𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒, douxie casperan

prologue.

a little maiden and recollection of history.

ॱ໋ ✩ ❛ ࡔ ✶✶ ✶ ॰໋ॱ ✦ ☾ ꜝ☀︎ ० ໋ ॱ ✶✩ ໋ ॱ♛ ॰ꜝ

THE FRENCH BISSET FAMILY moved into Camelot's village. A fourteen year old girl followed, already set to work at the spinning wheel outside the home. She looked much more different than her superiors.

Her ringleted hair was a deep brown, which was restrained with a black ribbon. Her posture was upright as she walked to her work station. Her hands clasped loosely together, left thumb over right, as she walked so, in her old, grey dress. Her bright eyes had an unusual hue, and they rested on her darker skin. Her steps were dainty and light, akin to air, and her only belongings were only a scabbard and black ragged cloak.

Her fingers danced on the contraption, as her feet tapped a steady rhythm on its pedal. She hummed and sung a bittersweet tune, threading the wool through the spinner.

The villagers nearby overheard her song, amazed, but confused. Her song wasn't familiar at all. They must've wondered.

"Shut up and concentrate, Natalia, you stupid little girl!" Her so called "older sister" scolded from the window above. "You're such a brat, singing stupid melodies. Be thankful we took your sorry little dead-parent ass in back in the french kingdoms."

She muttered little words to herself, silencing her song. She barely spoke, but in time she learned to.

It didn't bring any benefits, though. All that entertained her were the invisible.

"Don't you be telling the wool little whisperings, either!" The sister scolded once more, and slammed the window shut.

She straightened herself off, now intimidated by the "older sister." She'd heard the older sister be addressed as... Eglantine, like lovely, sweet roses. She didn't act lovely and sweet, even if Natalia made much better work than the older sister could ever make, but that was only a thought. A thought that didn't really matter to anyone.

Natalia wasn't even Natalia at all. It was only a ruse of a name. She knew her name quite well - the name being Tristabelle. Of course, these Bissets found everything about the young girl to be too odd, too noticeable, including her very name. Natalia was normal enough, wasn't it?

Tristabelle was odd. She knew that well. She looked different, she acted different, she thought and wondered in such a manner no one else would. She could see all sorts of things these people couldn't. Her real parents must've been different, too. Albeit, she couldn't remember her past other than the Bissets finding her, but nevertheless, she knew she had been through a different life, a better one with special qualities. But no one wanted anyone special like her. So the Bissets had her in stupid servitude in exchange for her skilled handiwork in spinning and weaving.

At least she wasn't a farmboy. Their work seemed difficult.

She spun the wool for hours, as if the ivory sheep in the back grew hair every second, every minute, every hour, every day.

They couldn't help it, and she knew. It was some natural phenomenon, like in the books she'd steal from these fosters. The pages would describe unusual things happening without want or need. They just grew wool and were eventually killed for mutton to eat, though the poor Natalia Bisset would never get much.

Every move this foster family made was the same. Sheep, selling, and all.

But soon enough, this wouldn't be the same.

Because as the girl's fingers danced on the wheel in cadence, and as she finished her work for the day, a presence of sorts was growing, waiting for her in the mist of the early spring.

ॱ໋ ✩ ❛ ࡔ ✶✶ ✶ ॰໋ॱ ✦ ☾ ꜝ☀︎ ० ໋ ॱ ✶✩ ໋ ॱ♛ ॰ꜝ