- Messages
- 200
- Character Biography
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Zafira sat in the chair quietly, forcing her hands to be still. She was wearing a cream-colored dress, gold threads lacing the bottoms and sleeves. Her hair was done gorgeously in a half up-half down updo, braids framing her face.
If only Zafira hadn't managed to get captured.
The sand was prickling hotly against her feet, the brown strappy sandals doing nothing to protect her from it. She pulled at the chains on her hand roughly, only managing to wince because of the iron that burned her. With a sigh, Zafira leaned back and closed her eyes.
This is not how she imagined today would go.
It was supposed to be a relaxing day. She was going to collect some of the red sand which was hundreds of miles from where was at now. She was going to rest in one of the desert villages, stuff herself with sweet, date pastry, and eat plenty of large, salty olives.
Instead, she was dressed beautifully only to be killed.
At least that's what Zafira assumed. At first, the people surrounding her hadn't been hostile. They'd stared at her green eyes with wonder, taking in her figure before yelling out something in a language she couldn't understand and simultaneously attacking her.
Then, the woman had scrubbed her clean, washing and exfoliating every last inch of her body until she was soft and pink. They'd donned an expensive smelling oil on her, braided her hair, rubbed kohl into her eyes, and painted her lips pink. Now she was sitting on a comfy chair. chained and waiting for a person apparently.
She wished whoever it was would hurry the hell up. Her hand was starting to cramp, and she could feel her stomach to rumble with hunger.
If only Zafira hadn't managed to get captured.
The sand was prickling hotly against her feet, the brown strappy sandals doing nothing to protect her from it. She pulled at the chains on her hand roughly, only managing to wince because of the iron that burned her. With a sigh, Zafira leaned back and closed her eyes.
This is not how she imagined today would go.
It was supposed to be a relaxing day. She was going to collect some of the red sand which was hundreds of miles from where was at now. She was going to rest in one of the desert villages, stuff herself with sweet, date pastry, and eat plenty of large, salty olives.
Instead, she was dressed beautifully only to be killed.
At least that's what Zafira assumed. At first, the people surrounding her hadn't been hostile. They'd stared at her green eyes with wonder, taking in her figure before yelling out something in a language she couldn't understand and simultaneously attacking her.
Then, the woman had scrubbed her clean, washing and exfoliating every last inch of her body until she was soft and pink. They'd donned an expensive smelling oil on her, braided her hair, rubbed kohl into her eyes, and painted her lips pink. Now she was sitting on a comfy chair. chained and waiting for a person apparently.
She wished whoever it was would hurry the hell up. Her hand was starting to cramp, and she could feel her stomach to rumble with hunger.