Eza wandered through the streets of the Mistwarrens, eyes intently scanning her surroundings. She was looking for bad things and good things. The bad things didn’t seem to be following her. Of course, they were hard to spot. The strangers wouldn’t have been able to keep up with her all of these years if they were that incompetent.
She pulled her hood up further just in case. Her rusting scar made being inconspicuous difficult at times. But she wasn’t as out of place here than anywhere else she had been before. People here were weird. Looked and acted strange. Those people with the long eyebrows, they were super weird. What were they called, the Thylan?
She wasn’t having much luck finding good things, either. The Mistwarrens wasn’t the richest of areas. Hardly anyone had anything good, and those that did seemed to need it more than Eza did. Reluctantly, she downed a bottle with little flakes of a dull grey metal. Then, she burned that iron now in her stomach.
Blue lines shot out from her, a jumbled mess stretching every which way. Some moved, following the people on the street. Others were stationary, metal fixtures on buildings drawing thick lines. She spotted a cluster of many thin lines.
There.
The cluster led to an outdoor merchant’s shop. There were tables bearing jewelry piled in heaps, most of which looked beautiful from afar but was cheap and of poor quality upon closer inspection. Bits and pieces were missing from each item, most scuffed and chipped. What drew Eza’s attention was a brooch resting on a table near the center. It was covered in gaudy rhinestone crystals, not a single surface on its top left uncovered. Most would consider it garish. Even in the flickering lantern light, it cast little rainbows on the walls. She could never wear something so flashy lest she be spotted.
It was perfect.
Eza silently crept forwards and stood near the shop, facing away from it. She held her hand behind her back and tugged on the blue line connected to the brooch. She was careful to use just enough iron to avoid making noise, as Mother had taught her. It shot right into her hand, and she quickly pocketed it without turning around.
@Ookla of whimsy