Snow, Gingerbread and Fate Part IV
She passed a few more stands, dodged more people and finally came to a dirty and smelly alley with a dead end. Dirtier and smellier than the rest of Wirough, though. She entered it, wrinkling her nose. At the very end of the alley, there was a heavy wooden door on the left side in the wall. It had a small observation slit at head height and a smaller square-like door at waist height where one could exchange goods. She knocked three times.
After a moment, the observation slit creaked open and a pair of bushy brown and grumpy looking eyes inspected her. “Hood,” the man said with an old and rusty voice. Simahaa had never really seen more than his eyes or his hand, at least not personally. One part of the payment included a small glance at the man’s fate and in these visions, she could see him: a once tall man, now smaller because of his aching back and his stooped posture. He had to be around 50 years old, with long gray hair which he always hid under a cap. She couldn’t quite see his features. For such details she had to stare deeper and longer into his fate.
She pulled back her hood and after he recognized her, the observation slit closed again. Then she heard some rumbling from behind the door and a few heartbeats later, the small door at waist height slid open.
