The Heart Of The Truest Believer (OUAT fan-fic)

1 ~ The Bakers, and my miserable existence.

The first thing people always notice about me? My red hair. I know it sounds cliche, but that stuff is red. RED. I'm talking Ariel red. I'm talking... tomato red. Next to my flaming hair is of course, my eyes. I never thought they were special, but green eyes seem to be alluring. Hey, google says so. I've always been not overly tall. I'm certainly not short, but I was always the kid who couldn't see over the counter at the supermarkets until I was 10. So, my hair... Some say it's my best feature. I don't care for it much, mostly because it's always pulled back in a tight ponytail for work. I know what you're thinking. I work at a paying job with wonderful workmates who love me.

You'd be very much mistaken. I live in the Baker household. And unlike their homely name suggests, they do not bake bread and smell nice. They are an absolute demon family. I mean demon in every sense of the word. 

I never knew my parents. I remember, very vividly, the day I turned 3, I saw their faces for the last time. The bad thing is that no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to remember what they look like. The Bakers, my mother's sister's family, were 'kind' enough to take me in, preferring to give me the title of house maid rather than second daughter. They already have a daughter - Maggie, her name is. Let's say she is a spoilt brat. Let's say that my life is far from lame - it's pathetic. Now, with introductions out of the way, let me tell you a story. It's the story of adventure. (How many people get to fly? Or fight pirates, or run for their lives?) It's also a story of romance. (Don't roll your eyes. ;) It takes courage for me to say I fell in love, because this love was a forbidden love. A love that was beyond anything that could or should have happened. Let me tell you about the story of a girl. Me, the girl with the heart of the truest believer.

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"Parker!" A shout fills the air. I sigh, finishing the last curve of my letter. Before the second call sounds I pull on my flat shoes and take the stairs two at a time, arriving on the bottom step slightly out of breath but I'm more worried about what my 'parents' have to say.

Cecile Baker glares at me, her thin spectacles reflecting the light of the candle shimmering on the table. "Maybe you've forgotten... but our dinner is to be served at 6pm sharp. It is now..." She checks her watch with an air of importance. "6:05." 

"I'm hungry!" Maggie whines. Her high-pitched voice grates on my ears.  "I had no food all day, except the sandwhich cook made me at school, and that idiot couldn't make a nice sandwhich if her life depended on it."

I bow rather stiffly and hurry out to the kitchen, where the cook bustles past me, looking flustered. "Ruby." She grabs my shoulders and steers me back towards the sitting room. "There's something I have to tell you." 

Her pale cheeks are red, and her eyes are puffy from crying. 

"What's wrong Shay?" I use my pet name for her, seeing her panicked eyes. 

"It's awful." She covers her face. "While I was dusting the living room this morning... I... I broke a vase." She holds up the remnants of the broken vase in her hands. I take them from her and examine them carefully.

"It wasn't one of Cecile's ming dynasty ones, it's alright." I reassure her. "It should be pretty easy to fix..."

I look up as a tall shadow falls over us. Mr Tom Baker's large shadow falls over us. He smells like a rum factory again. It doesn't help that he works at the pub. He leans over me, grabs my hand roughly and turns it over. Shay, beside me, grows as white as a sheet.

I feel sorry for the kitchen cook. She's scarecely a few years older than me, a mere 20 years old. "S... sir..." She stammers. "I.. I'm s..."

"I broke the vase." I speak up. I can see her starting to object but I hold up my hand. "Sir, it was my fault. I was careless."

"You?" He thunders, slurring slightly. "You are an ungrateful brat, aren't you?" 

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"Ruby!" Cook cries as I collapse into the chair she pushes forwards. By the looks, she's been crying again. She grabs a cup of water from the bench and thrusts it at me, and dabs at the cut on my forehead with a cloth. "Why did you take the blame?" 

I wince as she presses a tender spot above my eye. "Don't worry about it. But you'd better get dinner out, or the Bakers won't be happy." 

She wants to fuss more, but I push her away. "No, Shay, please. Just get their dinner out. I'm fine." 

I've endured far worse than a simple beating before. Try locked up in a room for two days without any food or water? I probably would have died too if Shay hadn't risked her job and quite possibly her life to find the key and slip some water to me. 

Shay comes back in and smiles with relief. "Not a word. They didn't fire me. But never ever take the blame for me like that again." She tips my head back. "Hold still. You're bleeding."

"Ahh!" I pull back as the water stings. "And you know I'd do anything for you."

She hugs me feircely, only pulling back when I stiffen. "Sorry."

Welcome, my dear friends, to my wonderful life.