The ship, bless its creaking little heart, was not much to look at. It was small — not the kind of small that felt cozy, but the kind that made one question whether dignity was truly necessary for survival.
It had three bedrooms, each grudgingly attached to servant quarters as if the ship were embarrassed to admit it had space for more than just its masters.
These so-called "master rooms" were laughably modest — so much so that Judge was convinced the palace maids back home lived in greater luxury. But alas, mobility demanded some sacrifices. Like comfort. And space. And, apparently, the right to complain.
Judge entered the room designated for him, stepping over the invisible boundary that separated "mildly tolerable" from "a very expensive wooden box."
