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"The constant hapiness is curiosity." -Alice Munro
When I was younger, I used to ask the adults at the orphanage about my parents all the time. I asked them what they looked like and if I looked like them. I'd ask about what they did in life and their hobbies. But not a single time did I get the answers I wanted so much. To this day, I don't even know their names. Miss Sullivan says she found me on the outside steps early in the morning with a single note telling her that a friend of my parents had brought me here after their tragic death along with my birthdate and name. It was quite horrible for a young girl to know nothing about them except for the fact that they both died. How? I had no idea either.
As the years went by, I forced myself to forget about them and stopped asking questions. I wasn't dumb, I knew nobody would ever answer me and the thought of forgetting them seemed like it would simply hurt less than not knowing anything.
Tho, no matter how much I tried to make myself forget, every time I saw children with their parents having a good time during our rare trips my little child's heart broke a little more. I used to cry because of it. A lot, although I did it silently at night so the other girls wouldn't hear. I was pathetic.
Fortunately, that time is over and even tho I still try to picture their faces in my mind from time to time, I made a cross on them. Forgetting them hurts less.
"I hope you are feeling better this morning, my princess," says the blond lady as she scrubs my arm with a sponge.
I must admit I wasn't so sure about someone washing me as you would do with a child. Even when I was young, the staff didn't wash us at the orphanage letting us do it on our own. But now, I feel so relaxed that I wouldn't be surprised if I fell asleep right in this bathtub.
"Yes, much better thank you," I mutter with my eyes close. "What's your name again?"
"I never told you, Miss." The girl seems surprised at my question. Do people here not ask for each other's names?
"Well, I would love to know the name of the woman bathing me right now." I laugh lightly and tilt my head toward her.
"I don't think it would be appropriate, Miss. You have always addressed me as a maid," she responds gently.
"Come on, tell me your name," I try one last time.
The blond hesitates before giving up. "My name is Joyce, my princess."
"That's a pretty name, mine's Alora." I give her a kind smile before laying my head back.
"I know, Miss. What are you planning on doing today?" Joyce asks me while pouring water on my skin.
I frown, taken aback by her question. What am I suppose to do? If I understood correctly, I'm a princess and this is not the modern world. What did medieval princesses do during their free time?
