The golden thread. Every year they held a festival for it, and though she was sure that it meant something to someone, she found herself unimpressed. She could remember, barely, how she enjoyed the festivities as a child. Nowadays she could hardly muster the effort to be excited about it. Whether she liked it or not, being here meant that she had to endure it.
Calla did a good job of blending in, despite her reservations. Her interesting choices in hair color and makeup were less out of place than usual with the city flooding with travelers. There were also all of the parades and costumes to compete with. All things said, she was hardly on anyone’s radar.