The first thing Kylo noticed about the girl sent as Blood Tax was that her dress did not quite fit.
It was not a detail that he was incapable of overlooking, though he always had a dress commissioned for the girl who was to be sent to him.
Perhaps the tailor had used the wrong measurements and there had been no time to correct the error. Whatever the case, it was clearly just a small mistake.
The dress looked lovely on her despite it though. She was extremely tall, as far as girls went, almost his own height.
Perhaps the tailor had seen the numbers specified for her height and thought it could not possibly have been correct.
It fell somewhere around her mid-calve, but everything else seemed fitted, making her seem a bit younger than she probably was.
She stood waiting in the front entranceway, the doors closed behind her as a pair of wraiths disappeared into the shadows.
She kept her face turned downwards, keeping it covered by thick, brown curls, and clutched a shawl around her shoulders to guard herself against the chill.
Kylo remained in the shadows, watching a moment longer when he noticed something else: the girl was not crying. They all cried, without exception.
They were like puppies after being separated from their mothers for the first time.
It was something Kylo had come to expect, and had been fully prepared to offer what comfort he could, but this girl was strangely silent. She was not making so much as a sniffle.
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