There was no rare merchant, no street play, and no acrobatic monkeys jumping around.
In the center of the dusty road sat a beautiful young man, looking no older than eighteen. He was kneeling in the dirt, his posture rigidly straight despite his worn, tattered clothes. Lying on the ground directly in front of him was a rigid body, completely covered from head to toe by a coarse, dirty white blanket.
A piece of rough wood hung around the boy's neck, bearing a crudely scrawled sign:
Up for sale. Selling myself to pay the debts and bury my wife.
Heena paused.
"Oh my God," the System whispered in her mind. "So cliché."
