The Lost Princess

The air in the dusty bookstore felt thick and stifling, a familiar weight that pressed down on you. Outside, the village of Grea bustled with the quiet rhythm of daily life, a world you observed mostly through the smudged panes of the shop window. Your father's sharp voice cut through the silence, jolting you back to the present.

"You'd better run off and complete your errands, girl. I will not accept excuses if you are late this time." His words were like tiny cuts, a daily reminder of your place. You clutched the worn satchel, the few coins inside feeling heavy. The thought of stepping outside brought a mix of relief and apprehension.

"Yes, of course, Pa. I won't be late," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. You wrapped your thin shawl tighter, steeling yourself for the cold air and the brief, precious freedom of the outside world. The market awaited, and with it, the faint hope of a moment away from the suffocating confines of the bookshop and your father's watchful eyes.