The Weaver's Escape: Fantasy

The cold wind bit through the layers of silk that she'd wrapped herself in before fleeing the weaving house. She'd grabbed them because they could serve as clothing and as trade items. She hadn't thought about the weather. It had been so long since she'd been outside that weather had become merely that thing on the other side of the thick glass window. Sometimes it was bright to look at, sometimes there were little white things - snow, the little girls whispered - and sometimes there were dark clouds. Once she'd even seen a rainbow. She had been beaten that day fro standing up from her seat tat the loom and going to look closer, as if she could see more. Silk, she was learning, wasn't warm at all. She'd been in the weaving house for so long that she didn't know when last she'd felt cold, but she was remembering the feeling now all right. She 'd been taken inside when she was just a little girl, when her sixth finger had started to stretch from the side of her hand. That was when the priest knew. He had smiled at her, and told her she was blessed by the gods, but he had kept her locked into his study while he told her parents. She could hear her mother weeping, but her father had said not a word.


Inspiration: "Out in the Cold Again" by Etta Jones - Just the title, not actually the song.
Story Potential: Medium-high
Finished Length: ?
Notes: This story has many directions it could go. There's a world of things unspoken behind this little section.