The world had taught her to be wary, to expect the worst, especially when alone at night. But then she heard his voice, gentle and concerned. "Ma'am, are you well?" he asked, slowing down as he neared her. The sight of his constable's uniform brought a flicker of recognition, and she realized he was likely a law enforcement officer. Yet, her apprehension remained, mingled with a glimmer of relief.
She glanced up at him, trying to maintain a façade of strength despite her ghastly appearance. Her lip was busted, her eyebrow split, and a painful bruise was developing on her cheek and another around her eye socket. A witch would have easily fixed their face, but she wasn't able to rely on magic. Her father had taught her the value of resilience, and she had learned to embrace her scars.
"I'm fine," she replied with a hint of defiance, her voice betraying the pain she was trying to suppress. "Just a little late-night exercise, nothing to worry about." Her eyes briefly flickered over his constable's uniform, trying to gauge his intentions. He might be a lawman, but she couldn't afford to drop her guard entirely, even if she looked like a nightmare vision in the dim light.
The man's genuine concern was evident, and a part of her wanted to trust him, to believe that he truly meant no harm. Yet, she couldn't shake the years of ingrained caution. She adjusted her stance slightly, ready to defend herself if needed.
"I appreciate the concern, officer, but I can handle myself," she added firmly, trying to dissuade any further inquiries. The ache in her body contradicted her words, but she was stubborn and determined to remain in control of the situation.
Unconsciously, her hand moved to touch her battered face, her fingers tracing the swollen bruises. With a mixture of vulnerability and defiance in her eyes, she met his gaze. "I'll be fine. you needn't worry for me" she insisted, her words and expression conveying both gratitude for his concern and a fierce desire for independence. Her distinctly foreign flowing garments, soft and floating, different to the structure of English gowns, was yet another feature that set her apart on this dark street at almost midnight.
She glanced up at him, trying to maintain a façade of strength despite her ghastly appearance. Her lip was busted, her eyebrow split, and a painful bruise was developing on her cheek and another around her eye socket. A witch would have easily fixed their face, but she wasn't able to rely on magic. Her father had taught her the value of resilience, and she had learned to embrace her scars.
"I'm fine," she replied with a hint of defiance, her voice betraying the pain she was trying to suppress. "Just a little late-night exercise, nothing to worry about." Her eyes briefly flickered over his constable's uniform, trying to gauge his intentions. He might be a lawman, but she couldn't afford to drop her guard entirely, even if she looked like a nightmare vision in the dim light.
The man's genuine concern was evident, and a part of her wanted to trust him, to believe that he truly meant no harm. Yet, she couldn't shake the years of ingrained caution. She adjusted her stance slightly, ready to defend herself if needed.
"I appreciate the concern, officer, but I can handle myself," she added firmly, trying to dissuade any further inquiries. The ache in her body contradicted her words, but she was stubborn and determined to remain in control of the situation.
Unconsciously, her hand moved to touch her battered face, her fingers tracing the swollen bruises. With a mixture of vulnerability and defiance in her eyes, she met his gaze. "I'll be fine. you needn't worry for me" she insisted, her words and expression conveying both gratitude for his concern and a fierce desire for independence. Her distinctly foreign flowing garments, soft and floating, different to the structure of English gowns, was yet another feature that set her apart on this dark street at almost midnight.