Above them, paper lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, their warm glow transforming the cedar branches into canopies of living light. The decorations they had watched being erected over the past week now created a dreamlike landscape - ribbons of silver and gold threading between trees, carved wooden figures telling silent stories from their perches, wreaths of cedar boughs filling the air with their ancient perfume.
A troupe of performers weaved through the crowd like bright fish in a human sea. Their costumes sparkled with tiny bells, creating music with every movement. Behind them, musicians danced as they played, their flutes and panpipes singing tales of forest magic and timeless celebrations. The melodies seemed to bypass the ear and speak directly to the heart, calling people to dance and dream.
"Fresh sweet rolls! Still warm from the oven!"
"Finest carved toys in all the Northern Kingdom!"
"Come see the strongest axe arm in Cedarcrest!"
The vendors' calls created a melody of their own, rising and falling like waves upon a shore of commerce and celebration. Each stall was a world unto itself - one draped with intricate wood carvings that seemed to move in the flickering light, another displaying delicate glass ornaments that caught and transformed every passing flame into rainbow explosions.
Children darted between adult legs like minnows in a stream, their wooden weapons clacking together in mock battles. Their laughter rang pure and clear above the festival's din, untouched by the prejudices that plagued their elders. A young boy with a toy bow stopped mid-chase to stare at Anora's dress with open admiration before being swept away by the tide of play.
Near a towering cedar, a crowd had gathered to watch the axe-throwing competition. The solid thunk of steel biting wood punctuated the evening air as men demonstrated their skill, each throw accompanied by cheers or groans from the assembled spectators. Women in their festival finest applauded each display of prowess, their appreciation carrying subtle undertones of courtship's ancient dance.
Anora tugged gently at Mikhail's hand, pointing to a stall where an elderly woman was selling roasted chestnuts wrapped in silvermoon leaves. The broad, silvery-green leaves had turned a rich reddish-brown from the heat of the chestnuts and fire that they sat beside, a distinctive transformation that made them prized for food wrapping throughout the region. The warm, nutty aroma wafted toward them on the breeze, and Mikhail saw pure delight bloom across Anora's face as she experienced yet another new sensation in this night of wonders.
Mikhail gazed down at Anora, his heart swelling at the pure wonder illuminating her features. "This is amazing isn't it?" he asked softly, though her expression already gave him his answer. Her orange eyes sparkled in the lantern light as she glanced up at him briefly before being drawn irresistibly to the nearby stall, where the rich aroma of roasted chestnuts wafted through the evening air.
A warm chuckle escaped him as he guided her toward the elderly vendor, whose weathered hands wrapped the steaming chestnuts in the heat-darkened silvermoon leaves with practiced grace. The simple joy on Anora's face as she accepted the treat made every coin worth spending, her small green fingers carefully peeling back the reddish-brown leaf wrapping to reveal the treasures within.
Before she could sample her first chestnut, a wave of raucous laughter and shouted encouragement rolled through the festival air like thunder. Anora's pointed ears perked forward at the sound, curiosity instantly kindled. She tugged at Mikhail's arm with childlike eagerness, practically pulling him toward the source of the commotion.
They found themselves at a crude fence fashioned from cedar poles, behind which stretched a long water-filled trench. In its center, a massive log bobbed gently, supporting two burly men locked in an ancient contest of balance and skill. Their feet moved in constant motion, rolling the log beneath them as they fought to stay upright. The competitors' faces shone with sweat and determination in the lantern light, muscles straining beneath festival clothes that had long since lost their crisp perfection.
Anora pointed excitedly at the spectacle, her orange eyes wide with fascination. "What are they doing?" she asked, her voice carrying notes of both confusion and delight.
"It's a log rolling competition," Mikhail explained, unconsciously pulling her closer as the crowd pressed forward for a better view. "The goal is to stay on the log longer than your opponent. When one falls off, the other wins. It's an old tradition among timber workers - they do this while guiding logs downriver. There’s a few men in my village who do this when chopping tree’s down from the north."
As if on cue, one of the men lost his footing. Time seemed to slow as his arms windmilled frantically, his face a perfect mask of shocked realization before he plunged sideways into the water with a tremendous splash. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings like joyous thunder.
Water cascaded from the fallen competitor as he surfaced, his good-natured grin visible even through his dripping beard. The victor helped pull him from the trench, both men embracing in the way of friendly rivals before accepting towels from waiting attendants.
The festival crowds parted and swirled around them as Mikhail and Anora made their way away from the cedar fence and the log rolling competition, the last of the chestnuts shared between them. Their path led them to a meat vendor's stall, where the aroma of roasting game made their mouths water. Flames licked at turning spits laden with venison and wild boar, the fat dripping and sizzling on hot coals below, creating a fragrant haze that carried hints of woodsmoke and honey.
The bearded vendor's eyes narrowed at the sight of Anora in her fine blue dress, his weathered face creasing with poorly concealed disdain. The silver embroidery caught the light from his cooking fires, making her seem to glow against the gathering darkness. Mikhail felt her small hand tighten in his but kept his voice steady as he asked, "Which would you like?"
Anora's orange eyes danced between the choices, lingering on the wild boar that glistened with honey glaze. The meat turned slowly on its spit, each revolution releasing new waves of mouthwatering aroma. She pointed to it with barely contained eagerness, her pointed ears perking forward with anticipation.
The gold coin clinked against the vendor's wooden counter, its sound somehow louder than the surrounding festival noise. The man's shrug spoke volumes as he carved thick slices from the roast, each piece marbled with perfectly rendered fat. He speared the portions onto cedar serving sticks, then drizzled honey over them in a graceful motion. The amber sweetness caught the firelight as it descended, transforming into ribbons of liquid gold that wound their way through the succulent meat, pooling in savory crevices and glazing the surface with glistening sweetness.
"Here ya go," Mikhail said softly, passing one to Anora. Her small green fingers wrapped around the stick as if she'd been handed a royal scepter, her eyes wide with wonder at the feast before her. “Come on. Let’s find a place to sit and eat.”
They found refuge on a bench carved from a massive cedar log, its surface smooth from countless festival-goers before them over the years. The wood still held traces of its natural oils, releasing a subtle fragrance with their warmth. Above them, lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, creating dancing shadows that played across their faces.
Mikhail's laughter bubbled up from deep in his chest as he watched Anora attack her portion with unrestrained enthusiasm. Her sharp teeth tore into the succulent meat with primal efficiency, honey glazing her lips as she devoured each bite. When she looked up at him, confused by his mirth, a particularly fatty morsel caught between her teeth, his laughter redoubled.
The simple joy of the moment wrapped around them like a warm cloak - two souls sharing food and laughter beneath swaying lanterns, while music and celebration swirled around them like a river around stones.
As they finished their meal, Anora licked the last traces of honey from her fingers, her orange eyes bright with satisfaction. Mikhail watched her, entranced by the way the lantern light played across her green skin, transforming it into something otherworldly and precious.
"That was delicious," she sighed, her voice carrying notes of wonder. Such simple pleasures – the taste of wild boar glazed with honey, the comfort of a cedar bench beneath them, the music of a festival in full swing – all of it new to her, all of it precious through her eyes.
Mikhail nodded in agreement, though a lingering sweetness called to him. "I've got a taste for something sweet now," he admitted, rising from the bench and extending his hand to her. "Shall we see what other treasures this festival has to offer?"
Anora's hand found his without hesitation, her small green fingers fitting perfectly between his larger ones. She rose gracefully, the blue silk of her dress falling around her in elegant folds, the knife at her waist catching brief glints of torchlight.
They disposed of their cedar sticks in a barrel meant for such things, joining the flow of festival-goers moving through the heart of celebration. The night had deepened around them, but Cedarcrest blazed with light and sound, as if the town itself refused to acknowledge darkness on this special night.
The sweet-scented air drew them like moths to flame, weaving through the festival crowd toward a stall overflowing with sugary delights. Lantern light caught the glazed surfaces of tree rings and sweet rolls, making them gleam like precious jewels. Steam rose in delicate spirals from fresh-baked treats, carrying promises of comfort and indulgence on the evening breeze.
An elderly woman presided over this treasury of confections, her face a map of laugh lines and wisdom earned through countless celebrations. Her eyes, sharp despite their years, took in the unlikely pair before her - Mikhail in his borrowed finery, and Anora, resplendent in blue silk that seemed to capture starlight in its folds.
"What would you like my dears?" she asked, her voice warm as fresh honey. Then her gaze settled more firmly on Anora, something shifting in her expression. "My what a beautiful goblin you have." Her attention swung to Mikhail like a compass finding north. "Where did you happen to buy a slave with such beauty as hers?"
The question hung in the festival air like frost on a spring morning. Mikhail felt Anora stiffen beside him, her small hand tightening in his. The moment stretched thin as spun glass as he struggled to find words that wouldn't shatter it.
"Oh I uh... I didn't buy her. She's not my slave," he managed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.
"Oh?" The old woman's eyebrow arched like a question mark, her gaze sweeping over them again with new interest. Understanding bloomed across her weathered features like dawn breaking. "My heavens! You two are a couple?"
Mikhail's blush deepened as he nodded, standing straighter despite his embarrassment. Pride warred with caution in his bearing as he awaited her reaction.
"You two are either brave or foolish," she declared, though no judgment colored her tone. "The people of the Northern kingdom don't look too kindly on relationships like yours, dears."
"So we have seen," Mikhail acknowledged quietly, memories of sideways glances and whispered threats floating like shadows at the edges of his mind.
"I'm sure you have, deary." The old woman's smile held centuries of understanding. She turned her attention fully to Anora, her voice gentling further. "Now then. Would you like a tasty treat, my dear? I'll let you choose since your kind isn't fond of sweets."
Something electric passed between them as their eyes met - the old woman's gaze seemed to peer past Anora's carefully constructed walls, reading stories written in the depths of her orange eyes.
"How do you know that goblins don't like sweets?" Mikhail asked, curiosity coloring his voice. The old woman's eyes crinkled with ancient mirth as she turned her penetrating gaze upon him. Her laugh carried notes of distant winds and forgotten wisdom.
"I've been around child. I've been around for a very long time," she replied, her words seeming to echo with the weight of countless seasons.
Mikhail nodded, studying her weathered face.Of course she knew that. She looked ancient. Each line seemed to tell its own story of years spent watching the world's mysteries unfold. Beside him, Anora's attention was caught by the array of treats before them, her orange eyes finally settling on a spiraled confection that gleamed with sugar and spice in the lantern light.
"Oh now that's a good one my dear," the old woman exclaimed, her gnarled hands moving with surprising grace as she plucked up a piece of wax-lined parchment. "That's a tree ring, dear." She presented it to Anora, whose pointed ears twitched with curiosity at the strange name.
"It's fried dough with sugar and a spice called cinnamon on it," she explained, her voice carrying the warmth of countless shared treats. "Go ahead child, take a bite. You'll love it."
Anora lifted the pastry hesitantly. Her sharp teeth sank into the sweet spiral, and a moment later, a sound of pure delight escaped her. The sugar-glazed dough seemed to dissolve on her tongue, releasing bursts of sweetness and warm spice that made her orange eyes widen with wonder.
Mikhail watched in amazement as Anora devoured the treat. Every bite seemed to unlock new expressions of joy on her green features. "It seems that you like that," he observed softly. Anora's enthusiastic nod sent her red curls dancing in the lantern light, the blue ribbon catching stray gleams like captured starfire.
"May I have another one?" Mikhail asked, already reaching for his coin purse.
"Certainly," the old woman replied, her movements fluid as she prepared another treat. The exchange of gold for silver happened almost as an afterthought, her ancient eyes fixed on the couple with knowing intensity.
“Thank you.” Mikhail said, taking the treat motioning for Anora to follow.
"You're most welcome my dear," she said as they turned to leave. "Be sure to take care of her. She's special."
“I will.” Mikhail replied.
A pause, then: "And take care of the child."
Mikhail's automatic response of agreement froze in his throat as her final words registered. He spun back, confusion etched on his features. "What chil-" The question died on his lips as he found himself staring at an empty stall, the space where the old woman had stood now filled with nothing but festival shadows and swirling lantern light.
A chill that had nothing to do with the evening air crept down his spine as he stared at the abandoned space. The very air seemed to shimmer with lingering magic, like heat waves rising from sun-baked stones. Questions tumbled through his mind like autumn leaves in a whirlwind - how had she moved so quickly? What child had she meant? And most unsettling of all: who - or what - had they really been speaking with?
The festival's music and laughter continued around them, but it felt suddenly distant, as if he and Anora stood in a pocket of otherworldly silence. The tree ring in his hand still warm, real enough to anchor him to the present moment, yet everything else about their encounter now seemed touched by something ancient and mysterious.
"What's wrong Mikhail?" Anora's voice pulled him from his reverie, her small hands tugging gently at his borrowed tunic. Her orange eyes followed his bewildered gaze back to the stall, concern evident in their depths.
"Uh... it's nothing. Just thought there was an old lady at the stall that just served us," he replied, his voice trailing off as he looked again at the vendor. Where moments ago had stood an ancient woman with eyes full of mysterious wisdom, now a middle-aged merchant served her customers with practiced efficiency.
"Nope," Anora said simply. "Just her. She's the only one that's been there."
"I swear she was old," Mikhail muttered, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. The festival lights seemed to dance strangely around the stall, as if reality itself rippled like water disturbed by an unseen stone.
Anora's giggle cut through his confusion like sunlight through morning mist. "I think you're seeing things," she teased, her pointed ears twitching with amusement.
"Maybe I am," he conceded, shaking his head to clear it. Noticing Anora's gaze lingering on his uneaten tree ring, he tore it in half, offering her the larger portion. Her sharp teeth made quick work of the sweet treat, sugar crystals catching the lantern light as they fell.
The rhythmic sound of hammers and chisels suddenly caught Anora's attention, her orange eyes brightening with curiosity. Without warning, she grabbed Mikhail's hand, pulling him through the crowd with eager determination.
"Whoa, take it easy Anora!" he called as she weaved between festival-goers, her blue silk dress flowing like water in moonlight. They emerged into a torch-lit clearing where two men hunched over blocks of cedar, their tools dancing across the wood with artistic precision as they competed to create beauty from raw timber.
In her excitement, Anora didn't notice the young man until it was too late. Her small form collided with his larger one, sending his flagon of ale cascading down his festival tunic and onto the cobblestones below. The liquid gleamed like captured amber in the torchlight before being swallowed by thirsty stone, leaving behind only a dark stain across expensive fabric.
The man whirled, his face contorting with drunken rage, eyes glazed and unfocused yet burning with hatred. "You clumsy slave!" he snarled, shoving Anora backward with enough force to steal her breath. Mikhail caught her, steadying her small frame against his chest as her blue silk dress rippled like disturbed water in moonlight.
"Know your place, ya filthy greenskin!" The words cut through the festival noise, drawing attention like blood in water. Conversations halted mid-sentence, musicians faltered, a circle of space opening around them as festival-goers sensed the brewing violence.
His arm rose for a backhanded strike, silver rings glinting on his fingers – not just any drunk, but a merchant's son, privileged and powerful. Behind him, friends materialized from the crowd, their faces carved with the same contempt.
Mikhail's hand shot out like a striking hawk, catching the man's wrist in an iron grip that made bones grind together. The festival sounds seemed to fade into hollow echoes as their eyes met – Mikhail's usually gentle blue gaze now transformed into something ancient and dangerous, a predator awakened.
"I wouldn't," he warned, his voice carrying the quiet promise of violence that needed no shouting to be heard.
The merchant's son sneered, alcohol lending him courage he hadn't earned. "You defend this creature? Then you'll answer to all of us." Behind him, five more men stepped forward, hands moving to belts where knives gleamed in the flickering light.
Anora's fingers found her own blade, the metal singing softly as she drew it partially from its sheath. The sound attracted the attention of the gathering crowd, gasps rippling outward as they realized the goblin woman wasn't just dressed finely – she was armed.
Around them, the festival's joy transformed into something darker, a powder keg awaiting a single spark to ignite. Torchlight caught the hatred in a dozen watching eyes, while somewhere in the shadows, a figure observed with cold calculation, now ready to influence the fight that was about to unfold.
Would you like a time jump covering three months with brief scenes showing key moments in Mikhail and Anora's life in Cedarcrest or continue with the story as I have been?
