Cold Carvan

My ever moving prison has been following the winding path of the Vosk River for the last day or so. Twice now, I have overheard two of the men arguing on what to do with me. One wishes to sell me at the next city he passes, insisting that I am ill luck. Apparently he has had a few ‘accidents’ along the way and the other girls he’s sold have not quite brought in the price he had hoped for, though the second man is holding firmly to the contract that had been verbalized between him and Zarah.

My days are kept mostly to myself, little contact with the other girls sought or offered. They shun me and my circle of shame is all the clearer. Even they can see, or perhaps they feel that I am different. I can tell they are terrified of me and the arcane ability of my cards. But I do not use that against them.

I dreamt of Kain last night, locked safely away in wrap of warm arms, a hail of soft kisses ushered down and over my cheeks and over my mouth. But the dream ended all too soon and when I awakened from my nocturnal illusion, I found that the kisses had been replaced with tears. This day I shall do something I have only down thrice in my life. I shall consult the cards.

I pray that good fortune will be mine.