'That house was not far off from town,' Marigold thinks to herself as she reaches the end of the dirt path, and the first row of shops and houses along the cobblestone pavements. She looks back and sees that she has, indeed, gone a long way—the house has been out of sight long ago. She cannot help but laugh at herself a little. 'I'm a fast walker.'

She knows exactly what she needs: a job and a place to stay. Marigold searches the establishments for potential rooms, and she estimates the average rent to be at about 200 il. She needs to be able to earn around 15 to 20 il a day to cover her expenses. 'Even 15 il a day would be cutting it close, because I won't be able to save,' she tells herself after doing a quick estimate. She continues her search, this time for shops in need of workers. Her skills should be able to land her a job as a clerk, or even a bookkeeper.

After going through five shops, Marigold finds out that most employers only pay clerks 15 il a day, and most store owners do the bookkeeping themselves, especially if the business is small. She realizes that she has to go to the larger shops if she wants to get paid more. But before she can go on with her search again, out of the corner of her eye she spots a suspicious group of men standing not very far from her.

She tentatively walks from one storefront to another, while taking care to keep herself in a place where there are a lot of people. The group of men seem to follow her at a distance, and she catches some of them sneaking looks at her direction. 'It might be a stretch to think that they are after me,' she considers, 'but if that is the case...'

Marigold gathers her strength and dashes to the crowded town square, hoping that her pursuers would lose her in the throng of people. She instinctively goes to the most congested paths, unmindful of the countless shoulders she has pushed and the toes she has stepped on. Her legs, made swift by adrenaline, take her to the marketplace, where she hides behind an unattended fruit cart to catch her breath. She peeks atop the pile of fruits, and notices that the men were able to catch up to her, and they are starting to split up and scatter. Remaining in her crouched position, Marigold inches away from the cart. She rushes to the narrow alleyways while keeping her head lowered.

She runs and runs, turning at narrower and twistier alleys, while silently wishing she will not reach any dead ends. 'If I turn up at one, I will probably climb over a wall—that's how tenacious I can be,' Marigold says to herself, as an odd way of reassurance. She does encounter one (what luck!), and she pauses. She turns around.

No one has caught up to her yet.

She paces about, panic slowly building in her chest. 'There are barrels and crates to step on, but this here is not just a wall; it connects to the houses and shops... Should I jump up and run on the roofs?' A split-second's consideration leads her to stack crates and barrels on top of each other, and prepare to act as thieves do. Just as she was about to mount the contraption, a side-door in the alley opens. A hand shoots out from it, grabbing hold of Marigold's arm and pulling her inside.

The door slams shut behind her. Before she could scream, she is pushed against the door as the person who pulled her in reaches for the latch. She is now level with that person's starched collar. Her lavender eyes wander up, and they widen at the sight of Steven, who is now standing so close to her.

She opens her mouth, not quite knowing what to say.

"We can talk elsewhere," Steven says. He lets go of the now-locked door and turns, his back to Marigold. "Follow me," he beckons, leading the way down the dimly-lit hall of what seems like a tavern.

The side-door Marigold entered from leads to an area in the tavern reserved for employees. There are rooms where the workers rested, and rooms where various foodstuffs are stored. The girl figured that the wine cellar would be located at the basement. She and Steven run into a woman, whom Marigold guesses as the owner of the tavern.

"Steven, I was looking for you!" the woman exclaims as she places her hands on the young man's shoulders. She immediately takes notice of Marigold and gives Steven a slightly questioning look.

He answers smoothly. "I was out to get some fresh air. She's an old friend I happened to meet."

"Oh," the woman acknowledges with raised brows. "Well then, you two have a seat over there," she gestures towards the larger tables, "and talk. I'm sure you have a lot of things to catch up on."

"Thanks, Martha," Steven says with a grin.

Martha grins back. "Anytime." She then goes on her way to one of the staff rooms. The two walk to where the tables are, and Steven picks a spot near the corner that seemed to provide the most privacy. He tells Marigold to wait for him. Marigold sits at the table and observes her surroundings, while Steven goes to the bartender. There are a few people sitting at the tables and at the bar, talking with each other. The tavern already has a good share of patrons, having enough customers even if the sun is still high up in the sky.

Steven returns to the table with two mugs of apple juice. He places one in front of Marigold, then he sits at the opposite side of the table, facing her.

Marigold takes a sip. "I thought taverns only sell alcohol."

"Usually. This one wanted to expand their base," Steven replies casually, glancing around the paintings and stuffed animal heads that adorned the walls.

"How did you find me?"

"I was paying Martha a visit," Steven explains. "I was coming out of the side-door, and I saw you panicking outside."

Marigold regards Steven carefully, her mauve eyes staring at him over the mug held to her lips. After another sip, she sets her mug down. "I was, in fact, being chased. I don't know who those men are and why they would be after me, but my instincts told me to run."

"It seems I turned up at the perfect time," Steven drawled in an offhand manner. He takes his first sip.

"Yes. Thank you." Marigold expresses now with pure gratefulness. "It's a bit of an inconvenience, though."

"What is?"

"The whole chase!" the girl suddenly cries. "I was in the middle of scouring the town for a job, and now I can't get out." She emphatically gulps down half of her drink, and slams it on the table. "Ah, this juice tastes great."

Steven can't help but laugh a bit. "That drink does not look like juice, from the way you chug it down." He rests his chin in his palms and leans somewhat closer. "I can help you find a job. Do you want me to?"

"No thanks," she dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I can do just as well by myself; I'll continue from where I left off once the coast is clear." She smiles at Steven anyway. "You've helped me too much already."

Steven smiles back. "Big talker," he mutters almost inaudibly.

"Huh? Did you say something?"

"Your name," he says in a clearer voice. "I haven't asked for it yet."

Marigold looks at his cat-like eyes. She feels something warm rising from her chest. That apple juice must actually be cider.

"Marigold," she replies.

—End of Entry One—

Forgive me for this author's note!

"Il" is a currency of my own invention, and the same goes with every place and every kingdom that will ever be mentioned here. I don't know if I have to add this, but one il would amount to one copper coin, fifty il is one bronze coin, a hundred il would mean one silver coin, and a thousand il will be one gold coin. The people here don't use paper money yet.

For reasons of convenience mainly for the author's sake, this world still follows the 7-days-a-week, 365-days-a-year-except-leap-years 'system' we all know(Is it the sexagesimal system used in measuring time and the Gregorian calendar? Please enlighten me). I might come up with other names for the days and the twelve months.

Lastly, that was really apple juice.