Seonid was not an idiot. She knew what happened to a body subjected daily to the treacherous sweetness of her particular vice, the heady, careening slide into anonymity. She knew what it meant when the night tremors and sweats came earlier each day. She was no three-penny fool, mewling and lurking at the edges of alleys, hoping to beg enough coin for a dram of oblivion.
There was a man she passed each day along the Way of Roses. At his feet, his beggar’s bowl was always empty; his bones showed clearly through his thin shirt. He cast bits of broken glass on the ground like runes. For a penny he would tell your fortune, mumbling and cursing at his failing sight. For two, he would tell of greater things: of princes and wars, of sorcery. For three and a cup of wine he would speak truth, mixing his powder with the spirits, precious and prescient.
No, she was not that sort of fool, not yet.
So when the honey-haired man and his coldly beautiful sister led her into the back room, she knew she should refuse. But their words were tinged with pink, and their movements dripped with good intentions. They made promises; she chose to believe them, this one last time.
This post was written in response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge prompt.
You should write a creative response using the given word. You must use the word in your response, and you must use it correctly. Your response can be no fewer than 33 and no more than 333 words. This week’s word is:
fool noun \ˈfül\
1 : a person lacking in judgment or prudence
2 a : a retainer formerly kept in great households to provide casual entertainment and commonly dressed in motley with cap, bells, and bauble
b : one who is victimized or made to appear foolish : dupe
3 a : a harmlessly deranged person or one lacking in common powers of understanding