ISABEL POV

The relentless march of days had become a blur of cobblestone streets and weary faces. Each town felt the same, a tapestry of hope and disappointment woven together with the thread of my own desperation. I was a vagabond, a wanderer with no home, no purpose, no identity beyond the gnawing hunger in my stomach and the chill that seeped through my threadbare clothes.

I’d scoured every tavern, every inn, every establishment with a semblance of a kitchen, seeking a single glimmer of opportunity. Each “no” chipped away at my resolve, the weight of rejection pressing down on me like a leaden cloak. The towns, once a beacon...