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.
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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.
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