How could I have grown up to be so forgiving, and understanding when i was raised by someone who appears to be so unforgiving? I am now living in a century non advanced. Nobody judges based on how you look but rather how you fight. My family is spread on not a few but hundreds in a community. It is 800 AD. Not entirely sure which year yet. Time isn't counted the same, if it evens matters. I was brought into this world at maybe the worst time, when my father, Fritjof, decided enough was enough. He, the leader (yes) of the community would take all the men (including my brother, Gudbrand) and defend the city with their lives. My mother, Ase, was also pushing herself to keep me alive, and while i was being taken care of by the servants, (or slaves because lets face facts, my father is merciless) she fell very sick. The servants wanted her to die while my father was away and couldn't help her, so they could take me and set themselves free.
I am well-known as the miracle baby, born in the cold season and kept alive by a young girl who caught me when the slaves made their final attempt to kill me. After my mother died, but i survived through the illness, and waves of death that passed through our village, when my father and half our men did return, he had decided to name me fittingly with the name Sigrid. But i like it. And now, i hope to welcome you into my life's story.
YOU ARE READING
The Way of a Vicious Women
Historical FictionSometimes historians and legend teller forget to share each side equally. They tend to make it sound like moments can only occur from one action affecting another. Here's to having a women bring up and tell her side, along with share some life-chang...
