Alexâs Journal - The Cow & Corset
Years have passed, and I've found myself settled into a quiet routine in Bowerstone. Working at the Stylist shop suits me well enough. It's calming, simple work--cutting hair, shaping mustaches, idle chatter about weather and fashions. Nothing personal, nothing deep. Just how I prefer it.
Today, the Town Crier came in for a trim, talking my ear off about the latest âexclusive titlesâ he was offering--âLad Magnet,â âTurnip Slayer,â and something called âThe Floppy Avenger.â I asked if that last one was supposed to be flattering. He seemed genuinely unsure. Halfway through his cut, he bolted from the chair with half a fringe still dangling in his face and shouted, âAll shops are now closing!â out the front door. Then came back, sheepishly, and asked if I could finish his sideburns.
Life is odd, but in moments like that, oddly bearable.
Tonight, after work, I went to The Cow & Corset. Itâs become a habit, sitting in a quiet corner with my thoughts drowned out by the tavernâs warmth. The place smelled of roasting meat, stale ale, and just a hint of old woodsmoke from the hearth. A bard in the corner plucked gently at a lute, humming something melancholy. A group of regulars nearby were locked in a heated game of Fortuneâs Tower, arguing loudly over something.
I wasnât really listening, but their bickering grounded me. The noise helps keep memories away, at least most of the time.
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I got up to fetch another drink, still half-watching their game, when I bumped clumsily into someone.
I hadnât seen them approach. I was distracted. Thinking aboutâ¦well, never mind.
I blushed and stammered an apology, my eyes flicking upward to meet theirs.
âOh! I didnât see you there,â I said, suddenly flustered. The stranger--someone Iâd never seen before, vibrant and curiously dressed--smiled warmly, gesturing an easy forgiveness with a playful wave of their hand.
Feeling oddly comfortable despite my usual reserve, I glanced around the busy tavern.
âIsnât it amazing? All these people, they look so happy, donât they?â I caught myself then, embarrassment flaring. âIâm sorry, donât mind me. My nameâs Alex. Iâm...Iâm sure youâre a really nice person, but...Iâm not really much of a talker these days.â
To my surprise, they didnât respond with words. Instead, the stranger made an exaggerated bow, twirled dramatically, then flashed a mischievous grin. The absurdity startled a genuine laugh from me--a sound I hadnât heard in years.
They continued with silly gestures and playful dances, each more outrageous than the last.
Dancing like a chicken, miming juggling invisible objects, even pretending to faint melodramatically.
The sight drew amused stares and laughter from nearby patrons, but I found myself smiling helplessly, enchanted by their silent charm.
For the first time in ages, I felt warmth in my chest--an easy, carefree happiness I thought Iâd buried with the rest of me.
They left not long after, waving theatrically as they disappeared into the crowd.
I walked home through the narrow alleys of Old Town, still smiling. The streets were dimly lit, filled with the scent of chimney soot and meat pies. A beggar nearby was preaching madly about the Spire, claiming it could steal thoughts and replace them with worms. I didnât stop, but I listened.
Tonight, as the lamps flicker above and my footsteps echo along the cobbles, my heart feels a little lighter.
Perhaps, just perhaps, life hadnât quite finished with me yet.