A Life in Orleans

Part One

Heyyy <3 I wrote this little monster for my Creative Writing class a couple of months ago and I just came back to it... If anyone reads it, I hope you enjoy it!

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As I stepped in front of my small mirror, I stared at my distinct features. The image staring back at me was only a male reproduction of my mother, or at least what I remembered her to look like. My mother's midnight black curls, which she only passed onto me, were a constant reminder of her. Lena Hoffman, taken prisoner by one of the last strands of the Black Plague, died too young; I was only five years old when she passed away in 1677.

Aside from my height and last name, Poltoratski, I looked nothing like my father. I inherited my mother's frailty, for I was sickly during my entire youth, and I am still as skinny as a spruce tree branch. The dark coat I was wearing probably highlighted my wiry body even more. For a moment, I realized I did not know her. I felt like crying; I started biting my lips to hold back tears. I was alone here in Orléans, and this made me feel even lonelier. All I knew was her basic story, the one my father told me whenever I inquired as a young child. She was a beautiful courtier from a new noble family that belonged to the mercantile guild in the Holy Ronan Empire. I still do not even know where she is buried. A question that always haunted me while growing up was my identity. How was I supposed to know myself without knowing my ancestry... my past?

Moving on, I looked around my loft. It was built only two years ago, but my father bought it when he sent me to study here as soon as I turned seventeen last year. The ghastly high ceilings were something I was not accustomed to. The place imitated the essence of what was now my town: new and overwhelming. Nevertheless, I was beginning to get comfortable here in Orléans. I was no longer the alienated foreigner as I was when I first arrived.

Crowds usually repulsed me, but nothing could keep my best friend away from one. I met Charles Prévost on the day of my arrival in France; although, I never would have imagined growing so close. Somehow, I think Charles did.

The very first day I arrived, I was getting ready to move into the new loft. I arrived with my suitcases brimming with simple and muted color clothes. While I discovered the area, I realized I had absolutely no groceries in my apartment, and I still had to register for seminary; I was here to focus on the study of history. So, I set off to find a market near the school campus.

Entirely lost, I had tried to blend into the scene. I walked through the small, miscellaneous alleys, surrounded by colorful small buildings. I had a feeling these would be my favorite streets to wander around; I even saw a small garden that piquéd my interest. Nevertheless, I had no idea where I was supposed to register my attendance. I stopped when I reached a large building beside the church. Looking around the market, I attempted to decipher what I needed. I picked up two apricots and a few handfuls of fresh cherries and decided to find another place to eat... The square was too crowded for my taste. Then, I met Charles. He had seen me looking around before I had decided to leave and realized that I was lost. After all, foreigners never want to call too much attention.

He asked— a little too loudly in my opinion— where I was from. At first, I hesitated to answer. As a Russian, I was always met with a certain level of rebuff. Also, I had just spotted a German cafe called der Platz that reminded me of my mother; I wanted to rush over and try their brezeln. However, he seemed friendly, so I decided to engage in conversation.

He was surprisingly welcoming and asked me if I was here to continue my studies. I remember telling him that "I do not know if I can say I am a student yet... I have no idea where to register." Thankfully, he had already studied here for a year and was able to give me directions. In his characterizing, intrusive manner, Charles hinted that he was also hungry so we stopped at the German café, which was destined to become our designated meeting place, before heading to the college. From the very beginning, I could see he was a caring soul, but I definitely did not expect him to be my friend.