Late that afternoon, the front door creaked open, announcing Mara's return from the market. Mistress Matilda looked up from the couch where she languished with a smile forming on her lips, only to falter as she took in Mara's appearance.
The girl's normally neat braid was in disarray, wisps of hair framing her face in a wild halo. Sweat beaded on her forehead, leaving trails down her dust-smeared cheeks. Her dress, usually pristine despite her duties, was rumpled and stained.
"Mara?" Matilda's voice held a note of concern. "Are you alright?" Matilda asked because that very moment, Mara looked like she had gone to a parade instead of the market she was sent to.
When Mara looked her direction barely acknowledging her and she looked at Mara's face, undeniably something had gone wrong. Mara's eyes, usually warm and expressive, were stormy. She muttered something unintelligible, shouldering past Matilda to deposit the market goods on the kitchen table.
