Ferona had entered the wig shop near closing time. She was dressed like a ragamuffin but one incongrous thing kept the owner from tossing her out on her rear. It was the two feet of glorious red hair on her head, slightly mussed but impossibly well kempt during its growth years to belong to a street urchin. That was exactly why she didn't want to give it up. But the choice was either to give it up now while it was still in good shape and before she starved, or later once it was so messed up she could no longer take pride in it. 

She wasn't foolish enough to wait. 

However, she underestimated how awful it would feel to loose that last connection to her old life, her old self. It felt like her own skin was being peeled away and she could only sit there, in shock, intently watching her shiny white scalp emerge from the sea of red. 

At first she couldn't cry, but then she wouldn't cry. 

She, who had once had an entire kingdom at her beck and call, could no longer control her own life! But she could do this much. She could make a sacrifice, make money, and not shame herself crying. 

It was a hollow-eyed, unsmiling young woman that accepted the purse. And who tucked it away and walked out into the growing dark. She wandered, searching for a cheap place to eat. Finally her eyes lit on a tavern, which she knew might offer a hot meal, a drink, and even possibly a bed! Not to mention there would be a fire! Not another sleepless night in the cold. She crossed the street toward it. Or tried to. 

She should have smelled the manure from a mile away but the whole city reeked. SHE even reeked--and without any pretty scents to mask it! She did hear and finally see the mule but even now she wasn't always prepared to be ignored. She expected them to make way. 

That was her first mistake. 

When the mule swerved they almost lost their cargo. It set them yelling at each other to get control and what the hell was going on up there! And then the blame was laid on her head, drawing their attention. 

She kept herself from stumbling and cast them her most scathing look. "You heathens almost ran me over!" 

But that was her second mistake. They weren't just going to take that from a peeled potato headed beggar.

She demanded they appologize. They laughed in her face. She slapped the nearest man and things devolved from there. She should've walked away... Although perhaps they would've taken exception to that too. 

While the mule driver stared at her, cheek stinging, his buddy shoved knocked her down. He threw in a kick just to make things even and they soon finished up and went inside.

Ferona couldn't move. She was too busy choking on a scream and trying to breath. The tears she'd been holding back came and fell. She hunched around her ribs, trying to figure out why it felt like she'd been stabbed instead of kicked. It stank worse than ever right here but she couldn't drag herself away from the spot for several minutes. When she finally did move it was only so a horse didn't step on her big bald head. She collapsed to the side of the building and things went black for a little bit.