Noční Směna

Rana was exhausted. She couldn't even have a job - widowed for only six months made many things inaccessible to her, including any sort of social event and holding a job of her own. Something to do with "grieving time" or some such nonsense. It was merely society's way of keeping her out of sight and out of mind. No one wanted to deal with a wealthy widow, a young woman at that, who posed a threat to their young, unmarried daughters. That was fine with her, it allowed her to retain her private life, her solitary existence that suited her best. Not that she sat around doing nothing all day. Far from it. There were several individuals who benefited from her visits, either the lonesome elderly in need of companionship or the high-strung youth who responded best to discipline from someone other than their neglectful parents. It made her feel useful, in a semi-permanent way. The elderly would die, the children would grow up and forget, and she would fade away once again.

The knock on the door was the last thing she wanted to hear as she started to braid her auburn hair, but when the rapping grew louder she huffed, flinging it open in annoyance.
"Milady, we need help," the man informed her, hawk-gold eyes staring into her own brown ones. His meaning was unmistakable and she sighed.
"All right, just let me change into something more appropriate," she replied, gesturing for him to enter and shutting the door behind him. The lack of servants, while creating yet another minor gossip scandal, was convenient for her in many ways. Rana flew to her bedroom, pushing past the many gowns and skirts in her closet until she dug out a dark pair of breeches, followed by a wide leather belt, a brown blouse and a heavy duster. Her heavy boots, with a thick heel, reached almost to her knees and had prevented many injuries she otherwise would have had scars to explain to a doctor. They were laced up quickly out of practice and the braid was done as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The man nodded in relief, his hunched posture not from age but worry. The door was locked and they were gone, hidden by the shadows in the alleys.