Northern London,
June 1882
It was a hot day.
Too hot to be hosting a damn birthday party.
I had recently turned 14, and my family decided to take me to sticky, humid and hot England to celebrate. If I would've had a say in this; I would be in the stables of my estate in the outskirts of Paris, brushing the manes of my horses Segora and Acellá.
But, no. I was here, 'celebrating' my birthday.
All around the chair I was sitting in, bodies twisted and spun in half drunken dances, couples swayed to the harmony of the violin and cello, yet the only thing I was focused on was my horrid attempt at breathing.
My maid had tied my corset on so tight my lungs almost couldn't expand.
I know, I know, this was the kind of fashion trending through Europe, but how the hell can other women put up with it?!
I looked down at my reflection in my tea, which had stopped steaming because of my lack of attention to it.
"A dance?" I heard a rough male voice say from beside me.
"No thank you." I replied, not looking up.
Many men stopped at my side, asking for me to dance with them, but I declined each time because I would rather be riding my horses than dancing with a stranger.
"Care for a dance, m'lady?"
Maybe it was the manner in which he asked me, or maybe when I looked up; it was the friendly smile that exposed sharpened teeth; the way his lime green eyes gleamed; his red-focused outfit; or the short, spiked red hair that only accentuated his pleasing features more.
This man had taken my full and undivided attention.
"I'd love to dance." I answered, starstruck. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, and I smoothed out my mint green dress and my wavy brown hair.
He danced with me, gracefully. Both of his gloved hands were resting on each side of my waist and my own were on his shoulders.
We never looked apart from each others faces; he seemed to be as mesmerised as I was. When our dance ended, we didn't exchange names.
The only thing exchanged was a kiss to the back of my hand from his lips.
And just like that, the handsomely odd stranger, who had swept my heart away in only minutes, was gone.
*
"Jane," Lydia murmured, nudging my shoulder gently. My eyes fluttered open and I stared up at her.
"What?" I asked with a yawn.
I've been here for at least a month, and I guess summer was finally seeing its end. It was finally starting to get cold; I could just barely see my breath every time I exhaled, it looked like smoke.
"It's cold.." I shivered, as goosebumps trailed up my cut up, bruised arms.
She appeared unaffected by the late September air as she stared blankly at me.
I looked at the fire, which crackled quietly. It was nothing but some smoke and small flames now.
"It's early." She whispered, her breath showing a little. She shifted her gaze to the trees, where little slivers of early morning sunlight shined through their branches.
"Did you wake me up just to tell me that?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
She frowned a little. "No.. I... think somebody's watching us.." She looked around again.
