As a blacksmith, her father had been a vital part of the village. Her parents had been trusted, honored members of the community.
But after the pirate attack that had left her an orphan, Ella suddenly became an outsider.
She wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron, dread welling up within her. She had to take the loaves into the front room now, and brave the accusing stares of the gossipy villagers in there.
As Ella carefully placed the freshly baked loaves on the cooling rack, the villagers felt silent. She passed behind the counter, maintaining the distance between them and keeping her head down, the villagers’ fear palpable in their wary glances and whispered conversations.
Ella could feel their eyes on her, their judgment piercing through her like daggers.
The bell above the door jangled as the door flew open and a group of children entered the bakery, their faces filled with unabashed curiosity.
“Hello, Ella!” Pavel greeted her, his eyes shining with anticipation. “School’s over!”
Ella had known Pavel and his friends since he was a baby; she’d looked after him sa a girl, when his parents had gone to the fields. It warmed her heart that she the children continued to love her, even when their parents had become wary of her.
“Hello, Pavel! Are you ready for another adventure?”
“One about a warrior princess, this time!” Yulia cried, and the boys groaned, even as Ella laughed.
The children were always eager to hear the tales she spun from the books she traded for with merchants and peddlers who passed through their village.
They gathered around her, and Ella reveled in their company, cherishing these moments of connection amidst the isolation that had engulfed her life.
Ella tried not to notice how the women in the room glared at the children. Some of the women hurried out of the bakery, and a few moments later, Ella could see some parents peering through the bakery window, their expressions a mix of concern and disapproval.
The door flew open again, and one of the women marched inside, hardly sparing a glance at Ella.
“What are you doing with her?” the woman reached out and tugged a girl up to her feet with a hand on her ear. “Get away from her this instant!”
As if the action had broken a dam, the rest of the parents flooded into the room, scolding their children and dragging them away, despite their protests.
William added to the cacophony, loudly declaring that the children were safe in his bakery, and that Ella meant no harm, but the women and men of their village weren’t prepared to listen.
Ella’s anger, never dormant, flared to life.
“I am just telling them stories,” she bit out, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “There is nothing to fear.”
“I’ll not be having my daughter hanging around no elf-touched witch,” Yulia’s mother snarled, and Ella gasped.
Fury boiled within her veins, taking her over. Ella took a deep breath but even the fragrant loaves of bread, an aroma she loved, couldn’t calm her.
“I am not ‘Elf touched’!” she said defiantly, trying to hold onto her control. Her indignant voice reverberated through the quiet bakery. “I am just like you, just like any other human in Strayhaven!”
But no one was prepared to listen.
As the villagers averted their gazes, guilt and unease etched on their faces, Ella realized that her rage was only serving to make matters worse. Already she could hear some of them whispering about ‘Elven bloodthirst’ and ‘Elf rages’.
They had already made their judgments, branding her as different, as an outsider.
Ella’s hands trembled, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists.
The last straggler out of the door cast a disdainful look at Ella before hastily whisking her child away, leaving the bakery in an uncomfortable silence.
“It’s alright, Ella,” William said sadly, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “They’ll come around.”
With a heavy heart, Ella resumed her work, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She vowed to prove them wrong, to find a way to overcome the stigma that had been forced upon her.
“Tell you what,” William said, as he led her out of the back door. “You’re almost done here, and I’m about to close up. Why don’t you go home? It’ll be suppertime, soon.”
