Marcellus placed in the first rose, just at the tip of the braid. He deftly twined the chestnut locks in a small braid around the rose, and then placed in another one.
He worked without stopping, and he tapped his foot to the sound of the song that was coming from the still occupied breakfast table. This way of life was something he could see himself getting used to.
It was nice, tranquil, even.
Marcellus remembered briefly the life he had led before Chavu had talked him into helping in the day-to-day management of the dungeon.
It had been a boring existence. Pretend to sleep all day. Go to the forest to catch something during the night. Kill it, suck out its blood, leave the meat for the then boss monster.
For Chavu.
Chavu had never questioned where the meat had come from. Marcellus had always wondered why.
