What Happens After One Breaks Free
/
Image by Sasin Tipchai from Pixabay
I had just turned sixteen the first time I met a Pan.
I was also a virgin at the start of that adventure, and I wasn’t by its end.
But things didn’t go as they usually did, maybe because the Pan was in the middle of the F*ck when I came across him.
I saw him in the deepest parts of the forest. Of course, that’s where I found him.
Most of the stories about Pans took place in the natural wild – in the woods, near rocks and cliffs, beside rivers and creeks, and even under waterfalls.
Where else could Pans feel most comfortable shedding their human forms, to don their animal selves, and let the horny half goat live, breathe, and f*ck?
Autumn was at its peak. Not just the trees, but the foliage exploded with the madness vivid color, so vivid that our home was famous for it.
Tourists from all over the world crowded the more famous forests, leaving the more secretive and private woods known only to the locals.
I was in one of these havens, hiking with the girl I considered my best friend at the time.
Adele was a pretty girl, who I both loved and hated in equal measure. I always yearned for more of her, more of her time, more of her attention than she was willing to give.
My treacherous best friend liked the shape of triangles, especially of the human variety. I rarely had the pleasure of enjoying Adele to myself. There was always another best friend or her boyfriend joining us.
On this particular day, we had gotten an early start to go hiking.
Her new best friend of the moment – and my least favorite – was with us.
Adele insisted Lise was necessary, for although we were all sixteen, Lise was the one who had both a license and a car.
She could take us to the oldest parts of the secret woods, far from the tramp and stomp of oblivious tourists who made our larger forests rather unpleasant this time of year.
Reluctantly, I agreed.
I found her personality close to unbearable, and I didn’t understand what Adele saw in Lise, with her simpering smirks, and a grating voice with an insipid tone that worked on my last nerve.
But like most people, Adele had a case of hidden ugly-nasty, which expressed itself through malice. Girls like Lise were made for that kind of poisonous indulgence.
Since triangles are always two sides against one, it was hardly surprising I was on the outs that morning.
Adele and Lise walked arm in arm, either in front of me or behind me, whispering secrets in each other’s ears, and giggling.
I fumed, which is exactly what they wanted. I even realized that at the time, which made my impotent wrath even more palpable.
The forest saved me that day.
To keep from losing my temper and my dignity, I forced my attention on the beauty around me.
The woods were particularly exquisite.
There had been a recent rain. Leaves, a myriad of golden passion and exploding fire, covered the trees; the ground was resplendent and heavy with ample moisture, along with the warmth of changing color as well.
The powerful softness of morning light highlighted the forest canopy, and the colors were most vivid right after the rains.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nostrils. The smoky aroma of autumn permeated the air along with a hint of spice.
I also heard the creek running in the distance. The sound of riotous peace of a waterbed streaming fat with fresh, luscious water brought me back to myself.
As the great-great-granddaughter of a water nymph, this was my favorite element. Water was my savior that gave me strength and power during times of stress.
I opened my eyes again.
I could finally notice the flurry of squirrels, the wing-flap and songs of the birds.
Everything pulsed with life, in this season right before the death of winter.
My heart beat strong inside my breast.
I turned around and faced the not-so-hidden ugly-nasty of Adele and Lise, sniggering at my expense.
The malice gleaming from their eyes was undeniable.
Suddenly, I knew I had been played for a fool to accept the role they gave me.
It was incredible how quickly love-hate dissolved in an instant.
Adele caught on to my indifference immediately. The vicious glee in her face disappeared and her brow furrowed.
If I had possessed less inborn composure, I probably would have laughed out loud. Adele and Lise seemed so dull and ordinary in that moment.
Really, what was I doing with these silly girls? I was borne from magic. I was a descendant of a nymph.
“I’m done,” I said.
“What are you talking about, Dusky?”
“I don’t want to hike with you and Lise anymore. I’m going my own way.”
“Are you nuts?” protested Lise. “We’re more than an hour’s drive from town.”
“Then I’ll be home by nightfall.”
I took off at a violent run.
I became giddy with each stride that took me away from them.
The delirious freedom borne from liberating myself from invisible shackles that rendered me powerless only because I had allowed it to be so.
Adele and Lise didn’t bother chasing after me, because what was the point of futility?
My father was tall and lean, with far more physical power in his physique than his appearance implied. I took after my father in that way.
I was several inches taller than Adele, with longer, stronger limbs. There was no way either she or Lise could keep up, much less catch me.
They shrieked after my departing back.
I didn’t hear all of what Adele said, something innocuous like calling her when I got home.
The euphoria of freedom kept me running hard for nearly twenty minutes.
The forest was a blur of green, while leaping over rocks, cracking twigs, and the earthy spice in the air.
Then I hurled through the trees to the creek bed where I intruded on the Pan in the F*ck.
The Sons of Pan and the Daughters of Nymph
/
Image by Pablo Elices from Pixabay
Pans were the sons of the God Pan, His Profane Holiness of the F*ck.
So long as Pan followed the rules of the gods, and kept his c*ck for the c*nt of nymphs, balance was maintained. Those demigoddesses had enough magic to copulate endlessly without Pan’s seed fattening their bellies with child.
Most nymphs chose eternal maidenhood, savoring the delicious pleasure found in their lithe, nubile forms and the nectar of their sweet juices.
Every once in a while, there would be an exception.
A nymph would grow bored of the endless revelry of giggles and romps. Then they allowed Pan’s seed to plant as they willingly passed into the phase of the Mother and brought to life more gods into the heavens.
Or so it went most of the time.
Every so often, things happened a little differently.
According to my grandmother, her grandmother - my great-great-grandmother Nonny - had been a water nymph until the day she met a hunter, and unexpectedly and inextricably fell in love with him.
Nonny was even more deviant than the other nymphs.
Instead of the God Pan, she chose a mortal man to wife her down and begat upon her womb the mortal children of humanity. With her husband, Nonny birthed many babies. My grandmother’s father was the tenth of Nonny’s eleven children.
I have memories of her.
Nonny was the one who gave me my name.
I was born in that evening hour after the sun drops below the horizon, when the fire of evening sky gives way to the deep lavender of twilight before night falls and darkness rises.
“Dusky,” Nonny declared, as soon as she saw me. “No other name will do.”
My mother had wanted to name me Rose.
But she didn’t dare argue with her great-grandmother. Nonny was a true matriarch, and her word was law.
Even though Nonny gave up immortality, she had enough left that she long outlived her husband. I never knew my great-great grandfather. Nobody ever knew Nonny’s true age, but she didn’t leave this world until she was well past a century.
She joyfully embodied the phase of the Crone. Her face wrinkled and wizened from decades of joy and suffering, triumphs and defeats, births and deaths.
Until the day she died, her faded eyes gleamed with mischief as if Nonny had enjoyed the grandest joke on us all.
Perhaps she had.
There was not a vestige left of the maiden nymph she had once been; yet there was not a sliver of regret in her.
But to get back to Pan and his nymphs. Even the most lascivious nymph needed a rest from time to time.
And that left enough empty spaces for Pan and his voracious lust to break the rules of the gods, and seduce mere mortal women like me.
Well, not exactly like me. But I’ll get to that soon enough.
As His Profane Holiness of the F*ck, how could he not break the rules, not want to spread his seed in many kinds of soil?
And human women, we’ve always been so easily caught off guard and so limited in our options to protect our wombs from inconvenient progeny.
So His Profane Holiness of the F*ck spread his seed far and wide, and thus, the mortal Pans were born.
They took after their father, lotharios of the f*ck and duck.
Although mostly human, the mortal Pans could still shapeshift to horny half goats with furry haunches, hooved feet, hirsute faces, and horns protruding from their skulls.
Their transformation was happenstance, however. Sometimes their forms shifted before the F*ck or during the F*ck, but never after.
I had heard stories about them all my life. My grandmother, Mamie, was obsessed with the Pans, and collected tales of their intrigues and seductions.
She had quite the collection too.
Mamie swears she gave her maidenhead to a Pan.
Mamie was never one to take unnecessary risks if the lost gamble would cost too much. She took pennyroyal to prevent pregnancy from the virile seed planted in her. In case the pennyroyal didn’t work, Mamie married my grandfather.
It was absurdly easy for Mamie to find a husband. As the descendants of a water nymph, the women in my family are very alluring, and thus have no trouble attracting suitors and ardent devotion.
I spent a lot of time with Mamie when I grew up, to the point that I pretty much lived with her. I felt more at ease with her than with my parents.
My parents had an easy-going, mild-mannered style of love that I would later come to realize was extremely rare. They allowed me to stay where I wished without a fuss. I appreciated that about them. In the long run, they made my life so much easier.
Mamie lived with her older sister, my Great-Aunt Dottie. For some mysterious reason that was never explained, Great-Aunt Dottie never married, and Mamie moved in with her after my grandfather died.
Mamie told me the story of her seduction many times as I grew up. The older I became, the more explicit her descriptions. By the time I was fourteen, I knew every detail of how she had been seduced.
Many people thought that somewhat odd and quite perverse, but we’ve always been very open about the F*ck in my family.
Great-Aunt Dottie always shook her head and rolled her eyes whenever she overheard Mamie’s stories about her night with the Pan.
“He wasn’t a Pan,” she drawled. “You didn’t get pregnant.”
“I took pennyroyal!” Mamie protested. “Pans can’t resist women descended from nymphs, you know that!”
“Pans can’t resist women, period. He was too slick and good-looking to be a Pan. He was just a rogue.”
This was a long-standing argument between them. Good natured bickering like this often occurred in our family. But there was never any judgment. We embraced the Power of the F*ck.
The Beginning of a Long Walk Home
/
Image by Lars_Nissen from Pixabay
For years, I have heard Ella Bandita described as the ugly seductress no man could resist.
I always thought that strange, and not simply because she had always been so lovely to me. Beyond the beauty held in my eyes, the vagabond seductress never had to be beautiful and her savage features made her a legend.
Woman was the most fascinating creature I had ever known. She was also the most dangerous, even in that time I knew her before she became the Thief of Hearts.
So to reduce her to a lack of prettiness always seemed to me the pettiness of an empty mind.
And then there is Adrianna.
Adrianna the Beautiful, the most legendary Courtesan of the Capital City, and they say she grows more beautiful with time.
Thank you for understanding and for your grace, Wanderer.
The time has long passed that I should tell you the story of my Woman who would become your Ella Bandita. But I can no longer do that without sharing the extraordinary stories of the Courtesan who wanted to destroy her.
So much has happened since we parted that this tale will take many days and nights to unfold.
I must start from the beginning, in which you played a crucial role.
I hope you forgive me if I talk about your part in this as if you hadn’t been there. I know it’s irritating, but I need that kind of distance to make sense of the stories I lived through and the stories I heard during these past few months.
So…Wanderer, may I walk with you on your long journey home?
****
The Courtesan’s beauty was staggering.
I had never seen so much flesh in my life as I did in the massive portraits on these walls.
Standing, reclining, full front on, in profile, her back to the artist, the Courtesan was naked in every pose, her silhouette that of an hourglass.
Her full breasts stood high on her chest, her torso curved to a slender waist above rounded hips, her legs were long and tapered. Her skin was creamy and luminous; and black hair cascaded to her waist. Her features were noble; hers was the classical beauty of the highborn class.
But her eyes made her unforgettable.
Beneath arched brows, her large eyes angled on a tilt and mingled the hues of gold and amber. Her steady gaze held the controlled ferocity of a wildcat.
Such fierce scrutiny replicated in portrait after portrait overpowered my senses for a moment.
I turned my back to gather my bearings, only to come back to the incessant pink of the foyer.
How in the devil did I come here?
That’s what I wondered as I encountered again the cavernous entry into the home of Adrianna the Beautiful.
The atrium had soaring ceilings with pale pink satin lining the walls, while mottled pink marble stretched along the floor and up the steps of the sweeping staircase in the middle.
Maybe even the ceiling was pink.
It was impossible to tell because the massive chandelier hanging in the space between the ceiling and the floor reflected pink everywhere.
Hundreds of candles and thousands of crystal droplets married fire and ice when the tiny flames coupled with the glimmering teardrops, then flickered along the marble floor, the stairs, and the walls.
Such a pairing had cast rosy radiance throughout the foyer to render everybody inside timeless and ageless.
Instead of gaining my balance, the glowing majesty of the entryway stirred the memory from that afternoon, which made me light-headed.
I turned back to the paintings.
This time, I found it easier to focus on the portraits lined along the wall north of the wide elegant staircase that cut a dramatic swathe in the center of the foyer.
The woman peered intently at the artist who had painted her.
The loving attention to detail made me wonder if the artist had caressed his lover with each stroke of the brush. Carnality and lawlessness emanated from the Courtesan’s portraits. I could easily imagine a handsome, tormented soul painting with fevered intensity, a creator hopelessly in love with his libertine muse who would only cherish him in the moment.
Perhaps they had made love in between sittings?
Before me were nine paintings displaying the glory of a legendary Courtesan in all the phases of her life.
About five years must have passed in between each portrait.
Her features matured and grew more defined with each painting, as she left the plump bloom of youth behind. Her body ripened to her prime, then past it; silver streaked her glossy black hair more and more in each portrait.
Yet in all the paintings, her expression was much the same.
Those golden eyes sparkled with defiance and unrepentant joy.
Her generous mouth curved in a knowing smirk.
Had she anticipated her future audience when she posed for her portraits? Did she see past the artist, looking to those who would later gaze upon her?
Her stare was relentless.
She dared me to judge her, the scarlet woman who should have been an outcast.
A Clever Piece of Blackmail
/
Image by press 👍 and ⭐ from Pixabay
“If you speak a word about tonight,” the Patron’s Daughter hissed, “I will destroy you!”
“If I talk, your ruin will come before you could get at me. There’s sure to be some deep and dark bruises on your bottom. That’ll prove the truth I’d be telling.”
I couldn’t resist mocking her a little.
“You filthy little grubber! I hate you!”
Underneath her viciousness, I heard the tremor of fear in the Patron’s Daughter voice. She would never be able to bring me to shame or rage again.
That was when I understood how much power I now had over the nemesis who had cast my life in shadow.
That moment has always been the most exquisite intoxication I would ever know. I’ve enjoyed much power since that night. But nothing has compared to how I felt in that moment because it was my first taste of power.
“Likewise.”
With one word I was free from the bondage of hypocrisy, and the relief sent another luscious shiver through me.
“Don’t you dare tell anybody about tonight!”
“What are you going to do to shut me up?”
“What!”
“Don’t play dumb. How many times has your father paid for silence? If you want mine, you also have to pay.”
She stared at me, her mouth agape.
Honestly, I was as shocked as she was because those words were out before I knew what I was saying. Fortunately for me, years of stoicism enduring brutality and overwork made it easy for me to hide my feelings.
“What did you bring for the Brute?”
Her eyes widened as understanding set in.
“You set me up!”
“There was no way I could have set that up,” I retorted. “If I had known you had a yummy for taking a beating, I would have taken it upon myself long ago.”
“You ugly, repugnant, little tripe!”
“If you think I’m ugly, do you see the Brute as handsome? You sure cleaved your pin pretty good rutting up against him.”
She slapped me hard across my face.
It was everything I could do to not slap her in return. If I had, I would have left my mark on her for certain.
Instead, I pushed her down hard.
“Either give me what you meant to give the Brute, or there will be lots of exciting conversation to be had after morning worship.”
She practically snarled at me.
“No! You rot with the devil!”
“I think you’re likely to meet him before I do,” I said, and turned my back. “It’s your ruin.”
I took five steps before she relented.
“Wait!”
I stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“I brought three gold coins and two jeweled rings I never wear.”
I came back and held out my hand.
“I am not giving you all that!” she protested. “That’s what I brought to marry the Noble Son! What you saw is not worth that much.”
“The gold coins will keep me quiet. On my honor.”
“You have no honor, you greedy little snipe.”
“Takes one to know one,” I repeated the Brute’s retort.
I had no choice but to admit she was right.
My connection with her was dishonorable from the very beginning.
But I didn’t care.
As soon as the cold gold touched my palm, a shiver went down my spine. In my hand was more money than my family had ever possessed in our miserable lives.
I almost fainted from the thrill of it. The sacrifice of integrity was worth it.
“Next week, I suggest you be fully prepared to guarantee my silence.”
“I won’t be coming next week.”
“If you insist,” I replied. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”
Her response to my audacity was spit to the face when we came out of the woods.
But I knew the Brute was right.
I also knew the Patron’s Daughter would never be able to strip me of my dignity again.
At last, I looked into my palm.
The coins were larger than I expected and I had no idea what they were worth.
I was buoyant, skipping through the woods to go back to the cabin as the Sorcerer and I had previously agreed upon.
I expected the Brute to be there when I walked inside. Instead, the Sorcerer waited.
His ancient face looked almost pleasant when he saw me.
“That was a clever piece of blackmail,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“You practically handed it to me. Thank you, by the way.”
“Perhaps I made it easy, but you were intelligent enough to take advantage of the opportunity. Most people don’t. You have a sharp instinct.”
He peered into my palm and whistled.
“I think you will do supremely well in the next phase of your life, Addie.”
“I don’t even know what these are worth,” I admitted.
“With the money you have in your hand right now, you could live in very elegant apartments with a servant or two in the Capital City for three months.”
The Perfect Moment of Weakness
/
Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay
Ironically, the perfect moment came from my suppressed irritation.
I was already in a dreadful mood when I met up with the Patron’s Daughter.
It was the peak of harvest season and that day had been viciously hot.
Working the fields had been pure misery. Even the most stoic of workers cursed as we pulled vegetables from the ground, drenching the earth with our sweat.
I almost passed out, and several others did.
So there was no holding my tongue when I met with the Patron’s Daughter, who was especially petulant that day.
“Aren’t you getting bored with this?” I declared. “Do you ever think about what you want, or do you simply like to complain?”
I can still remember the pitch of irritation in my voice.
I was both aghast and exhilarated by what I said.
I have no idea where those words came from, but what I said was perfect. I knew from her first reaction.
Her blue eyes grew wide for a moment. Then she glared at me.
It was clear I had offended her. Yet what she didn’t do was storm off in indignation.
“How dare you!”
“If you want to marry the Noble Son that much, I know somebody who might be able to help you.”
“That is absurd. How could you, Addie, possibly know anybody who could help me marry the Noble Son?”
The Patron’s Daughter had recovered enough to regain hauteur. She puffed herself up and looked down on me.
“The same way I came to know you and all your secret sorrows.”
What I said next made me writhe with self-loathing for days, but it sealed my change in destiny.
“People confide in me because I don’t matter. Just like you do.”
The ruthless honest stopped the Patron’s Daughter in her tracks. Her expression could best be described as frozen.
“Everybody needs to confess,” I continued before she could recover. “And I’m no danger to anybody. So I know things and I know people.”
“All right,” the Patron’s Daughter said hesitantly. “Tell me more.”
I had her.
This was her moment of weakness that I had been waiting for.
This moment was also the first time I felt the delicious thrill of power.
It made me giddy for days.
“There’s a cabin deeper in the woods-”
“Nobody goes into the Ancient Grove,” she interrupted. “Everybody knows that.”
“We’re in the Ancient Grove right now.”
“We’re at the edge. That’s not the same thing.”
“We’re deep enough that nobody can see us here,” I countered. “So what difference does it make if we go a little further in?”
The Patron’s Daughter paused. Before she could argue further, I pressed my point.
“As I said, there’s a cabin in the woods and the man who lives there swears he can see inside a person’s soul and know their true desires.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know, but he swears he can bring people what they truly desire.”
She frowned.
“That is ridiculous!”
I swore inwardly.
I had known the Sorcerer’s bait was weak when he told me what to say. I protested that it wouldn’t work.
But the Sorcerer had insisted that’s what I would tell her.
The Patron’s Daughter was stupid, but even she wasn’t so easily fooled.
Yet the Sorcerer had insisted on a certain script and that I follow it word for word, even in the face of her resistance.
So I did.
I shrugged as the Sorcerer told me to, and kept my tone light and casual.
“Well, that’s what I heard. I also heard he only takes visitors on the eve before the holy day of rest.”
“And what does he want in exchange?”
“I don’t know.”
The Patron’s Daughter shook her head, and gave a rather unladylike snort.
“I’m only trying to help. I know where the cabin is. I can take you there in a few days if you want.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Suit yourself,” I said and shrugged again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I cursed the Sorcerer and his paltry script when the Patron’s Daughter flipped her long raven hair and walked off.
The savory taste of invincibility and power disappeared, leaving bitterness in my mouth and my being filled with despair.
I had actually had the Patron’s Daughter where I had wanted her. Yet because of the Sorcerer, I had blown it.
I still went to the cabin as I was supposed to.
When I walked in, it struck me how barren this cabin was, only one room with meager furnishings. Perhaps a monk might have been comfortable there, but it was incredible the Sorcerer believed this could be the setting for the seduction and downfall of the Patron’s Daughter.
To my surprise, the Sorcerer was almost beaming when I walked in.
“Excellent work!” he said. “Addie, that could not have gone any better!”
“Are you mad? She said no.”
“Of course, she said no today. Everybody resists at first. She’ll say yes, probably by the end of the week.”
“I really doubt that.”
“You underestimate yourself. How many times have I been right when you’ve disagreed with me?”
I said nothing.
“Trust me,” the Sorcerer cajoled, his tone almost soothing. “You hooked her. She won’t stop thinking about what you said. She’ll even start obsessing about it. Chances are she’ll look exhausted by the time she comes to you. Keep up your melancholy walks in the woods.”
Desperate For a Way Out
/
My initial resistance must have caught him off guard.
To convince me to sacrifice my heart, the Sorcerer promised to cast a spell that would endure the test of time. I would grow more beautiful as the years passed.
At the time, I thought that a frivolous temptation. Youth never considers the brutal reality of old age, and vanity is not an indulgence available to the ugly.
I only gave in because the Sorcerer wouldn’t.
Now, I am grateful and relieved I took all he offered.
The winter, and sometimes the autumn, of life has often been described a woman’s hell.
That is usually the outcome for the women of my sisterhood, especially those who don’t leave the life to marry well.
Perhaps that humiliation may be mine when I am close to death, but thankfully, I have not suffered any loss of status or income, even though I am in my sixtieth year.
Again, I get ahead of myself.
To go back to that moment when I was offered the chance to change the dreariness of my fate, it may surprise you to know, my dear Shepherd, that I took a few days to think about it. To be made over into the image of beauty and grace was a dream I never had the audacity to imagine for myself.
Yet I couldn’t fathom how this could actually come to be.
First, how could I possibly lure the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer of the Caverns? We absolutely loathed each other.
Second, how could the odious Sorcerer possibly seduce such a vain and arrogant creature as the Patron’s Daughter, given how ugly and ancient that he was?
“You need not concern yourself with that,” the Sorcerer actually laughed when I asked him. “I, too, have my methods of transformation.”
Since we are here now, we both know I accepted.
Really, how could I simply resist the reward?
I would never be ugly again.
I need not have worried about finding the possibility to influence her.
I started running into the Patron’s Daughter on my solitary walks through the Ancient Grove not long after meeting the Sorcerer.
The first time I ran into her, she was in tears.
She glared at me, of course.
But I was too stunned by the spectacle of her showing any sign of pain to take offense.
Apparently, the rejection of the Noble Son made her had gotten to her, and that made her vulnerable. That had never happened to her.
At first, I wondered if she now understood how her suitors felt in how she treated them.
But I would later find out that she didn’t give that any thought.
The abandonment left her dejected, but it also made her petulant.
Again, I get ahead of myself.
After that first unpleasant meeting, I ignored her and kept going on my way.
The next day, the Patron’s Daughter rode past us working in the fields, her demeanor as haughty as ever. But on this afternoon, she looked me in the eye and gave a slight nod as she passed.
That she had never done before.
The forbidden Ancient Grove must have been a favorite place for tearful girls suffering romantic disappointment.
Every time I went for a walk amongst the massive trees, the Patron’s Daughter was also there.
I wondered if the Sorcerer cast some kind of spell to make these frequent meetings happen.
It hardly mattered if he did.
After a couple of weeks of running into each other every time I went for my evening walk, the Patron’s Daughter finally spoke to me.
It was the first time I had ever heard her sound somewhere near pleasant.
“Do you come here every day?” she asked. “I imagine you would be too exhausted.”
“I do and I am exhausted,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
To my surprise, she almost apologized.
“I beg your pardon. I did not mean any offense.”
I accepted her self-correction with a nod and a thank you.
After that, we started to chat lightly whenever we ran into each other.
That was rather awful for me.
From what I’ve already told you about my former life as Addie, darling Shepherd, would it surprise you to know I was not particularly liked?
Anger, resentment, and envy were the strongest traits of my personality.
Who loves the bitter?
I was consumed with bitterness long before I turned eighteen.
Looking back, I don’t like who I was at that time.
Now, it shames me to admit I was every bit as petulant as the Patron’s Daughter, and that was without being spoiled. I thought myself above my company, the other peasants who worked as hard as I did under miserable conditions.
Yet I was the one who complained incessantly.
It was impossible to be held in esteem or respect with such a ridiculous attitude. Even my parents thought me a fool. For an indentured peasant born to a life of servitude to want more than I could ever have, instead of making do with the life that was offered me, seemed to everybody a state of lunacy.
And looking back, they were right. It really was.
But one thing I had never been was a hypocrite.
The reason the people around me knew of my envy, bitterness, and angry desire for more was because I let it show.
So to act in such a way to encourage the trust of the one girl I had hated and envied my entire life to get what I wanted made me feel vile.
To make my point, the only baths I knew during those years were the ones I could muster at the edge of the river, scrubbing myself with the scraps of meager soap that were left after doing the wash.
Most of the time, my personal stench made me nauseous.
Yet my pretense of friendship with a girl I couldn’t stand made me feel so much dirtier in a way that a lifelong deprivation of baths never could.
But I had a choice. Between the promise of beauty and the freedom of an unknown future, and a meager integrity that would keep me in a life of misery, what would you have chosen? Really?
I chose beauty and freedom.
I was truly desperate.
Please remember that, Shepherd, in case you feel tempted to judge me as my story unfolds.
The Artist Consumed
/
I needed to calm myself, to make sense of everything I had heard.
I pulled out my cache of sketches and singled out every one I had done of Woman in those pieces of memory of her that were so vivid, those images etched for eternity into my mind.
I looked through each one, especially of that first night when she was anguished and desperate.
I thought back to that moment when I saw her in the lair of Ella Bandita, the heart of the Wanderer in her hand, while the hearts of all the men she had conquered howled around us.
The raw hunger in her face revealed the kind of desperation that belonged to a predator.
As Woman had taught me that first night, I put my fingers to my throat where my pulse beat in a steady rhythm, and took a few minutes to listen to my heart.
Then I started to draw.
Using the colored pencils Adrianna had given me, I sketched everything that came to mind from Adrianna’s stories - Addie, the Patron’s Daughter, the Noble Son, the Brute, and even the Sorcerer of the Caverns.
All of them were drawn in the backdrop of the fields, the ostentatious Big House, the spartan cabin, the river, and the woods of the Ancient Grove.
I drew the vivid scenes that lingered long after the stories were finished, imagining what they had all been like in that moment.
I imagined the Sorcerer as the cunning manipulator he had to have been, as well as the benevolent mentor to a desperate, young peasant named Addie.
I drew the monstrous behemoth of the Brute with his crude features and cold-blooded gaze.
I drew the haughty and spoiled Patron’s Daughter riding around the fields, with the Noble Son at her side; her expression was smug with a gleam of cruelty in her small, blue eyes as she gloated over Addie with a smirk.
In that sketch, the focus was only on her.
Addie and the Noble Son reduced to blurred, faceless beings, for in this scene, they didn’t matter; the only player who did was the Patron’s Daughter.
I drew a scene at the moment when the Patron’s Daughter spurned a gentleman who had just asked her to marry him. The malicious glee in her face made her radiant while the rejected gentleman was stripped of his dignity, his shoulders fallen and his head bowed low.
Although I had no urge to depict the raunchy intimacies of the Patron’s Daughter with the Brute, I did a close up portrait of her expression in one of those moments.
With the mingling of pain and pleasure, the Patron’s Daughter looked like a patient in an asylum with her face contorted from agony, the glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, and spittle at the corners of her mouth.
Yet she still seemed hungry.
Then I imagined the scene at the river.
I made the figures shadowy as the naked Patron’s Daughter raged over the collapsed form of a sobbing Addie.
Then I drew the Patron’s Daughter and Addie sitting side by side at the river as she confided her reasons for craving the cruelty and humiliation the Brute offered.
There was bewilderment on Addie’s face, but serenity in the Patron’s Daughter.
Then I drew only Addie in various portraits.
I drew her while she toiled in the fields, imagining the tight clamp of her mouth and the bitterness in her eyes.
I drew her while she yearned for the Noble Son, her eyes wide and sparkling from desire, and the dreamy hope that often came with desire.
I sketched her while she grieved and despaired after the Noble Son had gone.
I drew the hatred and envy in Addie as the Patron’s Daughter rode past her, while she toiled in the fields.
I made many likenesses of her, doing the best I could with the homely face and powerful form she described. But I focused mostly on her eyes and the emotions reflected there, her rage, powerlessness, resentment, and that obsession for something better.
I didn’t know if I got her features right, so I concentrated on capturing the essence of an embittered, envious peasant who would have stopped at nothing to escape her miserable fate.
I worked from dawn to dusk, often getting up earlier and staying awake later.
I worked all over the Casa, in the Joy Parlor, in the back patio, the garden during warmer afternoons, and in the theater whenever Adrianna was not there.
Servants, the young courtesans, and a few of the artistic protégées passed me often while I worked. They peered over my shoulder, and made vague expressions of appreciation of the drawings.
I was too consumed with my work to hear or respond, but nobody took offense. Any time I was absorbed in a scene, I couldn’t rest until I was satisfied.
I didn’t stop drawing until I distinguished the story of Addie from the story of Woman.
There was no denying the two women were so much alike.
But their histories were separate, happened at different times, and one didn’t lead to the other.
Finally, I was done.
I made twenty drawings.
When I looked up I had no idea if the darkness was because it was late at night or early in the morning.
The Start of Sumptuous Delights
/
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
The scene that awaited us was like nothing I had ever seen.
I heard the music first.
Then Adrianna opened the double doors leading to the back patio, and the muffled trills and strums of the mandolin exploded into a sprawling echo as we stepped into the sudden chill of winter air.
The speckled pink of the foyer was replicated in the marble floor and pillars of the terrace that faced east.
On this night, how could one believe spring was near?
Snow came down in thick chunks that made a meadow stretching beyond the patio of the Casa, white drifts scattered along the patio edge.
The blanket of snow contained the sights, sounds, and scents within the terrace, so nothing was lost. No thrill of the senses would dissipate.
Any remaining sleepiness I might have had was gone.
The romantic ballad soared through the spacious back patio that stretched under the northern wing of the Casa.
We were spared the hard cold of marble with a trail of thick rugs the color of wine to cushion our feet all the way to where we would dine for the evening.
Adrianna’s household had created a sanctuary of warmth from the tenacious hold of winter at the heart of the patio.
There stood an enormous, open, square fireplace. Iron mesh curtains hung on all sides to contain the flaming spits of wood crackling off a mountain of logs.
Plump chimineas circled from one side of the hearth to the other, and the smaller blazes within made a ring of fire around a sumptuously relaxed haven.
There were plenty of lounging chairs and loveseats, small tables within easy reach, and plenty of pillows and thick fur blankets, anything we could possibly need for our comfort.
As if all this wasn’t enough, a dozen stewards dressed in gray uniforms surrounded the chimineas and the hearth. Half tended to the fires, while the other half slowly waved giant fans into our gathering place.
I finally saw the source of the exquisite music.
Three older girls were seated close together in front of the chimineas opposite the hearth.
Dressed in demure cream-colored gowns, their heads bowed low while their dainty fingers deftly tickled the strings and rode the necks of their mandolins, intent only on the trembling vibrations.
The players were unique in that they were female and quite young.
I had never seen women hired as public musicians, much less girls.
The Wanderer and I glanced at each other.
Could they possibly be under Adrianna’s tutelage?
The trio was extremely talented, yet also extremely awkward. The girls lacked the beauty and poise one would expect from an apprentice training in the pleasure arts.
Seated closer to the fireplace, and facing us, two comely young women stood up from their divans as we approached.
Dressed in diaphanous gowns that seemed to float about them, they were definitely courtesan protégées. Both smiled winsomely as we approached.
We followed Adrianna into the circle, and warmth enveloped me like a heavy blanket. Heat flowed to us in gentle waves from the steady back and forth of the giant fans of the stewards.
Adrianna’s protégées flanked her on each side.
“May I present Celia and Astrid to you? These are the most gifted protégées I’ve had in a long time.”
Following a wave of her mentor’s hand, Celia came forward.
A beauty with thick, coppery hair, she had a wide, generous mouth, long limbs, and a slender figure. The filmy red gold fabric of her gown drifted around her.
I was startled when she stepped close to the Wanderer and boldly kissed his cheek. Yet he returned the intimate greeting, while her lips lingered longer than was necessary.
I stiffened when she turned towards me.
Celia kept a polite distance and smiled, her tone as warm as the fires around us when she spoke.
“It is my privilege to make your acquaintance, Sir Shepherd.”
Then Adrianna beckoned Astrid.
Her allure was subtle in contrast to the blatant sensuality of Celia.
With her pale brown hair, powdery skin, and delicate hands, Astrid had a saintly air more than a harlot’s, even while dressed in sheer watery green that revealed hints of the petite figure underneath.
With a bravado that was surprising in one who appeared so fragile, Astrid came to me with an outstretched hand.
Her confidence was so absolute I gripped her palm without thinking.
“I’m honored to meet you, Sir Shepherd.”
She had a sweet voice, Astrid did. Everything about her was so angelic, her presence in this Casa was bizarre.
“Neither of you need address me as ‘sir.’ It’s strange.”
“Mi’Lady insists we address you with honor,” Celia replied.
“We appreciate the compliment,” the Wanderer added. “But I agree with Shepherd. It doesn’t feel right.”
Adrianna shrugged.
“As you gentlemen wish. We only want you to feel at ease.”
The Shepherd Starts to Share...Finally
/
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
Adrianna, please understand that Woman whom I loved was never Ella Bandita.
As I said at the beginning, she didn’t become that monster until later.
Over the years, I’ve wondered what my life would have been like if I had made different choices on that fateful night.
Here, Adrianna, you’ve already asked me about this sketch of Woman with blood on her face and holding my littlest lamb.
That is the first of many I drew of her, of us, and of that time in my life.
But what might have been if I had chosen to move on through the night once I realized where I was, in the Abandoned Valley and Ancient Grove of the Sorcerer of the Caverns?
What if I had left rather than stay the night with my flock after I knew I was in dangerous territory?
And what if I had stayed frozen when I woke up in the middle of that night to a young woman screaming from deep inside the Ancient Grove?
Or even if I had chosen to ignore that raging despair, rather than follow the wailing into the trees where I saw her for the first time?
Everything about that scene was bizarre.
A highborn young lady, dressed in elegant finery, pounding her fists against a large granite boulder and screaming for the Sorcerer, as blood covered the lower half of her face and stained her beaded, pale blue gown.
She was so caught up in her anguish, she didn’t notice the Sorcerer floating across the clearing from the trees opposite me until he turned her around and slapped her face.
I did not grow up amongst violent people.
I was so shocked I flinched, while the girl with the bloody face spat at the Sorcerer.
Their ensuing argument made no sense to me at the time, but I could tell that something between them had gone horribly wrong.
“Why did you bring my father into this?” the girl shouted.
“Because I can’t bring it back to life!” the Sorcerer snarled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your heart. Don’t you remember the request you made about your heart?”
The bloody girl froze. Her fury suddenly gone as confusion shifted to understanding, and finally dismay.
“If you can bring my heart back to life, then you must, Sorcerer. Please. I’m begging you.”
Her pleading fell on deaf ears.
The Sorcerer of the Caverns laughed as he shook her off and turned his back.
But he had finally met his match in this one.
After centuries of preying on the hearts and dreams of young girls and virgin women so he would never die, I was there to witness his fall when the Sorcerer’s last conquest destroyed him.
The Sorcerer waved his hand over the giant boulder the girl had pounded on, which moved to reveal the entry to his underground Caverns.
But the girl with the bloody face grew eerily calm. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small satchel.
With a pinch of dust from that pouch, she used the Sorcerer’s magic against him and turned him into a slug.
Then she stomped the slug to death.
What would my life have been if I had not seen any of that?
Would I have fallen in love with a robust, country girl with rosy cheeks and a cheerful laugh?
Would I have given up the roaming ways of a Shepherd and settled down to the hard-working farmer’s life?
Would I have had children?
Would I have been happy?
Either way, my time would likely have been more peaceful.
But I didn’t make those other choices. The choices I made that night cast my fate for the rest of my life.
I tried to flee the scene without being detected, but it was no use.
The girl with the bloody face heard me running through the trees, and followed. She caught up with me easily because my small flock had scattered during the night, and I lost precious time gathering them.
I tried to pass myself off as a Shepherd coming through on an overnight run, one who hadn’t seen anything extraordinary.
Of course, she didn’t believe me.
I could feel the tremor of fright in my throat every time I spoke, and my attempts to act casual failed pitifully.
The sketch of her holding my lamb by the throat was the moment she accused me of lying.
I was only nineteen years old that night. Still a boy, not yet a man.
The girl before me was my age, but she had already crossed the threshold into womanhood.
Addie's First True Friend
/
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
Just as I was about to fall asleep, the shock of an ice-cold compress on my head startled me fully awake.
Carla sat beside me and smiled when I gasped.
“You had a close call, dearie. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded and then grimaced when a shock seared through my head. I wondered if I would die from that blow after all.
Carla opened a small bottle, put a generous drop on her finger and held it to my lips. I drew back, reluctant.
“Relax, dearie. This will take the pain away in minutes.”
“What is it?”
“Laudanum. Now take it before it slides off my finger.”
She pressed against my mouth until I opened and sucked on her finger.
Any awkwardness I might have endured disappeared at the taste of the most horrid bitterness until Carla handed me a goblet of red wine.
Desperate to make the taste go away, I took a long sip. The bitterness of the laudanum made that drink unspeakably dreadful.
But it worked.
Once I swallowed, the bitterness went away, along with the headache.
“The con man was scum,” Carla said casually, “but he was fairly good at swindling, or he wouldn’t have been able to afford it here. Yet he’s not a thug. I’ve never known him to directly attack anybody.”
She peered at me with her all-knowing, swampy eyes.
“Do you mind if I ask what you did to make him so angry?”
“Nothing. I didn’t like him and I wouldn’t talk to him.”
“That’s it? You barely spoke to me and Filly.”
I hesitated and looked away.
“I didn’t snub you and Filly.”
“So he was friendly when you met him?”
“Oh yes,” I scoffed. “He was very nice and most welcoming.”
“I take it you refused to speak to him?”
I nodded.
“Well,” Carla sniggered. “It sounds like you threw a cog in his wheel. I bet he planned to chat you up until he was close enough to get to your purse. If the con man charmed you into bed, so much the better for him and worse for you.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
Carla paused and replaced the compress that had already gone lukewarm with another icy one.
I winced when it touched my brow.
“You shouldn’t have paid six months rent with a gold coin. If you had paid the landlady with copper and silver, she wouldn’t have made a fuss.”
“What! How did you know that?”
“Everybody knows.”
“What do you mean by everybody?”
Carla swept her hand around her head.
“Everybody on the street, in the brothels, in the cafés, in the theaters even.”
I stared at her with my mouth open.
Carla looked at me and shrugged.
“What else can you expect, dearie? Here you are, a beautiful girl with a noble face and a goddess figure, yet you’re dressed in country clothes, you leave the house every day with your hair in a braid, with no gloves and no hat. You are never seen with any company. You have no servants, which is obvious when you carry your own chamber pot for ten blocks to dump in the cesspit behind brothel row. Yet you can pay six months rent your first week in town. The landlady said you knew quite well how to haggle with her; yet you always seem so lost. All this is very odd, and word gets out. People have been talking about you for weeks, trying to figure out what your game is.”
“I don’t have a game.”
Carla laughed.
“That much has become apparent. You certainly don’t lack for surprises, you fierce little minx. I promise you’re the most exciting topic of conversation tonight.”
“Already?”
“Absolutely! I wouldn’t be surprised if Filly cuts her evening short, unless her gentleman has an extraordinary time planned for her. Hell, he’d probably cut it short too if he thought he could be in the know.”
I couldn’t say anything. I simply stared at Carla who smiled at me.
“So how did you come to us, dearie? Landlady said you came straight to her boarding house. She doesn’t have a sign out, yet you knew she had rooms.”
I looked away from her, my throat tight.
Carla tilted her head to one side and peered at me.
“Like I said before, dearie, you already had a close call. Do you really want to leave yourself open for another?”
“No.”
“Then it’s time to stop hiding. You can’t be alone here in the Capital City, and survive.”
I opened my mouth to answer Carla, but my throat closed up.
“Talk to me, dearie.”
“Somebody gave me directions to the boarding house, and told me she would have apartments as well.”
“Who?”
I said nothing and shook my head.
Carla sighed.
“Okay. Then why?”
“I heard nobody asked questions around here if I had enough money to pay my way.”
“So you’re a runaway?”
“Sort of. Yes, I suppose I am.”
“You don’t have papers, do you?”
“No.”
“I’ll bet that slime downstairs figured it out too. He must have thought you’d be easy to take by force and that he could get away with it.”
The matter-of-fact tone in Carla’s voice brought home the magnitude of what had almost happened.
I grew dizzy when the blood drained from my face.
“I really can’t thank you enough, Carla! If you hadn’t come along when you did, I can’t bear to think of it.”
“That was not happenstance, darling girl. I’ve been following the con man following you for the last two weeks.”
“Why?” I blurted. “You don’t even know me!”
“And whose fault is that?” asked Carla, and raised her brows.
“Why would you go to that much trouble for somebody who barely spoke to you?”
“I don’t know. One day I saw him trailing you with a more repellent expression than usual. You seemed so alone and vulnerable, I guess I couldn’t mind my business and let some horror happen to you.”
I stared at her until my vision blurred from the tears.
“Carla, I can never repay you for this.”
“You don’t have to, dearie. But you do have to trust me. I want you to tell me who you are and how you came here.”
My life of the past several months flooded through me.
I relived everything from yearning for the Noble Son to my jealousy of the Patron’s Daughter and luring her to the Brute, then selling my heart to the Sorcerer to have this transformation into beauty. But I never foresaw the cost of my former strength as well as the loss of my identity.
I didn’t know who I was anymore, so how could I tell Carla?
I burst into tears.
How could I tell this marvelous, heroic woman everything I had done?
All I could think was that she would despise me, and regret saving my life.
As if she had read my mind, Carla gripped my hand.
“Everybody around here has stories, dearie. Judgment isn’t for people like us. Let the fancy folks who live near the Mayor be that stupid.”
There was so much wisdom in the swampy depths of her green brown eyes. There was nothing but understanding and acceptance in her gaze, freely given before she knew anything about me.
That broke me.
Carla and the Hawkish Gentleman
/
Image by Yingnan Lu from Pixabay
Suddenly, I was freed from his clutches.
I didn’t see how it happened, but I heard a loud thump, and the con man lurched and his fingers released my throat.
The sudden intake of air was so intense I became dizzy and lost my balance. Rather than fall to the ground, a pair of strong hands caught me.
I knew this couldn’t be the con man from the gentle strength holding me in the middle of my back until I was steady.
I also heard the voice of fury coming from another woman, and then I heard a series of thumps.
When I could finally open my eyes, I saw Carla hitting the con man repeatedly with a long, dark cane.
“You worthless bastard! When a girl screams to let her go, you let her go!”
“This is none of your business, Carla! She owes me money, so stay out of it!”
In response, Carla whipped the cane around so the length of it careened into the con man’s torso.
He doubled over.
His rodent face went white from the pain and his lips curled back to reveal the full length of his teeth.
“You dirty whore!”
“You pathetic liar!”
The con man was stupid enough to lunge for her.
But Carla stepped aside.
Then whoever had held me up let go to grab the con man by the hair and press the muzzle of his pistol between his eyes.
The neighbor’s face turned ashen when he saw the hawkish gentleman.
“I don’t care to see a young lady attacked,” he said softly.
The con man heaved for air and pleaded in a raspy voice.
“I know this looks terrible, but please listen to me. The girl has been robbing me since she moved in. I’m only trying to get back what’s mine!”
I was so stunned I couldn’t speak to defend myself.
I was aghast when the hawkish gentleman raised his brows and brought his gun away from the brow of the con man.
Then he stepped back and turned to Carla with a sigh.
“Darling, I delighted in watching you thrash this piece of excrement with my cane. So have another go and make it count.”
With a savage grin, Carla twirled the cane before drawing it upwards with a perfect aim between the con man’s legs and the strike landed at the apex.
He made a strangled, growling sound and fell to the ground, curling into himself with his hand cupping that raw and tender place.
He glared at Carla then directed his hatred and helpless ire on me.
The hawkish gentleman raised his gun and aimed for his heart. The con man froze and whimpered.
“You are making a grave mistake, sire!”
“You really are the most laughable swindler in the Capital, aren’t you?”
“I swear to you I’m telling the truth!”
“We both know your word is worth less than nothing.”
“But sire-”
“We followed you as you followed that young lady,” the hawkish gentleman snapped. “We heard everything you said to her, and there was no mention of getting back anything that was yours.”
“You had a lot to say about what was hers,” Carla added, her voice filled with disgust. “Imbecile! You thought she was an easy mark.”
“Shut up, you filthy harlot!”
Carla raised the cane to strike the con man yet again.
It looked like she was aiming for his head, which might have killed him.
Yet the hawkish gentleman gripped the opposite end of the cane and shook his head.
“Darling Carla, I believe the young lady might need some care.”
Carla let go of the cane and came to me. She was very gentle as she felt around the side of my face where the con man had struck me.
I gasped when she touched the sore spot at my left temple, and the bolt of pain seared into my brain.
She swore under her breath.
“Do you have a headache?” she asked gently. “Dearie, is your vision blurry?”
I nodded.
“Tibodeau, I think she has a concussion!”
The hawkish gentleman looked beyond us to a kindly-looking man I hadn’t seen yet.
Nor had I seen the carriage that was less than a block away.
“Go get the Law,” he commanded.
“It would be my pleasure, sire.”
His steward turned towards the Avenue of the Theaters where the Lawmen would easily be found.
Their black uniforms with flared waistcoats stood out in the crowd of beautiful gowns in the colors of gaiety.
Somehow, the con man recovered enough that he jumped to his feet and ran.
Instead of aiming at him, the hawkish gentleman pointed his gun to the air and fired, which made my former neighbor run even faster.
As soon as he was gone, my limbs started shaking. I would have collapsed if Carla hadn’t held me up with an arm around my waist.
As lean as she was, she was strong, and I envied that. I hated being so weak and helpless.
“I don’t need to talk to the Law,” Carla said. “I don’t know dearie’s story, Tibodeau, but I suspect she wouldn’t want an interview with a Lawman either.”
“Oh dear god,” I muttered.
The blood drained from my face at the thought.
The first things the Lawmen in black would ask for were identification papers I didn’t have.
Addie and the Con Man
/
Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay
During these weeks of wandering and exploring, I finally crossed paths with my third neighbor, the con man.
Carla had disparaged him during our initial exchange, and even the landlady had advised me to steer clear, admitting she had made a dreadful mistake in renting to him.
Even if I hadn’t been forewarned, I would have kept my distance.
One evening, I passed the con man as I came in and he went out.
He made a point to stop, tip his hat with a smile, and welcome the new neighbor.
I paused after his greeting and glanced his way.
He looked like a rodent, even with his elegant grooming. The first thing I noticed about him was his pointed river rat teeth.
I knew the type.
He reminded me of those I could never stand to work with in my former life.
I used to curse aloud every time somebody like him had been on the same team as me. Lazy and cunning, these men never pulled their share of the labor and they never took a beating for it.
Somehow, no matter how diligently the rest of us guarded our bales and baskets, these louts always managed to steal enough harvest from the fastest workers, and filled theirs so much they always came in with the heaviest weights.
Often they received praise they never earned, while the true workers would take whippings they never deserved.
I hated him on sight.
Instinctively, I dulled my gaze to avoid truly looking at him, turned my back, and made my way up the stairs without saying a word.
Even with the soul-crushing loneliness I endured every day, I wasn’t at all tempted to make his acquaintance.
Looking back, I was a fool to be so rude. To slight someone has always been to make an enemy.
I had already divided the fortune I came with into several smaller satchels and hid them in the nooks, crannies, window seats, and hidden drawers all over my apartment.
As soon as I knew a crook lived downstairs, I was extremely vigilant.
I felt more secure knowing that the most likely misfortune that could have occurred would have been the theft of something, but not everything.
Yet by snubbing him so blatantly, what had been a casual awareness on his end became an intense focus. His vanity had been wounded and after that, the con man wanted blood.
He started to follow me on my long walks through the Capital City. He was adept at trailing me. Every day, a prickling made my skin itch in that way whenever I knew somebody was watching me, but I could never figure out who that was.
Not once did I see the con man following me.
One day everything changed.
I had been in the Capital City for several weeks.
Autumn was at its peak, the trees burst with color and vivid piles of leaves lined the streets. The crisp coolness and smoky fragrance in the air made me buoyant that day, so much that I wanted to relax and savor the pleasures of a season I had always loved.
So I let my guard down, even though that prickling sensation was ever present.
That day was especially agreeable.
During this amble, I finally mustered the courage to go into shops and galleries in the elegant neighborhood near the Mayor’s Mansion, and there I found clothes and furniture and art.
The clerks were so courteous and helpful I wondered why it had taken me so long to try them. Not once did anybody treat me like I was an outsider who didn’t belong.
One boutique in particular had some simple yet beautiful ensembles of blouses, skirts, and coats with matching hats.
The merchants there were a husband tailor and a wife seamstress, and together they designed and made the clothes.
They were so welcoming and encouraging, I immediately made an appointment to come back for a fitting, even though I wasn’t sure what that was.
I was fairly certain a fitting would entail leaving with lovely new clothes.
It was later than usual when I made my way back to my neighborhood.
I passed my usual café, and slowed down.
But the café was full, with the loud voices and laughter of the night crowd.
Also, I wasn’t hungry.
My last stop in the elegant neighborhood had been in a more peaceful café, where I had taken tea, sandwiches, and finished with a small cup of drinking chocolate.
The taste and texture were marvelous! The sensation after I swallowed was unforgettable.
I felt like I glowed inside. I had never had anything so divine in my life.
The young man who had waited on me had been most attentive, and always smiling.
I was very sated when I came to my usual café.
Also the rowdy gaiety inside didn’t mix with the mellow euphoria I was in, and I wanted to enjoy it.
So I passed the café without going inside.
This was the first day that I felt like I was a part of things in this splendid place.
I was happy as I made my way back to my apartment.
I didn’t know how it happened.
But within a minute after turning the corner past the café to head towards my street, I turned my head and there was the rodent face of the con man.
He had come up silently and fallen in step beside me.
My expression must have betrayed my surprised displeasure at the sight of him.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “It looks like you enjoyed a marvelous day until right now.”
I quickened my pace without a word.
But he stepped his up as well.
“It’s very disagreeable living in the same building as one who is as unfriendly as you are,” he continued in a wheedling tone.
“I wouldn’t say I’m unfriendly.”
“What would you say?”
“I’d say I don’t like you.”
What devil possessed me to express that!
I knew that was a mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Looking around, I realized the streets were quiet and empty.
Everybody was either at home preparing for a late night out, or was already out. I cursed myself for not paying attention, and for not going into the café.
“That’s offensive,” he crooned.
“I’d say it’s even rather foolish. I’ve been watching you, and you’re always alone.”
Beyond Her Wildest Dreams - Adrianna's First Apartment in the Capital City
/
Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
The Sorcerer practically handed me to my future.
Although he was thorough as he explained to me the nature of the bohemian part of town I was to go, I didn’t understand the cause and effect of living amongst the libertines of the Capital City.
I’m sure the Sorcerer did.
We become the people we surround ourselves with. I’m sure you understand that, Shepherd.
Anyway, I did exactly as the Sorcerer told me to, and everything went precisely as he said it would.
He had prepared me well for getting set up in a place of my own.
My palms tingled when my landlady handed me those copper keys.
One for the street door and one for my apartment, none of it seemed real until I opened the door for the first time.
Moving in was easy, since all I had was what I had carried when I fled for the carriage that would take me to the Capital City.
I loved that apartment.
In some ways, I loved it even more than my glorious Casa.
By the time I moved in here I was at ease with riches, and the luxury wealth afforded.
But in the beginning of this Life, my apartment was beyond my wildest dreams.
How incredible that I had remained inscrutable the first time I walked through those rooms!
The spaciousness was too wonderful. The landlady brought me there in the late morning, and the light made me fall in love with the place.
I didn’t even pay attention as she boasted about the elegant rooms – the entry, drawing room, kitchen, servant’s quarters, boudoir, bedroom, and my toilette room.
As soon as I walked in, I knew I had to live there. My first minute in that apartment gave me my first taste of freedom, real freedom.
The windows faced east, and stretched more than half the height between floor and ceiling. The sun beamed through those tall windows, and the radiance was so brilliant I almost believed I had just entered the gates of heaven.
The landlady was exactly as the Sorcerer had described, a stout matron with a tight mouth and beady eyes that darted from side to side. She clearly loved money, especially when it flowed to her easily.
On that first morning, when I showed her a generous pile of copper coins and asked for a week’s lodging in her boarding house, she didn’t even ask my name.
She simply took the money and brought me to my room.
If she had been more observant as she guided me on a tour of her best apartments, she could have cheated me with an exorbitant rent.
I wanted that heavenly apartment so much it hurt. However, I played it casual enough that she didn’t pick up on my insatiable desire for that place.
I managed to talk the rent down to nearly half of what the landlady declared as the proper value for it.
Of course, offering six months rent immediately with a gold coin put the negotiation in my favor.
The landlady stared at me as if I had just said I was born on the moon.
Then she gushed and promised to be at my service if there was anything more that I needed, anything at all.
After I got to know the Capital City, I found that there were many apartments of a similar style and spacious layout, even with brilliant morning light.
But to me, that apartment has always been the most beautiful place in the world.
The elegant building I moved into was divided into four identical apartments between two floors.
Mine was upstairs with a southeastern exposure. My neighbors across the hall and below me were courtesans, and a con man lived in the downstairs northwestern apartment.
I was more than a little shocked that the landlady told me that straightaway, but later I would learn that nobody in the bohemian neighborhood attempted pretense at respectability.
I didn’t take much notice of them right away. That was a mistake, which could have had terrible consequences.
But I had been in the Capital City for less than a week when I moved in, and I was so overwhelmed with this strange and wonderful new place I couldn’t attend to specific people just yet.
My apartment alone was an exotic adventure to explore.
Any one room there was bigger than the cabin I grew up in with my parents, except for the kitchen and toilette room.
The toilette room was a marvel to me, for I’d never seen one before.
It was at the very end of my apartment, as far from the social rooms as possible. It wasn’t elegant by any means.
Besides the chamber pot with basin and pitcher, the toilette room had a round iron tub that was just big enough for me to sit in and stretch my legs out.
The spout of the water barrel was right over the tub.
I was amazed that the toilette room had its own water barrel, as did the kitchen.
Fortunately, the bathroom barrel was half full when I moved in because I forgot about the water sellers every day for the first week.
That water sellers even existed was so peculiar to me because I had always gathered water from the river when my family needed it.
In the Capital City, I had to get my water from the sellers who roamed the streets every day, shouting “fresh water!”
This was convenient, because going to the fountain at the Avenue of the Theaters was not.
The cesspool for my waste was not close to my apartment. I found it both pleasant and unfortunate that the neighborhood dumping-pit was in an alley behind brothel row, several blocks away from me.
My first days in that apartment, I wandered from room to room, looking up the blank walls that stretched so high.
I had no furniture for weeks because I had no idea what to get or even how to get it.
I didn’t mind having nothing in my new home.
I saw endless possibility in the vast emptiness of the rooms.
The Patron's Daughter Flees With the Shepherd
/
Image by Anja🤗#helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy🙏 from Pixabay
She sounded so weary I couldn’t argue with her.
I opened my rucksack and gave her a pair of pants and one of my shirts. Both were dull in color, and she was as dwarfed in the overlong pants and shirt as I had expected.
But she wrapped the drawstring twice around her waist, rolled up the legs and sleeves; and to my surprise, she seemed at home in these garments.
Then she went back to the river to put her boots on, and braided her hair in a long plait to her waist. Looking around, the stranger girl finally tore off an unsoiled piece of her dress to tie her braid before she threw the bloodstained gown in the river.
The current was strong that time of year.
For an instant, the shimmering fabric blew open and revealed the bloodstained bodice, and the beads on the dress glimmered in the light of the moon before the water sucked the gown under and dragged it downstream.
“What the devil are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “If I’m lucky, somebody will find the gown, and everybody will assume I threw myself into the river. But it’s more likely the river will carry it far away before anybody even wakes up.”
“Why were you crying? I doubt you mourned for the Sorcerer.”
The stranger girl smirked and looked sideways at me. Her composure was restored, and the expression in her cold, blue eyes detached once again.
“Rough night,” she said curtly. “The sun will be up before I can tell you all about it.”
She gathered her petticoats and camisole, and wrapped them up in a bundle. Then she looked around the Abandoned Valley and Ancient Grove where my sheep had scattered again.
But she wasn’t looking for my flock. She peered in the trees intently for a long time, and clicked her tongue a few times.
The stomping of a massive beast was heard long before the largest stallion I had ever seen appeared. I couldn’t see him until he was almost upon us because his coat was such a dark gray, night made him invisible.
I gasped when I saw the giant animal. Even as tall as I was, that horse towered over me, his back higher than I stood, and his long neck carried his head far above mine.
His stature alone was intimidating. But the wildness I sensed in this stallion made him terrifying, and the noble crest branded into his flanks was inconceivable.
This animal had never been meant to be in service to a patron. He was feral, born to run free wherever he chose.
But this mighty beast came to the stranger girl and knelt on his front legs before her, so she could leap on his back and grip his silvery mane.
I was stunned when the stranger girl sat astride the stallion like a man. I had never seen a girl ride any way other than with both legs along one flank.
“Get on,” she said. “We have about an hour before the sun comes up, two at the most.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have to go with you.”
I shook my head.
“There’s no way I can let you come with me.”
“It would only be for a little while. I need time to figure something out, then I’ll go my own way. I promise.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you. I scarcely have enough for myself. I often go days without eating anything other than leaves and berries.”
“Don’t you know how to hunt or fish?”
I shook my head.
“I can help with that, Shepherd. Because I can, as well as build a tent and start a fire.”
“But you’re highborn. How do you know how to do all that?”
“A vagabond taught me years ago.”
The expression on my face must have been incredulous, because she rolled her eyes.
“It’s a long story. But he worked for my father and I spent a lot of time with him.”
I hesitated.
“I don’t know about this.”
“Please, Shepherd. I swear I won’t be a burden.”
She stroked her stallion’s neck.
“He can help with gathering your sheep. He does whatever I want him to.”
Before I could say anything, she clicked her tongue again, and the giant horse set off at a canter around the valley and trees until this stranger girl ran the sheep together and gathered my flock.
She and her stallion managed to do in minutes what would have taken me at least half an hour to do on foot. When she stopped before me, the stranger girl peered down and waited.
I glanced between her, my flock, and the moon hitting the western horizon. The night was black, at the darkest moment before coming day.
But the sun would lighten the sky soon, and the farmers and peasants would be getting up. We had less time to get away than I had thought.
“I can show you the way out of here through the trees so nobody sees us,” she continued.
“But…” I stammered. “I don’t know you…and I don’t think it would be…proper.”
The girl pressed the lips of her wide mouth, and her shoulders started to shake.
At first I thought she was crying again, but the muffled snorts broke into the shrieking laughter of hysteria. The high-pitched giggles grated on my ears until the laughter stopped as suddenly as it started.
“Shepherd, propriety is the last concern on my mind right now.”
“But-”
“You saw what happened tonight. I can’t stay here.”
I looked away, embarrassed. The thought of roaming with my flock and this stranger girl who was also a murderess was more than I could take in.
“Please,” she whispered. “I’ve never left this village in my life and I don’t know the country. I have nowhere to go.”
I nodded, only to have the sigh of her relief weigh on me.
The girl clicked her tongue and the massive stallion knelt again so I could mount. I drew back, for I did not want to ride that beast.
“Get on,” she urged. “You have nothing to fear.”
I did, and avoided looking down when the giant horse stood up.
“What direction were you heading, Shepherd?”
“Southeast until I reached the middle of the country.”
“Perfect. We can stay hidden in the trees until we are outside the village.”
Sweet Freedom Tasted for the First Time
/
Image by Melissa Angela Flor from Pixabay
