Silas stood before the glass door of the inn, staring at his own reflection. The blue-white robe that once flattered his complexion and his petite figure, now hung loose around it. Faded and patched. His muted amethyst eyes gazed back at him, empty of admiration. Yet, he took comfort in his hair — dark, curling strands that framed his face and lent it a spark of life he otherwise struggled to find. He liked them a little long, tied at his nape. 

Silas did not dabble with the notion of self-loathing. Quite the opposite, actually. He found himself rather pleasant to look at, in his own quiet way but he still wished himself to be a little taller, his shoulder may be a little broader. He pulled his robes a little at the seams, trying to square them over his shoulders, hoping to gain some semblance of fullness but they continued to sag like a dead vine. 

Silas smiled at his reflection attempting the stupid antics. He straightened his neck and patted the front of his dress, trying to be as presentable as possible before he entered the inn. Dreamy or not, this inn was the first respectable establishment that Silas was going to attend in Raia or his first anything in Raia for that matter. No one here knew him to be a country bumpkin and he was not going to give them such impressions either. He stamped his foot on the doormat twice, shaking off the dirt and then pressed both hands against the heavy door and heaved it open.

A warm draft of air swept over his chilled bones, rich with the scent of yeast and ale. Soft music drifted from the doors, woven with quiet murmurs and the occasional burst of boisterous laughter. 

The establishment was nothing like the thatch-roofed tavern back in the village with wooden benches and woven cots. The ceiling soared so high that he had to crane his neck to see all the way up. There were two more levels above the ground where diners were seated along the beautifully carved staircase that spiralled all the way to the top. Two hanging balconies, stacked one above the other near the centre, beneath which, musicians played curious, unfamiliar instruments.

The Inn did not look so majestic from the outside, Silas recalled. Moreover, it was situated on a business street and from what he had read about Raia, the area was only meant for petty merchants and traders. Silas realized that even petty people in Raia's citadel were far more stocked than their Village’s Elder. Maybe even more than the nearby Town’s Governor. He will find out. 

As Silas stood there, lost in contemplation, someone loudly cleared his throat besides him. It was a serving boy, holding a large wooden tray. He looked down at him from over the stacked dishes, disapproval and annoyance painted over his face.

Silas immediately ducked his head and shuffled over to the side. Lost in his reverie, he realized, embarrassed, that he had walked inside only to find himself standing between the bar and the kitchen. Gazing at the ceiling and the guests, wide-eyed, he must have looked like a fool. He clutched the straps of the satchel, refusing to lift his gaze and face the ridicule that must follow. 

Gathering the courage, he sidled up to the bar hoping to catch the attendant’s eye and ask him to fetch the manager for the delivery of the ‘Condiments’.

He never got the chance. As he neared the bar, the attendant looked him up and down and muttered something incoherent, gesturing toward the kitchen door. Without sparing him another glance, he returned to filling a flask with murky brown liquid. He offered Silas no seat, unlike the others.

The attendant was a big, brawny fellow with a thick mustache and dark beard. His blue tunic and dark trousers were in far better condition than Silas's threadbare attire. Despite the man’s intimidating bulk, Silas summoned the courage to try again.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m actually here for—”

He was cut off rather rudely.

“Didn’t ye hear me? Go through the door. Manager's in the back. And don’t let me see ya coming through the front door again! Ya servant boys have yo own door!”

Silas ducked his head and nodded silently, unwilling to trust his voice not to crack. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He reminded himself that he was of age, an adult now, and his pride could not be wounded so easily. Even so, the rudeness was hardly warranted.

He walked silently toward the kitchen door, when a warm caress tingled the skin at his nape. That feeling again. He sighed, relaxing into the touch. He just wanted to go home now.