Arisa awoke the next day to pale winter light flooding through her small window and across her face. She yawned, spitting hair out of her mouth and wiping drool from her cheek. She stared in vague confusion at the book lying across her chest for a moment before remembering the events of the night before. She stretched like a cat as she sat up in bed, setting the book on her bed side table. Again she frowned, feeling something rather mysterious and wet all over her arm. She stared down at the black liquid staining her skin and white night gown before realizing with a start and a groan that she had knocked over her inkwell in her sleep.
“Oh, cripes…” she muttered, quickly climbing out of bed. Her gown and right arm were completely covered in black ink, and she doubted it would be coming out any time soon.
“I’ve only got one under dress!” she groaned.
At the very least, the ink had dried somewhat, and she dressed quickly, pulling on a plain brown corset over top, which was attached to a rather ragged brown skirt. She was glad they covered the stain almost completely, and no one would notice it. She hurried downstairs to the kitchen.
The cook gave her a rather mean stare the moment she set foot in the kitchen, which was now full of the scent of cooking food. She was a plump woman with curly brown hair and puffy red cheeks, and would seem like a comfortable and kind woman if it weren’t for her horrible glare and mean, sharp grey eyes.
“Get to work you filthy…” the cook muttered a few insults at Arisa, but Arisa was used to it by now. She did as the cook said, ignoring her sharp tone as she was pushed and ordered around the kitchen. She scrubbed the floor, cleaned the pots, cut up a mountain of vegetables, held in her tears as she chopped unions, and altogether worked herself to the bone; and it wasn’t even lunch time. Finally, THANKFULLY, the cook found a need for an errand to be run into the town square as they seemed to be out of flour, butter, and cream.
“Get and get back as quick as you can, and no doddling!” the cook exclaimed as Arisa pulled on her rugged boots and headed out the back door, grabbing her wicker basket and pulling a cloth over her hair as was the custom. She grabbed her thin shall and pulled it quickly around her tiny shoulders as she stepped out into the cold. She just finished tying it under her chin when she got to the back gate.
A huge grin spread over her face as she breathed in the clean sharp winter air, stretching luxuriously in the pale winter morning light as she skipped into town.
“’bout time I got out of that cage…” she mumbled, making her way past houses and soon stores as she made her way into town. She was freezing already and her breath came out in puffs of smoke, but she felt wonderfully free from that horrible hot and uncomfortable kitchen… if only for a moment.
She walked past many quaint little houses with picket fences and the scent of Sunday apple pies baking in the ovens. Warm air wafted from their windows and children played in the snow in the yards. Arisa smiled at the cheerful sight and her own cheer became nearly blinding.
She made her way down dirt path to cobble stone and into town. There was a butchers, a general goods, a tailor, and a bank. Really in such a small little village, that was all they needed; and yet no matter what day of the year the town square was always bustling with activity.
As she walked people often glanced her way, looking at her over their noses and whispering to each other.
“-That Arisa-“
“-She’s an orphan… no business here-“
“-Brat’s just taking up space-“
“-Miracle the mayor and his family found it in their hearts to-“
YOU ARE READING
the Boy in the Book
FantasyWARNING: I edit as I go. Read it once and it will likely be totally different the next time. This is the kind of story that is best not to know much about before you read. There is only so much I can tell you about it without ruining it. I can tell...
