how do you wanna face it? when the end is so close you can taste it
Raz’ can’t shay she remembers anythin’ like this happenin’ before. Or maybe it has, an’ all the childhood market mysteries seem t’blend together in a haze’a stalls an’ dust’ an’ the smell’a cookin’, spiced meat. The Hanged Man closed early for this an’ its proprietress wanders about with a flask’a something dark an’ top shelf an a couple’a skewers’a somethin’ that smells heavenly.
The occasional drop’a meat juice ends up on her sandals as she wanders an’ eats - not really interested in buyin’ anything’ at the moment - not until she feels the irresistible urge t’turn a corner - an’ runs into a small crowd an’ an eager, charismatic hawker. Lickin’ her fingers clean’a grease, Raza sidles up t’ Jack an’ Aurelia.
“Anythin’ good?” she asks, raisin’ a skeptical brow towards the stall.
The occasional drop’a meat juice ends up on her sandals as she wanders an’ eats - not really interested in buyin’ anything’ at the moment - not until she feels the irresistible urge t’turn a corner - an’ runs into a small crowd an’ an eager, charismatic hawker. Lickin’ her fingers clean’a grease, Raza sidles up t’ Jack an’ Aurelia.
“Anythin’ good?” she asks, raisin’ a skeptical brow towards the stall.
