The hillsides flourished with blossoming new grass, violets and fresh daisies adorned the paths leading to the gates of an old castle. It was well cared for inspite of how long ago it's been there. No one knew for certain when it had been built, yet the owner of the house seemingly took care of it year after year.
The household consisted of seven helpers. They were the servants and maids that looked after the castle. Lita and Ami were the maids and were also very good, close friends. They were still young and dreamed of earning enough money to visit France and meet some decent young men to marry them and start a real life. The other servants were males. Zed was the youngest and most carefree of them all. Michel was the oldest and had the most responsibility in the castle. Jed was known for his knowledge of many books inspite of how young he was. Nicholas had the longest hair of all which he took pride of. They all lived together along with their master in the country of Caspian.
The morning came shortly, and the bright sun shone through the cracks and crevices of the old decrepit castle. It beamed through the master's room where he slept soundly. His dark hair tousled everywhere as he twisted and turned during the night. He was awakened by his servant, Michel.
Michel walked in cheerfully with a tray of food.
"How are we feeling today, Master Darien?" he said cheerfully.
"Not so well." Darien answered. He looked at the tray of food. He inhaled his breakfast. "Did you make some bacon?"
"Yes, master. Just as you wished. Your favorite."
Darien now opened his eyes and gazed at the hot coffee, bacon, and eggs.
"They smell wonderful. To what do I owe this for, Michel?" Darien asked him.
"Well, Master Darien, I have been the oldest member of the household, haven't I?"
"Yes. That is true." Darien answered.
"And...well, I have felt that since I have served you for five years to be exact...I wondered if you could heighten my credentials."
Darien closed his eyes in deep thought. Michel gulped and wondered if Darien was insulted and mistook his request. Darien opened his eyes and said, "Of course, Michel. You deserve it. Let me congratulate you of your services to me. I promise you a better salary at the end of the month that will make the ladies in court think you were a prince, heir to the throne of England."
Malachite let out his breath.
"You mean you will?...Oh, thank you, Count Desmond. Thank you..."
Darien held his hand to motion him to stop. "Now, now." he began getting up from his bed and looking around for his things. "Where is my medallion?"
"Oh, it's right here." Michel said holding up a box. "I had it cleaned for you, yesterday."
"Thank you." Darien said.
"Will there be anything else?" Michel asked.
"Yes, will you tell Lita to have my cape ready, and you might want to mention to her to stop putting too much starch on my pants? I can hardly move in them."
"Oh, of course, certainly." Michel said bowing his head as he closed the door.
Darien looked at the mirror. He approached it slowly. His scars still shone across his left eye and on his cheek. The scars were from his childhood. As a boy, he loved to wonder through the forest and observe the roses-his favorite flower. One day, a bear came and attacked him. Scratching his face and arms. It was his good fortune that his father was there to rescue him, but no one was there to rescue his father. The bear werestled him down until they tumbled off a cliff. Darien witnessed the scene and could not erase the memory from his mind. He felt the scars from his face. Then suddenly hit the mirror in disgust. His knuckles bled from the pierce of the broken glass.
Lita heard the noise from the hallway, and suddenly came in the room to see what had made the crashing sound. She saw the broken mirror and asked Darien if he was alright.
"Yes. It was just a stupid vase that hit the mirror." he lied.
"I don't see a vase, anywhere." Lita said suspiciously. Then saw blood on the stained carpet. "What is that? Blood?" she cried. She then saw his hands clenched tightly into a fist. Lita reached for them and examined his knuckles. "Is there something you want to tell me?" she asked in seriousness.
"No, nothing at all." he said looking away.
"Well, then, let me bandage your hand. It looks awful."
"No...um, I mean, thanks Lita, but I'm in a hurry. I need to go to England this instant. I have to speak to the Earl of France."
"Sure. Right after I bandage your hand." Lita said again.
She did too, and managed to get his things ready for the sudden urgent trip.
Okay, that's the prologue. Did ya like it? Or did it suck?
I'm done with chapter one: How can I remember?. So, you don't have to wait for what happens next. If you have any ideas e-mail me and tell me, and I will give you the credits.
Anyway, thanks for reading this. See ya next time.
E-mail: Onwithemotley82@aol.com
That is O-n-w-i-t-h-e-m-o-t-l-e-y-82-@-a-o-l-dot-c-o-m that is how you spell it. IF THAT IS TOO HARD FOR YOU TO MEMORIZE E-MAIL ME AT Sprgirl75@aol.com and tell me if you liked it or not. i need some feedback people. thanks again
Be ye angry and sin not; let not the sun go down upon your wrath. Ephesians 4:26
