Agathe of Marikas had grown restless, far more easily bored with her lessons than usual. It did not take long to convince her tutors to give her the afternoon to explore the shops—for economic research, of course—accompanied by a coin purse so generously provided by a father wishing to be rid of her and a single guard, per her father’s orders. Thus the young blonde found herself wandering the streets of Athenia, closely followed by a somewhat disgruntled footsoldier. She had tried to wave him off three times to no avail, so it seemed his sentiments and her own annoyance were equally matched.
Having already wandered the entirety of the agorá and still feeling uninspired by the wares she had viewed, Agathe was winding her way through the selection of shops and merchants in the outer circle—a section of the city she generally avoided. A certain awareness, a feeling of being out of place while still somehow belonging settled in the pit of her stomach. Silver bangles jangled as the blonde ran a hand up her arm in an ineffective attempt to soothe the small bumps on her skin that made her hair stand on end.
Uneasy in the streets, Agathe ducked into the first open doorway she saw. With pleasant surprise, she noticed the beautiful fabrics displayed throughout the shop. She found her hand drawn to the chitons and himations, her fingers gently stroking the many shades of blue. She had never seen blues so light yet so rich in color and she could not help but admire them. Remembering her father’s man, she glanced up. The guard had assumed a post near the door, just inside the shop and was watching her with the keen eye of an experienced soldier.
“I of course may be wrong, I am no soldier, but I believe I am perfectly safe to browse, no?” she thinly hinted to the man with the slightest yet dismissive wave of a hand. The guard must have agreed with Agathe on some level as he begrudgingly left her to continue perusing the shop.
Having already wandered the entirety of the agorá and still feeling uninspired by the wares she had viewed, Agathe was winding her way through the selection of shops and merchants in the outer circle—a section of the city she generally avoided. A certain awareness, a feeling of being out of place while still somehow belonging settled in the pit of her stomach. Silver bangles jangled as the blonde ran a hand up her arm in an ineffective attempt to soothe the small bumps on her skin that made her hair stand on end.
Uneasy in the streets, Agathe ducked into the first open doorway she saw. With pleasant surprise, she noticed the beautiful fabrics displayed throughout the shop. She found her hand drawn to the chitons and himations, her fingers gently stroking the many shades of blue. She had never seen blues so light yet so rich in color and she could not help but admire them. Remembering her father’s man, she glanced up. The guard had assumed a post near the door, just inside the shop and was watching her with the keen eye of an experienced soldier.
“I of course may be wrong, I am no soldier, but I believe I am perfectly safe to browse, no?” she thinly hinted to the man with the slightest yet dismissive wave of a hand. The guard must have agreed with Agathe on some level as he begrudgingly left her to continue perusing the shop.