By the time the first thin flakes of snow appeared in the sky, the village had changed.
The new watchtowers on the hills stood like quiet guardians. The reinforced walls felt more solid under the hand. The storage pits were filled, and the smell of dried meat, roots, and grains lingered in the air.
Most importantly, the way people looked at Isabella was different.
They had always respected her, especially after she began teaching them new things.
But now, that respect had grown into something deeper.
She noticed it one morning when she stepped out of the stone palace with her fan in hand.
"Goddess, be careful of the ground. It is slippery," one of the older aunties called out.
Isabella paused.
"Do not call me that," she said. "I am not a goddess."
Isabella for some reason was not in the mood to be addressed as a goddess today.
Maybe because pregnancy really made her tired and irritated nowadays. If her friends were to hear the words that just came out of her mouth.
