Syraa woke before the sun. She was already brewing a tea when her mother appeared with a smile. She was determined not to talk about her father anymore. It would anyway always end in a fight. And she had other things to think about.

“Such an early bird, you are,” Elaina said, sitting down. She adjusted the fresh flowers she had picked yesterday in the little clay vase. Her eyes drifted over the fields behind their house, putting a content smile on her face.

Syraa poured them both some tea. It was a strong, fruity flavour, refreshing and awakening. Elaina pulled out a basket of fresh bread, butter and cheese, and some dried fruits to share for breakfast.

She pulled up a foot on the chair, hugging her knee as she nibbled on a few bites. She adjusted her thick wool socks, warm and scratchy against her ankles, despite the warming early-spring sun.

“You should eat better,” Elaina nagged, pushing some jam in front of Syraa. she could barely force the cork lid open, twisting and tugging until it popped with a little thunk.

“Gods, mother, what are you? How can you tighten it so much?” she grumbled when the lid finally came loose. Her mother chuckled into her teacup, watching Syraa spread the jam on her bread thick enough to provide her enough sugar for a week.

“Syraa darling, if you go to the shop today, would you take this with you?” she asked, pulling a packet onto the table. “Darleena – the tailor’s wife, you know - would pick it up, it is a couple of things for her son’s rashes.”

“All right,” Syraa said, pulling the bundle towards her. “Should I expect payment?” Her eyebrows lifted, knowing her mother’s tendency to give gifts generously. But who am I to tell her this, she thought to herself.

“Your payment will be your new festival dress,” Elaina smiled, pressing a kiss on Syraa’s forehead, who answered with a grunt.

“You know I hate dressing up.”

“It is time for you to dress like a lady. At least on occasions.”

Syraa’s eyes narrowed, a suspicion settling in her mind.

“Mum! You’re not trying to set me up with someone, are you?” Her hair swayed to the side as she turned around, quick enough to nearly splash her tea.

“How dare I do that?” came Elaina’s distant voice as she stepped out of the door.

Syraa opened her mouth to argue, but her mother had already disappeared, a flicker of her skirt catching the sunlight as she strode across the fields.

Syraa had to turn back from the door to pick Darleena’s package. The little bundle reminded her of their earlier exchange. Dress like a lady, sure, she grumbled as she made her way into the town and across the marketplace. Merchants greeted her, and she responded with a polite smile.

As she finally stepped into the quiet of the shop, she could finally exhale. The faint herbal scent clung to the air, steady and grounding. Her shelves stood in neat rows — neater still since Varek’s visits — and the familiar space felt like her own little fortress against the world.

Darleena arrived to pick up her son’s treatment in the early afternoon. The sun was high, its light warming the roofs and the cobblestones, yet she had a small fire burning inside to keep herself cozy.

“Syraa, my sweetheart,” the plump woman greeted with excessive enthusiasm, “tell your mother I’m so grateful for her work. What would I do without…”

She looked Syraa over from head to toe with a practiced eye. “It has been long since I last saw you, darling,” she went on, eyeing her curves. “We will need to take new measurements for your festival dress. Your mother told you, right?”

“She might have mentioned,” Syraa muttered, collecting all her self-control to hide her disapproval.

“All right, sweetie, listen, I was thinking something a bit more mature this year,” Darleena purred in a hushed voice, running her fingers over her arms. “Show a little bit of skin. You’re a woman now after all!”

Syraa narrowed her eyes at her, but bit her tongue.

“Sleeveless, perhaps we can show a little belly, just the navel, what do you think?” Her hands wrapped around Syraa’s waist as if taking mental measurements.

She smiled a wide, charming smile, but Syraa wasn’t impressed. “That won’t be necessary, Darleena. Thank you. I’ll just stick to my own clothes.”

“Sweetheart, you’re a lovely girl, you can show it off! I know boys your age who would like to talk to you! Give a good impression!”

Syraa hummed, but didn’t find the strength to keep her opinion to herself.

“Darleena… I appreciate it, but… I also know boys my age. They don’t quite hit the bar.”

“Well, you set the bar too high!” Darleena sang in a voice so high it could have shattered glass.

“It is not the bar that’s too high,” Syraa went on, “rather, the performance that is too low.”

Darleena chuckled and launched into her usual rant about the youth and how Syraa should compromise if she wants to find herself a decent boy, or at least a half decent one, but earned herself an eyeroll with a grunt.

Syraa had never been more thankful for a customer’s arrival than now. Darleena finally stopped when the elderly lady stepped in, and left, seeing Syraa busying herself with another client.

“I see Darleena is running her mouth about the youth again,” the lady complained with a grin. “Don’t you pay her any mind, my dear. Your happiness is your own to shape, and nobody else’s to dictate.”

Syraa smiled gratefully, opening the door for the lady on her way out. One boy my age might just hit the bar after all, she thought with a smile, returning to her desk.