Unnamed Story: Issue Four

Thus enters one of the characters that is by far my favorite when it comes to all the things I have written EVER.

Enjoy, and feel free to critique!
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The weeks following were not entirely too eventful. The funeral mass was said, and my mama was put in the ground, never more to captivate me with her tales of princesses and wicked stepmothers. I played as I usually did, with the other noble children, as well as those down in the towns. There was much talk about what was to become of me. Many thought, and many more wished, that I would be sent back to where I came from. The local magistrate put an end to all this, when he called a small audience to come together in order to discuss my mother's will. 

This audience came together in the king's court, and present there was only The King, Queen, a tall dark haired man I did not recognize, and myself. The presence of the very heights of royalty disturbed me somewhat; the dark haired gentlemen ever so much more. He was of a pale complexion, with raven black hair and a menacing beard, and cold brown eyes. As if those eyes were not enough to make me shiver in my shoes, the black clothes he was garbed in frightened me even more. Before I could reflect more the magistrate began to explain my mother's will. 

The King, Ferdinand, would be my guardian, and have full rights to my education, watch my mother's estates, and give consent to my marriage. 

The mysterious gentleman's identity became known to me then. His name was Dante, after the great Florentine poet, and his sister had been my mother. One factor perhaps that I did not notice before was how very young he was. My mother was his senior by 22 years and he had been sent to school 8 years ago at the age of 12. His education had just ended, however, and he was on his returning journey when he learned of his sister's death. He had heard of my existence, before he left, but did not give a hoot about me. 

So today was the first time we met, and when it was over I hoped it was the last time. The magistrate began to explain to us the finer details of my mother's will. As my dear Uncle, as I came to sarcastically call him, was the youngest gentleman of his family he consequently had inherited nothing. I suppose my mother took pity on him, for she left him half her estate, the other half she left to me. 

Dante resented this, however. For the remainder of the evening when we were back at the manor he insisted upon calling me 'child' and treating me as if I were no more than five. Right away I realized that our existence together was going to be unbearable. 

Luckily, and to the benefit of both of us, the King sent a letter with news that I was being sent away to a school for young ladies, and that Dante was invited to the caste court to serve as tutor to the King's children. 

As it happened, our last three days together were so full of preparations that we did not even have the happy chance to interact with each other. I do not think fate could have smiled upon us more warmly! 

*********************************************************************************If I ever make anything of it, of course this tale will need a lot of ...work( oh copious amounts!)  I think it is a start however. 

What say you about Dante?

Unnamed Story: Issue Three

I hope you enjoy this one. This week's entry will be a little longer, but my favorite character's entrance draws near, rest assured- just not in this issue. Perhaps the next one, methinks. (Dante), [quite a dreamy name...]
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You may be wondering reader, how I came to know this information. As a newborn, I most definitely hadn't the faintest idea of what was occurring at the time. So, it is only logical that you wonder at my extensive knowledge on the subject. 

The answer is simpler than you can imagine however. As I grew up I began to realize that I was quite different than my mother. Her pale white skin was in high contrast to my easily tanned complexion. Her dark hair quite eclipsed my healthy blonde. Likewise just as her hair was darker so were her eyes. A dark, deep brown made my silvery blue eyes appear dull and lifeless. I was not small or dainty. I did not move as if I were floating on a cloud as all my instructors would have liked immensely.

So, at the age of six, I asked my mother why I was so different, and she told me the long sad tale of my coming into the world. Sad for some, she said, but happy for her.

I grew up then with complete knowledge of my origin. I was able to make many friends despite it, with both other noble girls, and those in the village surrounding our manor. Some of the girls, however, stuck up their noses at me. Not even being wealthy and noble by adoption was good enough for some.

It was good enough for my mother, however, and therefore good enough for me. She always considered me as if I were her very own blood daughter.  Its from her that I began to understand an idea of what love was, at least for another person. I was not her child. I did not even resemble her in any way. Yes, she was able to instantly fall in love with me.

She was no stranger to sorrow, so when she saw the tragedy that occurred at my coming she wished to relieve the pain and suffering she foresaw. Before she came to my birthplace she had been in mourning  A few years before her coming she had lost all that she had, all that mattered to her at least. In a fire she had lost her husband and her newly born child. Having healed she was able to once again open her heart.

On that fateful day she took me away. Following the traditions of her ancestors she named me after one of the old Greek heroes, Artemis; The child she lost had been Appolonius.

"Artemis" she would call to me, "come and sit with me." And then she would cradle me in her arms and tell me the most fantastical stories. The usual fairytales and epics often left her lips and were implanted in my mind.

At thirteen she called me into her room one last time,

"Artemis?"she called.

"Yes mama?" came my trembling reply.

"I will not be able to be here with you much longer."

"How will I manage without you mama? You cannot leave me here alone!"

"Ah, but you will not be here alone," she said smiling, "I will be with you always."

I began weeping then, and was taken away. That night was the very worst night of my entire life. From listening to the hustble and bustle about out manor I could discern the exact moment in which my mother died. Then began a troubled time for me.

Unnamed Story: Issue 2

                                                                                   

Here is Issue 2, for your edification. Do be sure to critique it, I can take the tough love.

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No sooner had he made it home than the local authorities had been aroused and a search was being conducted. Finally the magistrate arrived at our house, and upon searching, discovered the golden cup nestled within my parents bedclothes.

My mother was quite mortified. I am certain that she was a torrent of emotion. She probably contemplated the circumstances of having to raise a newborn on her own, which in turn influenced her final decision.

In the end, my father was condemned to five years imprisonment. He stood trial that very day in our village's crude, ugly courtroom. The only attendants were my parents, our village leader, and most importantly, the woman from which my father had stolen.

The trial commenced. My father pleaded, yet was still sent away. My mother was now left alone, sick and with a child to care for. However, this was not to be my fate.

The rich, wealthy woman, who to this point had been but a minor character in the trial, came over to comfort my mother. She laid her shawl around her shoulders and set a bag of coins beside her. And then she did the single most important thing that has ever occurred to me in my life. She offered to take me from my mother, and raise me as her own.

As much as it hurt her to do so, my mother gave me away that day to her. Bundled warmly I went away with the majestic woman in her carriage, to what many may call a better life. I have not always been to sure that that is so.

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Tune in next week for the next part!