It's tentatively titled Memoire.
I am certain that every story has a beginning, a place and time of origin. Time itself must have a start, even though no one can say for sure when it is. Thus is so with my lord Nicolae. I can only assume that he is from the continent somewhere, perhaps in the east, but he will not tell me, nor now can I ever ask. My story, on the other hand, begins in the colonies, sometime in the fall of 1758, the month my lord has never told me. There can be no certainty that he knew either.
I can remember little from before my time with Lord Nicolae began. I was young, so was my mother as I recall. From what I know my father was a farmer, but when the fighting started he moved us into the village so we would be safe. Everyone was fighting then, the French and the savages constantly crossing the northern borders and raiding our homes and villages. Mine was burned to the ground. I only remember chaos and feeling scared. I was very young. I do not know how I survived, but somehow my mother saved me and took me away from the village. She carried me for many days and nights, hurrying as though the hounds of the devil were at her feet. She said that we were going to her brother’s house in Boston, but we never got there. I am not sure where our village was or where Boston is, but many days after leaving our burning village we saw a large fortress on the eastern horizon. At the site of this my mother lifted me from the ground, by this time she had lost the strength in her arms to carry me, but she somehow seemed refreshed, and hastened toward the fortress. It was nearly a day’s walk to the fortress from the moment we spotted it on the horizon, and by the time we reached it the sun had left the sky and clouds poured rain on us from below the stars.
I remember being cold, my nightdress, being all that I had left from the attack on my village, was soaked with rain and tattered from the long journey. Yet at last we arrived at the gated wall of the fortress. My mother called out for the gatekeeper many times, but her voice was drowned out by the howling of the winds. When no one came to us her vivid eyes dulled into blank, expressionless orbs. She slowly sank to the ground as she set me down and rested her back against the masonry. Though I was but a babe I will never be able to forget the look of despair on my mother’s face as she pulled me into her arms and held me against her breast. Her hands were cold as they stroked my wet hair, everything was cold that night, but listening to the beating of her heart and the rhythm of her breath I at last fell asleep, into a world away from the freezing rain and nighttime terrors.
When I woke I was conscious of being moved. I was no longer in my mother’s arms, but on the shoulder of a stranger, looking behind him as he walked. I saw the closed gate with shadows lurking just beyond, but I could not see my mother. I cried out to her, twisting around to look for her, but I could not see her. I was scared again, as scared as I had been when I had been trapped in our burning house before my mother saved me. I screamed and fought against the arm that held me.
‘Shh, child,’ the stranger’s soft voice whispered as his other hand pressed my head against his neck. ‘Don’t worry yourself so.’
‘Where’s mama?’ I asked, my words muffled in his warm skin.
The hand that had held my head now softly rubbed my back, his warm palm sending tingles through my cold skin. I found it comforting and his voice soothing, though he never answered my question. I can assume now that my mother is dead or with her brother in Boston as she had aimed. Perhaps she thought it best that I be behind sturdy stone walls with all of the fighting around us, but I find it to be more likely that she died that night, my lord being who and what he is. Even still, I cannot, nor could I ever before, find the courage to ask him of her fate, though if he did cause her death I am not certain my feelings toward him would change.
Thanks again ^^