The Porcelain Facade

Shard 1 - Sage

It was backbreaking work. Sowing season was always the hardest, but with three children, and a baby on the way, the Hendersons need me more than ever to help with the farm. I rubbed sweat out of the rough skin on my face and winced; I never got used to the lack of smooth flesh on my once beautiful face.

"Damn!" I yelled as a callus reopened and began bleeding. My hands had never truly become rough, and still whispered of my noble heritage, even after 5 years of hard work. But I would never go back there, nor did I ever want to.

The Hendersons took me in when I was a teenager, after my drunken father had driven a carriage over my face. I would have died if it wasn't for them. They closed the wound, but even Mrs. Henderson's trained hands couldn't fix the flayed flesh that I had once called a face. I'm 20 now,  the calluses on my hands have grown hard, and the children have taken to calling me Aunt Sage, though I'm only 5 years older than the eldest, Em.

I grunted as I pulled out a particularly stubborn weed and set down the winter-melon seeds. I gulped a large mouthful of water and began to plant faster. It was almost nightfall, and I had to be home to help Mrs. Henderson make supper.

As I lugged the bag of weeds to the waste pile and a breeze lifted up a tuft of my hair, I was reminded of my childhood. Days in the fields with Quentin, my childhood best friend, who I had affectionately called Mop, for his floppy hair. My eyes glazed over as I relived the memory of him screaming and reaching for me as his cousin pulled him away from my bloodied face.

I blinked and rejoined reality. I hurried back to the cabin that was small but cosy. I walked in to see the Hendersons crowded around the roughly hewn timber table.

"Her family wants to invite her back for her 21st birthday." Mrs. Henderson said, worry straining her voice.

"She's been such a help for the last few years, and we wouldn't have survived without her." Mr. Henderson lamented.

"What's happening?" I queried as I set down my pack.

"Your horrid family is inviting you back for your 21st birthday because Quentin is to go to the nation of Eondes. Rumour has it that he doesn't want to go, but relations with Eondes have been strained for years, and the nobility believe that he can convince them to stand down. God knows what a war with Eondes would do to this nation. He's also seeking their assistance to help quell the beginnings of a rebellion in Avem Terra. He said he would only go if you went with him."

I stared at the whitewashed walls of the cottage. My family's carriage was coming to pick me up the next day. The same carriage that had slashed up my face. I sighed and finished packing up my belongings.

As I wiped away my salty tears and waved to the Hendersons, I wondered how my family would treat me after all these years. Just as I finished my thought, the yellow carriage with my house crest on the front puttered up the muddy dirt path, looking completely out of place. To my utter shock, my mother, clothed in a frilly dress encased in ridiculous frothy lace stepped out. The same mother who had taken one look at my face after the accident and pushed me away. I was in for a long ride.