CHAPTER 1: TRAVELLING

Third man p.o.v

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"Cynthia, wake up before I get hold of you!" Stella's voice cut through the early morning stillness, sharp with urgency. Her daughter, still buried under the blankets, groaned and turned over, reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed. "Are you deaf?" Stella's voice rose, impatience creeping in.

Cynthia finally stirred, slowly crawling out of bed, her movements sluggish and uncooperative. "Seems you’re looking for my trouble," Stella muttered, eyeing her daughter as Cynthia rubbed her eyes and yawned lazily. "What is it now?" Cynthia asked, her voice laced with irritation.

Stella's eyes narrowed. "You dare ask me that? Were you deaf when your father said we are traveling to the capital today? Or is your ear already having problems?" The last part was delivered in a harsh tone, her words echoing with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Cynthia, still groggy, shrugged. "Should I teach you how to bathe too?" Stella added, her voice icy.

The words jolted Cynthia awake. Without another word, she dashed into the bathroom, her sluggishness replaced by sudden urgency. Minutes later, she reappeared, still dressed in her nightgown, her face pale.

"What are you looking for?" her mother asked, her tone sharp.

"Nothing..." Cynthia mumbled, though she felt an unsettling presence in the room, like someone—or something—was watching her. She hurried back into the bathroom, the unease gnawing at her.

She took the quickest bath of her life, the feeling of being watched not leaving her. Dressed in a sky-blue gown and sandals, she emerged from her room, trying to shake off the lingering sense of dread. Outside, her family had already packed everything.

"Cynthia!" Her father's voice called from outside, breaking her thoughts. "Yes, Daddy," she answered, rushing to meet him by the carriage.

"Are you ready?" he asked, strapping the last of their belongings onto the carriage.

"Yes, Father," she replied, though her voice trembled slightly.

"Good. Tell your mother we will be leaving shortly," he instructed.

She nodded, hesitating for a moment before heading back to the house. "ejebi e ma lo (your fault, why don't you leave)," she muttered under her breath, but her father caught it.

"What does that mean?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"It means I will go and call her," she quickly interpreted, forcing a smile.

He nodded, though his expression remained unreadable. "Oh, you and your local language," he chuckled, but there was no humor in his voice.

Cynthia rolled her eyes and went to fetch her mother. Soon, they were all ready to leave, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension.

As soon as the journey began, Cynthia drifted off to sleep, her head resting on her mother's lap. But even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, as if her dreams were as unsettling as the morning had been.

The carriage approached the capital’s imposing gates, its tall, iron bars casting long shadows. A guard halted their progress, peering inside the carriage with a scrutinizing gaze. Cynthia stirred as the carriage stopped, her mother's grip on her tightening.

The guard's eyes lingered on Cynthia, and a shiver ran down her spine. "A farmer, let him pass," another soldier called out from the side. Reluctantly, the guard waved them through, the massive gates creaking open to allow their passage.

Stella shook Cynthia awake. "Look, the capital gate," she whispered, pointing. The city beyond was sprawling and majestic, its grandeur a stark contrast to the rural simplicity they had left behind.

"Wow, Mom, it's... it's beautiful. Is this where—" Cynthia began, but her mother quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.

"Say it in the local language," she hissed, glancing around as if someone might overhear them.

"se ibi ti mom Evie gbe ni yi? (Is this where Evie's mom lives?)" Cynthia corrected herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

Stella nodded, her face pale. "be ni (yes)," she replied, her voice trembling.

The carriage stopped again, this time in front of a small inn. Stella hugged her daughter tightly, her tears flowing freely now. "se omo jeje (be a good child)," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"I will try," Cynthia responded, her own tears threatening to spill over. She was trying hard to be brave, but the fear of the unknown gnawed at her insides.

They heard her father’s voice outside the carriage, talking to someone. Stella wiped her tears, looking at Cynthia with a forced smile. Cynthia returned the smile, but deep down, a sense of impending doom filled her heart.

"Cynthia, wait here. Your mother and I are going to check if there’s space inside," her father instructed. Cynthia nodded, watching as they disappeared into the inn.

**Inside the Inn**

The receptionist’s eyes widened as he saw Stella and her husband enter. "Is my budget ready?" her husband asked, his voice cold and businesslike.

"It’s inside the carriage," Stella replied, her tone flat, her face devoid of emotion.

The receptionist smirked, pulling out a small pouch. "Then you mean business. That's a gold coin, seven silver pieces, and a bag of seeds," he said, jingling the pouch mockingly.

Charles, her husband, nodded. "Don't worry, it’s ready," he responded, his voice betraying no emotion.

Stella stood silently, her eyes distant. The words exchanged between the men barely registered with her. She was focused on what was about to happen.

"Go and bring your daughter," the receptionist said, his voice laced with something unsettling.

Stella nodded and left the room, her steps heavy. She opened the carriage door to find Cynthia nervously picking at her nails. The sight of her daughter, so innocent and unaware of what was to come, broke Stella's composure.

"I wish I could fight for you," she whispered, her voice cracking as tears began to flow once more.

Cynthia looked up, startled by her mother's tears. "Don’t worry, Mom," she tried to reassure her, but her own voice was shaky. "At least you’re here with me, not like that man who just keeps smiling," she added, a small, bitter smile on her lips.

Stella took a deep breath and nodded. She led Cynthia into the inn, her hand gripping her daughter’s tightly as if she were trying to hold onto something precious that was about to be lost.

They entered a small, dimly lit room. The air was thick with an unnameable tension, and Cynthia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her mother kissed her on the forehead, then silently left the room, closing the door behind her.

Cynthia was left alone. The shadows in the room seemed to close in on her, and a cold sense of dread settled in her chest. She tried to stay awake, but exhaustion overcame her, and she fell into a troubled sleep, haunted by vague, terrifying dreams.

Outside, her parents stood by the carriage, their faces pale and drawn. The deal had been made, and the wheels of fate were in motion. Whatever awaited Cynthia in the capital was now beyond their control.

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