But, Why Kill the Wolf?

Chapter One

Victoria, fair lady and daughter of the Tuite household and young lady of the Bridgefold Manor, sat beside the edge of her window admiring the rain falling upon the glass. The constants of the outside view had long bored her, glazed over by the rain regardless.

The droplets could be counted, named, and renamed as they collect and race down but only for so long. And only before the tempest began in earnest. Fire roared behind her besides, a rare pleasure but one most enjoyed.

Deep shadows cast harsh against the early morning light. The mood set dim on Victoria's part, for after hours and weeks of colder, stricter than usual etiquette training, a moment of warm reprieve became more than a faint craving.

With great appreciation, a free weekend fell upon her, and with her parents away on business, the whole of the estate lay empty.

Save, of course, for the young lady, her help, and the under-the-breathe wishes that danced quiet through the halls. Echoing silence made the recollections of her lessons peaceful.

She was told her work was not work at all, and more of a preparation to become a housewife; Yet, the lectures dragged on like a broken leg through a muddy field.

Sets of mannerisms and routined talking points memorized, though the shaping of any woman would only stretch so far. At the end of the day, it would be comparable to forming clay. The clay stays still itself, no matter what you create. The rain painted itself across the glass, Victoria relaxed.

For but a moment, through the fog of the glass, almost not beyond view she saw the painted black snout of a doe. Deep, beady eyed and scared, it pranced off away from an unseen foe back and back into the safety of the trees.

Nervous enough to make a man on a half quart of snuff ashamed, commanding attention for not but a moment and astonishingly still embarrassed.

Clad in beauty and fresh make-up, she lowered her form and mass of fabric into a luxurious fainting couch off to the corner of the room. The whole of the couch was barely too large for her, but still the armrest fit beneath the back of her neck in a comfortable fashion.

It was one of the nicer pieces of furniture in the room notwithstanding of course her fireplace, which on occasion had been the root of many more pains than pleasures. Dressed in a dark, deep velvet accompanied by meticulously sewn gold thread and buttons, the entire piece gave Victoria the impression of a skinned King, splayed out for her own comfort.

It was from here that it seemed she heard not quite the entire property. It was from here that she learned to regret listening in. It was from here, also, that she was now hearing footsteps nearing in on her door.

"Breakfast is almost ready, my dear." Her young governess said knocking on the door, before peeking her head in.

"Thank you Meredith, I'll be out soon."

She wondered then if the house had ever once been empty. Standing up and leaning against the fire she tried to wake herself up, but only warmed up enough to start moving.

Her room was soft & dim, with most of the windows locked tightly, and so she took her time pretending to dress, since she woke up a few hours before and had long since composed herself.

The cold floors helped to shock just a bit as she led herself downstairs; not asleep but barely awake.

Downstairs, she was greeted with an indulgent ensemble of assortments, including filets of steamed haddock laid atop a parade of julienned carrots and greens, various nuts and grapes and a warm, never empty pot of tea.

Snacking on a handful of walnuts in a slow contemplation, she dissected and tested the fish from every angle.

A steamed fish was a marvelously delicate thing, missing the cruel marks of frying, a pale blush instead compliments the white flakes, from skin to flesh. Engaged with dainty lemon peels and sweet herbs atop, the sculpture could not be more romantic.