She grew up in the clutches of poverty; He was raised in the lap of luxury.
She hated nobles; He couldn't be bothered with commoners.
Her heart hidden deep in thorny vines; His one burning in his sleeves.
She was the recently orphaned flower seller;...
Ok, fine I might've technically stolen it from his office but hey, I would've inherited it soon enough since you know...
"Do I look like someone who frequents this hellhole?" I ask , holding back the anger I was feeling at the blissfully ignorant people who are particularly fond of smelling like they haven't heard of showers in this life.
"Hellhole?" Isolde sounds offended at my remark for some reason. "This is the best marketplace I have seen in my life!" she supplies in an indigent voice.
"Are you sure about that?" I ask, truly not believing her statement. She just gives me a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, the prices are so reasonable. I mean, I know I can bargain to make the eggs a bit cheaper. But look at the flour!! It's only two and a half minar!! And, and, and guess the price of one bucket of dry manure?" she clapped her hand in excitement.
"I do not know and I do not want to know!!! Why would you even buy something like that in the first place?" I ask, horrified for a second at the thought.
Please, tell me it's not for consumption. I know people were poor but definitely not that poor!!
"To cook, what else?"
Sol, these people had it tough.
"It doesn't taste bad?" I ask, now genuinely curious.
"No, it tastes alright," she says nonchalantly.
How?
"But it's...it's..." how do I say this without not judgmental about her financial conditions?
"But what?" she raises an eyebrow.
"No, It's fine. Sounds amazing!" I give a smile too just to be careful.
Wow, commoners do live a hard life.
"Why are you standing like an idiot? You're not Sol's statue, get moving, do something!" Isolde shouts at me suddenly. I see her walking ahead of me.
Now what has gotten her riled up?
And what is her problem with Sol?
Instead of asking question which will probably be dodged again, I simply follow her instruction. I feel like I shouldn't rile her up that much.
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"Wow," Isolde exclaims for the thousandth time after seeing a dingy little restaurant tucked away underneath a flowery balcony. It was an ancient thing with it's crooked nameboard and a awfully painted door.
Sol, this girl was easily impressed.
Then why doesn't she look that much impressed by you? My scoundrel of an inner conscious mocks me again.
"You are particularly fond of small shops, huh?" I ask in a curious tone, hoping she would reveal about herself finally.
"Hmm, mama had a little tailoring shop," she says absentmindedly, without moving her awestruck gaze from the shop.
