“A Day in Her Life.” Into the Black 1.1 (1 May 2005) <http://www.angelfire.com/zine2/intotheblack/read.html>.

Dalia had once believed the kind words that men spoke to her. Her earliest memories included many instances of her father telling her that she was a good helper. A relatively recent immigrant to the city, fleeing with his wife, daughter, and brother from religious persecution in the Tiberian Empire, her father spent much of his initial wealth to purchase admission into the metalworker’s guild and, within a decade, was established as one of the city’s finest craftsmen.

As a young girl, Dalia would stand beside her father’s workbench and hand him the tools he needed to put the finishing touches on his newest ring, bracelet, necklace, or tiara. The gold’s glistening shine seemed a fitting companion to the precise patterns and scenes he engraved into the metal. Each piece of jewelry represented one part of the key that was intended to open the doorway to her future. With each sale, her potential dowry rose, and the chance of a noble match grew correspondingly higher. She rarely needed to be told to help; she volunteered willingly.

Her father also told her how beautiful she was, and she often heard that statement from the pleasing stream of young suitors that called on her as she approached her fourteenth birthday. Many of them undoubtedly meant it, but some would have said anything to increase their chances of claiming her, and her dowry, as theirs. Much of her father’s spare time had been occupied with the negotiations, and Dalia occasionally wondered how beautiful she could really be if her future still depended on the number of gold coins that came with her. She believed, though, that her father was telling the truth as he saw it.

But then he died painfully and relatively quickly during the plague outbreak, she and her uncle disagreed on the direction of her future, she ran away from the house late on a warm summer’s night, and soon all respectable doors in the city were closed to her. Kimmelsport was a harsh crucible for any resident without a steady source of income, and many who lived there preyed on its weaker denizens. The next two years were . . . difficult.

Dalia was stronger than she looked, but she had to rely on other qualities to survive on the city’s streets. So far, she had managed to avoid serious harm because she was smart, alert, agile, and fast. Very fast. She could outrun a number of the boys living on the street. But the struggle never ended.

She was tired.

[cont.]