Obolo’s vision shattered like glass at the edges, the world was melting away like a cone of ice cream melting under the hot sun , and her mind fought for an escape that seemed impossible. Just as darkness threatened to drag her under, a sharp tap jolted her cheek.
“Wake up! This isn’t the time to sleep,” a voice commanded, startling her.
She forced her eyes open to find the stranger hovering over her, his gaze dancing with a blend of mischief and menace. Undisturbed by the eerie stillness of the forbidden hour, he kept grinning. “You’re stunning, even amidst chaos.”
Dizziness swirled in her mind, but survival instinct rushed within her. With almost all her strength, Obolo shoved him backward, her hands trembling. “We have to hide!” she hissed, her body shaking with the urgency of the dilemma.
Scanning the bleak market, she saw their only hope. If they could lie low until the king’s messengers vanished into the bush, they might just slip away. Grabbing the stranger’s hand, she pulled him into the cramped confines of her fabric stall. They crouched behind a stack of heavy weaves, while they peep through the narrow gaps in the wooden planks.
Suddenly, it felt like a storm brewing. A low, rhythmic sound, a heavy rope snapping through the sky echoed in the square. It was the unmistakable approach of the King’s messengers, their shadows long and scary. Obolo held her breath, her heart thundering like a war drum against her ribs.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as though they might evade capture. But then, the messengers halted. An ominous, animalistic sniffing filled the air as they caught the scent of human fear. Their heavy footsteps turned back, intentionally heading toward her hiding place.
“I’m Iseye, from the village of Ikwo,” the stranger whispered urgently, his voice shaking. “I came for your fabrics. They say your threads can mend broken things. My parents’ marriage is a disaster… I thought if I brought them your silk, I could fix it.”
Obolo’s gaze shot to him in disbelief. “Iseye, this isn’t the moment for that!”
“Please,” he begged, desperation shining in his eyes. “If we get out of here, I’ll buy everything. I’ll make you rich.”
The sniffing grew louder, the messengers were right outside their fragile barrier. In an instant, Iseye’s expression shifted from begging to cold calculation.
“I’m sorry, Obolo,” he whispered, his voice very low that Obolo could hardly hear him. “But I have to save myself.”
Before she could grasp what was happening, Iseye lunged forward. He shoved Obolo through the narrow door of the stall, sending her sprawling into the open moonlight, hitting the dusty earth hard.
Behind her, he melted into the shadowy depths of the stall, concealing himself behind her precious lace.
The King’s messengers moved towards her, their eyes glowing with a predatory hunger as they moved. Obolo glanced back at the stall, but all she could see was darkness. Iseye was gone, leaving her utterly alone as the cold, heavy hands of the messengers gripped her and began dragging her toward the palace, she began questioning what her fate at the palace would be.
Will Obolo find a way to escape the King’s palace, or is her fate already sealed?
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