Jun 19, 2016
Smallfolk
You grow up on a farm, and it’s not so bad, but you do the same thing day after day.
Your father is killed on a hunt. They bring his body back, in the blood and the mud, and your mother cries angry tears. You’re not allowed into the forest after that.
You grow up a little more, and you work at the inn, but you do the same thing day after day.
Your belly is full, the roof doesn’t leak. The customers are handsy, and heavy with coin, so you lighten their pockets and keep a knife tucked away. You take out your anger on the hay bales and doorposts. The horses watch, and they don’t tell. Soon, you never miss.
But you do the same thing day after day, and it drives you mad.
Until the circus comes to town.