*ROUND 2 AMBASSADOR PICK*
*SHORTLISTED*
Homeless girl, Rosalie, is found on the cold streets of Crausley Sands with nothing but the clothes on her back and a black obsidian stone key around her neck, having no memory of who gave it to her.
When Rosa...
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It was like Rosalie had never left the streets of Crausley Sands.
The familiar ruckus of boozehounds leaving the tavern in the early hours was a comforting sound, in a peculiar way. It was also her cue to keep walking if she were to evade their taunts.
Rosalie no longer portrayed a girl of a high standard; her clothes were not immaculate. She was not dressed in clean cotton. The first opportunity she got, Rosalie changed her attire and once again wore the rags she was found in, once more the vagrant she had always remembered being.
In light of the previous day's declaration and betrayal, she had made the decision of never returning to the royal mansion. She would seek out Grangston Green and with hope, find out who she was and determine if she was indeed the mysterious child, then she would move onto pastures new.
As the slurred voices grew further and further in the distance, Rosalie strolled through the town, taking in every column of timber decorating the face of the townsfolk houses. Every bolted shutter on their windows blocking out noise and the impending sunrise like tightly closed eyelids in sleep.
Coming to stroll along the embankment she watched the fisherman set off on their boats for their morning catch, listening to the waves petting the docks.
Sunlight began to peek over the horizon painting the skyline in warm yellows and oranges. Seeing a trace of its beauty, Rosalie thought of Liliana and whether or not she would be awake. She wondered how long Liliana would wait before realising she wasn't going to meet her like they arranged.
Rosalie would take her friend's hatred if it meant she was safe. She would accept never seeing Liliana again as long as she was alive.
There was no sign of her raven - the array of morning commuters would have compelled it to hide away. Residents of Crausley feared the ravens since the destruction of Grangston Green. They belonged to the witches and in the event of those that were killed, the ravens became volatile and with it a taste for human flesh. Any earthling venturing into the ruins of Grangston had never returned, rumoured to be victims of the ravens' hunger.
Embarking on this journey alone was the right decision. If she herself were to be feasted upon then at least it would be her and her alone.
*
Fog moved like ghostly figures weaving their way through the rotten trees of the woodland of Grangston.
The pathway threading its way down the centre was white stone; snapped twigs which had broken away from the bordering trees lay strewn across the path, cracking further under her feet. At some point Rosalie imagined one had pierced the outsole of her shoe with its needle-like tip, yet no sting pricked her toes.
Then she heard it.
The snap of another abandoned twig in the distance.
Rosalie whipped her head back and forth, hastily inspecting the location of the sound.
