“Which is the true nightmare, the horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the dissatisfied reality that awaits you when you awake?” - Justin Alcala

Waking up at the moment the hellhound's teeth tear into my flesh, I sit up immediately. Feeling my heart pounding against my head, I place my fingers on my pulse to feel the stability of my existence. Slowly my panting breath returns to normal.

As my eyes frantically search for the candle that should be lit, I realise that my neck is stiff and immobile. Gently cupping my nape, I groan realising that my pillow must have fallen to the floor. I pry my legs from my sticky sweat-tangled sheets before swinging them to the floor. I cannot believe that this memory still haunts me more than twenty years later.

As my hand feels the objects on the table next to me, I find the tinderbox but not the candle. After abandoning my search for it, I find the candle underneath my pillow on the ground that broke the candle from its holder.

The darkness finally subsides when I strike my match, revealing a black flame stain on my pillow - evidence of its crime of smothering the light.

Without fear I watch the wax crawling down the body of the candle, tilting it to the side at the last moment to allow the wax to fall on the floor instead of my fingertips. Finally reaching for the candle holder still on the table, I gently pry the remaining skeleton of the candle broken clean from the impact with the pillow, loose. The molten wax gradually fills the cup. In a matter of seconds after screwing the candle into place, the hot wax solidifies and holds the candle in place.

The floorboards groan under my weight as I make my way to the windowsill. As I place the candle on it, I notice that rain is hammering against the window. That would explain why my nightmare was so vivid tonight - it always is when it rains.

I take my time to straighten my sheets and deliberately tuck in every corner before puffing my pillow and placing it at the head of my bed.

Knowing I won't be able to fall asleep, I take the dress down from the wardrobe door. Placing my stitches meticulously perfect makes me feel like I am in control again. Gone are my haunted memories as I place my focus on the task at hand.

When the faded sunlight starts to steal into my room, I finish my last stitches. Taking the other two dresses down, I place all three in a thick, waterproof material. They are ready for delivery to Lady Balgitzi.

As I pull my shirt over my head, my scars, normally forgotten, grab my attention. Looking down at my right arm, I trace their white borders, but their bluish spots in the middle my real focus. One, two, three, four, five, I count before flipping my arm over. The scars are smaller on this side - this side the tips of its teeth came through. It is a miracle that I can still use my arm. If it wasn’t for him, I would have died within hours.

A frown takes root on my face as I shake the memory from my head. I dress in my now usual and perhaps only attire: black knee-high leather boots, black pants and a black long-sleeved shirt that reaches my mid thighs. I would have liked to have a variety to choose from, but I barely make enough money to buy food for myself. My room's rent swallows most of my meager income. And to be honest, the clothes are unnoticeable, allowing me never to be spared a second glance.

Lastly I tie my pathetic grey cloak and pull the hood over my shoulder. I had to sell the blue one on the beginning while I figured out how to make a living. Still not used to hiding my eyes behind a fringe cut three years ago, I drag my fingers through it.

I pick the dress package up and exit my room without a second glance. Following the four winding, wooden staircases down to the alley, I step into ankle deep mud at the end. Even though the rain has stopped, the sun still battles against a threatening mass of grey clouds. It will rain again later today. I’m certain of it.

I almost lose my balance on the slippery mud when a grey stray cat jumps down from one of the porches into the narrow alley. It climbs up a windowsill and scampers over the lowest roof of the alley before disappearing from view.

The narrow alley soon converges onto a wider street - also only mud, but paths have been tread out making it easier to walk. I make my way through the now familiar street, passing the bakery and carpenter before stopping at the stall opposite the butchery.

The girl is huddled in the corner of her stall with a worn, brown blanket wrapped over her shoulders. She jumps up with a smile when she hears the heavy sigh escaping my lips.

Fighting back my revolt at her skew teeth that protrude in almost all directions, I give her a less enthusiastic smile. Despite her revolting brown teeth protruding in all directions, I am one of her most loyal customers.

Her faded black hair clings to the side of her face. It took me months to come to the conclusion that Estrilld is neither ugly nor beautiful, but that she exists in her own way.

“Fin! It’s good to see you! I assume you want the same?” More yellow teeth are revealed.

“Morning, Estrilld. Yes, please.”

She scoops a spoonful of herbs into the special teaspoon and lets the spoon rest against the side of a tin mug. Pouring hot water from the small kettle on the oven at her feet into the mug, she takes the spoon out after a minute and hands me the mug.

I hand her the last of my copper pieces in return. Luckily I will get paid when I deliver the dresses.

“Thanks,” I mumble, allowing the smell of the herbs to fill my nostrils. The heat almost burns my palms and fingers as I wrap them around the mug, but I welcome it.

At this point I have to admit that the tea really tastes horrible. I’ve been wishing I could teach her how to make proper tea since I bought my first cup.

The fault might not be Estrilld’s entirely. The herbs she uses are probably left-overs that went bad that the market couldn’t sell or roots dug up from somewhere along a road, sold to her at the cheapest price.

The only reason I still buy it is that drinking the tea is a ritual that reminds me of home. The first thing we would do every day after waking up and dressing, is to make and drink a cup of tea.

I don’t think the humans complain about her tea. If the amount of customers is anything to go by, her tea is quite popular.

“So what is the latest gossip and news, Estrilld?”

Estrilld serves tea to almost everyone that passes through this street. This is one of the busiest streets in the city. She has very keen ears and is always happy to share her knowledge with me.

“Lady Peternyl Donado married Lord Finn Vaubadon, Steward of Raven’s Peak in Raven’s Peak a week ago.”

I nod absentmindedly, remembering that I heard about the engagement years ago. The marriages of the nobles don’t interest me that much, but I can only guess that Estrilld is captivated by the dream of wealth and nobility, and marrying someone who will sweep her away from her dreary living.

I take a sip of the tea, almost burning my tongue. Blowing down on the tea, I listen to Estrilld.

“They say it was a small wedding with only five hundred guests, and a five course meal at the reception.” Her unremarkable brown eyes are somewhere far away when she continues. “One day I will have a wedding with everyone that buys tea from me there. There will be a three course meal with white, sponge cake as pudding, and stewed meat as the main course. There will be a flock of white doves that will fly into the air when my husband kisses me. Have you ever thought about your wedding, Fin?”

Tea splutters from my nose at surprise at her asking such a question.

I never thought about the wedding itself, but I thought a lot about the marriage, and how I didn’t want to get married to someone who I would like to strangle.

My mother would have planned the wedding to the last detail. It would have been an enormous affair with every elf invited. Everyone, including the groom but not myself, would wear white. Because the Second One bestowed his protection on me as my guardian, I would be clad in royal blue. My husband would then take over from The Second One as my protector. There will be a lot of food, and a lot of dancing. When the sun sets, we will all make our way to the edge of the city where the guests release lanterns with good wishes for us.

“Sure,” I say with the lie spinning effortlessly off my tongue. “It will be a lot like yours.”

She smiles, like I have just said something that defines her whole existence. “I really want to get married, and then I’ll have lots of children and my husband will bring me a bunch of roses every day.”

I groan on the inside, not knowing what I want, but I know that my vision for my life is definitely not similar to hers. Does she even have an idea of how much roses cost?

“Is there anything else?”

Her impossible happiness disappears from her face at the idea of stopping her daydreaming and returning to reality. “King Pa’Drig has granted a decrease in taxes.”

That is good news for them. It might alleviate some of the poverty.

She thinks for a moment before remembering something else. “The elves have increased the reward for the return of their missing princess from seven hundred and fifty gold pieces to one thousand gold pieces.”

She meets my eyes. “I could live comfortably for the rest of my life with only fifty gold pieces!”

Poor Estrilld will never own that amount of money, except if she happens to stumble upon a gold mine.

She chatters on, but the tone in her voice has changed. “They must be desperate for her return, but the way I think of it, is that she doesn’t want to be found. You can’t find something that doesn’t want to be found, right?”

Nodding my head in vehement agreement, I gulp down the last of the tea. “Thanks, Estrilld!” I shove the mug into her hands before hurrying away. With a glance back over my shoulder, I see her eyes still trailing me.