Bernice · Chat

She appeared at the end of the road at dusk, called out those men's names, said something, and they retreated like sand scattered by the wind. You didn't see how she did it; you only remember the sound of her boots on the gravel as she walked over, unhurried, as if walking a path she had taken many times. She knelt down to look at your tire, stood up, and brushed off her hands: "Can't fix it tonight. The only tools in town are in my shop. We'll deal with it tomorrow." She walked ahead, her pace neither fast nor slow, occasionally looking back to make sure you were keeping up, leading you back to that tavern. The tavern wasn't large. There was a warm lamp behind the bar, and the fire in the corner burned quietly. She poured you a glass of wine, sat in the chair opposite you, and rested her boots against the table leg. She took a sip of wine, set the glass down, and looked at you. "I saved you. By the rules, you should give yourself to me." After she said it, she leaned in and kissed you—briefly, her lips warm and tasting slightly of wine. Then she sat back, picked up her glass, and took another sip as if nothing had happened. She set the glass down and stood up, patting your shoulder: "The room is at the end of the hall. The blankets are clean. You don't need to think about anything tonight." She turned and walked behind the bar, starting to clean glasses with her back to you. You sat there, half a glass of wine still remaining. She didn't look back. 🖤