Ship: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, The Locked Tomb Words: 235 Notes: Part of a series of River bubble AUs
——
Harrow is jostled amid the faceless throngs, her tiny frame pushed this way and that as she approaches the counter, her ticket to a new life. The land she fled was dying, she its last living daughter, sent abroad to keep its memory alive at any cost.
She clutches the packet of dirt from her home, the one that lay under her thin pillow every night on that accursed tomb of a ship. It’s a keepsake she doesn’t dare part with - a reminder that she is the avatar of an entire country’s hope, buoyed by two hundred skeletons, tasked with a single mission:
To live.
She squeezes her face. This is no time for tears. This is the culmination of her father’s dream and her mother’s sacrifice. They would not see her accept it like this.
The crowd parts, and through blurry eyes Harrow sees the counter far ahead. There is another girl there, taller than all the others, red hair wild in the harbor wind. She wants to run, to catch this girl by the hand and ask her to be her guide and protector in this new world, but as she moves the crowd closes in again and she smacks into the side of a sturdy, somber man.
“So sorry, sir, I just need to get around you.”
“That’s alright, Harrow,” Protesilaus responds, “but I don’t think this is how it happens.”
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FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
Date: 2024-07-15 08:53 pm (UTC)Words: 235
Notes: Part of a series of River bubble AUs
——
Harrow is jostled amid the faceless throngs, her tiny frame pushed this way and that as she approaches the counter, her ticket to a new life. The land she fled was dying, she its last living daughter, sent abroad to keep its memory alive at any cost.
She clutches the packet of dirt from her home, the one that lay under her thin pillow every night on that accursed tomb of a ship. It’s a keepsake she doesn’t dare part with - a reminder that she is the avatar of an entire country’s hope, buoyed by two hundred skeletons, tasked with a single mission:
To live.
She squeezes her face. This is no time for tears. This is the culmination of her father’s dream and her mother’s sacrifice. They would not see her accept it like this.
The crowd parts, and through blurry eyes Harrow sees the counter far ahead. There is another girl there, taller than all the others, red hair wild in the harbor wind. She wants to run, to catch this girl by the hand and ask her to be her guide and protector in this new world, but as she moves the crowd closes in again and she smacks into the side of a sturdy, somber man.
“So sorry, sir, I just need to get around you.”
“That’s alright, Harrow,” Protesilaus responds, “but I don’t think this is how it happens.”