Olivia tried to stand straight, but her world was still spinning.
The air in the city was foul; it smelled of burning charcoal, horse sweat, and something sharp like rusted iron. Every step she took on the cobblestone street felt as if she were walking on shards of glass.
A crowd began to gather around her. They were not just looking; they were watching with judgmental eyes.
Olivia, in her dirty white shirt and torn skirt, looked like an ugly stain amidst the grandeur of the city's majestic architecture.
"Look at that," whispered a woman wearing a thick lace dress.
"She's not from this city. Look at her clothes... how strange. Perhaps she's an outcast from some remote village?"
"Or maybe she's a stray," the man beside her chimed in with a tone of contempt.
"Look at her hands no status ring, no family tattoo. She is a nobody. A masterless stranger."
