Liz
The walk into town was shorter than I expected. The closer we came, the louder everything became until the quiet crashing of the waves behind us was swallowed by music and laughter and voices drifting through the salty morning air. I fiddled with the edge of the sweatshirt Emma had let me borrow. I needed something to occupy my hands, to work through the anxiety forcing its way through my veins as we walked. The last time I was in the town square was when I was being struck with silver-tipped whips while being chained to the punishment stake. It wasn't a memory I was particularly fond of. Regardless, I swallowed my fear and followed Emma and Davis down the path.
Then, we rounded the corner. I stopped walking. The marketplace stretched before me like something from a storybook. Color
