So, it's a bit late (sorry! I'm a slave to the school T_T) but here it is. This is my attempt at the "impending doom" prompt. Let me know how I did? Also, I wrote this thinking it was a bit more in the past--which you can probably tell but I wanted to say it out for sure!
Moira gazed to the brilliant pink and orange sky, swinging a pale of water in her hand. A merchant eyed her as he passed in his caravan, face pinched and knuckles white from gripping the reins too hard. Of course. She turned to him and forced the corners of her mouth up into the semblance of a smile. He swallowed and slapped the reins against the horses’ rears.
The travelers that came through Renaissance were unused to seeing her kind in the trading outpost. After thirteen years of experiencing the looks and distrust, she should’ve been used to it. Even by the towns’ people. It wasn’t like she had gained any of the habits of the Schiav, a tribe of gypsies, murderers, and thieves that lived in the Schiavona Desert. She’d been lost at the tender age of three when her brother found her.
She slipped into her house, the first one on the Villein trade route. It was a modest little thing with a smaller room on the edge of the lot that they loaned out to travelers when the main inn was too full. Beef and potatoes tickled her nose, the sound of carrots being chopped caressed her ears. Mm. Her mother’s stew.
“You wouldn’t believe how long it took them to give me the water, Mom,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen and let the bucket thud onto the counter. “Twenty minutes. Twenty.”
“I’m sure the boys just wanted to flirt with you.” Her mother smiled and tucked a lock of Moira’s black hair behind her ear. “You’re growing to be such a beautiful woman.”
A snort came from the doorway. “More like they wanted to be idiots and just ignore the fact that she’s a girl and concentrate on her skin color,” her brother, Sully, muttered and swept to the cupboards for a mug. Probably grabbing a beer.
“Sullivan.” Her mother gave him a disapproving look—whether for the comment or the drinking Moira wasn’t quite sure. She’d never been fond of it, though she didn’t know why. “There’s nothing different with her skin, why do you always say things like that?”
Moira shook her head and kissed her mother’s cheek. She thought that ignoring the difference and pretending it didn’t exist was the best way to deal with it. “Will dinner be ready soon?”
“Yes. We’ve just got to let the carrots soften up and then we’ll be done.” Her mother smiled and wiped her wrinkling hands against her apron. “Will you cut some bread for us?”
Once her mother had danced out of the room, Sully snuck to get himself a lager and left her to deal with the rest of dinner. She sighed. Moira rummaged for an adequate knife and was about to start when there was a pounding on the door. She listened for her mother before striding to it and opening it.
Alexi—the mayor’s son, and her best friend—panted against the doorframe. “Moira…”
Worry clawed at her stomach. “Why are you so out of sorts?” Someone as fit as him shouldn’t be so out of breath. The town wasn’t that big.
“The Schiav are coming—”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Wh—?”
“—They say we’ve stolen their princess.”
Now to read all the other posts! I'm really excited to see how many stories there are out there. :D