Layla adjusted her dress and checked her perfect hair in the mirror. She was the most beautiful heiress in Cyrein after all.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Three knocks at the door. She opened it with a warm smile, expecting her guests. Instead, her eyes set upon an old man. He was dressed in rags, with dirty hair and supported himself on a wooden staff.

“Great! Another wanderer?” she asked.

“Oh pretty lady, take pity on this man, I ask for nothing but a piece of bread and some wine,” answered the old man, with twinkling eyes.

“Oh, that’s all you want? Perhaps you want some of my father’s estate as well? I will not feed the likes of you, begone!” said Layla, moving to close the door. She much preferred feeding the scraps to her dogs than some wandering scoundrel.

“A piece of bread is all I ask for. You are the greatest hostess in all of Cyrein after all. Please, take pity on this old wretch,” pleaded the old man.

“Get out filth! I host the elite of this country and I shall not be seen mingling with the likes of you,” Layla said. She shut the door and walked towards the window. The old man stood there watching the grand estate, with a firm grip on the staff.

He felt the anger surge through him. What was it driven by? The woman’s scorn or the hunger? It didn’t matter for what he was about to do would bring misery to Cyrein for eons to come.

“None shall dine with you at your table and no spoon you possess shall sate you again! None shall gaze upon your face and live to tell the tale again,” he said under his breath as he walked towards the gates.

A piercing scream filled the air as the wanderer walked away with a sly grin.

And thus was born the first Harpy of Cyrein.


© Shine_Ali