the replays run for you

R E X A N N A this is not your destruction One moment, shouts from guards lit up the town from outside the house she had snuck into. It was late, and she was covered in bruises and dirt from her months on the run, hiding between place to place and doing everything she could to be sure she was unseen. She hadn’t talked in what seemed like weeks, and her lungs were tight in her chest any time she even thought about speaking. But despite all her careful attempts, someone had seen her face – had recognized the head of dark hair that reached midway down her back, those sapphire eyes and full lips, and reported it. She felt as though they were closing in, doors a few houses down were being barged into; the shouting grew louder and louder until Rexanna was certain they had gotten to her door. Quickly, she rushed from the first room, finding solace in the closet of one of the bedrooms. The door barged open, and Rexanna’s hand slipped from the closet door frame. One moment, she was there in an outskirt of Halyven. The next, she was here; wherever here was. Suddenly, darkness of the inside of a poorly built house became ruins and … was that a tavern? She closed her eyes, blinked rapidly for a few moments and even went so far to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t just hallucinating. When she was certain, she looked down at herself – noting that nothing had changed really about herself. Her clothes and hair were still slightly dirty from being on the run, tangled despite her desperate attempts to finger-comb it. Her clothes were torn in some places, the shirt big and loose on her thinner body, the pants ripped on the side of the leg where a small healing wound had almost been her captor. She didn’t know where she was, but Rexanna knew for certain that it didn’t seem like home – and if she went into the tavern she’d be able to see if her face were plastered there. And if not, then some welcome relief. Stepping toward the tavern felt a bit strange, and she kept her steps light and cautious. Her eyes adjusted to the darker hues of the inside of the room and the strangers about. None seemed particularly threatening aside from the giant man asking for a drink. Quietly, she glanced around for any boards that might bear faces and wanted posters, and finding none she realized she might need to step closer to the strangers in the bar. She gave the man a lot of room, but slipped into a seat by the bar – asking for nothing but hoping for information. this is your birth