The door creaked softly and coldly old candle smell akm towards her as Cassiopeia entered the small cherry. The dim light didn’t let her see anything at first and so she tapped blindly forward in the hope that she would quickly accustom her eyes to the dark. How naturally her steps led to the altar where she kneeled down and the cross over her chest hit. Unlike most of the English, she was a Catholic, thanks to her French mother. The pearls of her rosary have been slipping through her fingers since she lost her mother, at least once a week she tried to go to church and donated a small amount of money each time. But she never went to confession, the number of Hail Marys she would have to pray would be simply too high in her lifestyle. The black stole slipped from her head revealing her red curls, she sighed and enjoyed the silence. Maybe that was also the real reason why she always came here, the peace and loneliness and not the faith that wasn’t very strong anyway. But there was one thing she always prayed for, the safe return of her brother and the men who served with him. The sea was a dangerous place, but so far her prayers have been answered, he had always come home, sometimes healthy and lively sometimes injured but always alive and in one piece. A sound made her turn around. She wasn’t alone anymore, a man had joined, but because of the light she couldn’t see much, but she noticed that he was looking at her. Her gaze went forward again but this unpleasant feeling of staring remained. was he something a customer… oh god please not, that would be too embarrassing….. A quick look backwards, he was still looking. Her hand went to her thigh where the dagger hung, she hastily put the rosary into her pocket, she just wanted to get out. Maybe she’d get a carriage home right away.
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