trip_down

Anisa

Two horses pulled a wagon to the front of a manor.

A manor curtain fluttered, a floor was (imagined to be) stomped, a girl threw open a door, a girl tripped on nothing, a girl threatened to face-plant down her stairs, a girl got saved by a maid yanking her hair.

Anisa was unconcerned. This was at least the third time she’d seen this, though the hair grab was new. The girl had allowed their maid to grow bold.

The maid made eye contact with Anisa, quickly flashed an exaggerated smile with scrunched eyes, then flattened her face back to neutral. She broke eyes. The flailing body got an arm wrapped around it and got pulled back in.

“Welcome! Hi!” said Miss Flailer, apparently as unconcerned as everyone else. She’d fallen and faceplanted on her gravel and stone path before, and her pain tolerance for such had grown impressive. More impressive, though, would’ve been avoiding unnecessary pain altogether.

Anisa hadn’t come for her elegance or wisdom.

Anisa caught her driver gaping. Someone was concerned. “You should be used to this by now,” muttered Anisa, to which Driver said nothing.

“Hello, Princess Samantha,” said Anisa. She stood up and hopped out of the wagon. Her thin blue shoes briefly dipped to dry mud, before her body pulled them back into the air.