Beautiful

Every story I've read speaks of beautiful women and handsome men, but I've never been beautiful, nor have I ever felt it. No--I am the only condemned person in this world to be the ugliest thing there is. And so when he asked me, I was complied to say no.

Just a story, with elements from several different fairy tales (including Beauty and the Beast and Cinderella), but with a major spin-off and sort of twisted. I don't own those elements.

Other chapters, I ultimately promise, will be much longer. I don't believe they will be in this format, either.

Hope you enjoy what I've got, and remember--please review! Frankly, I'm one of those annoying authors who update only in response to reviews, so the more reviews, I guess, the faster the update!

Enjoy!

March 14(?)--Rewrite! Yehp. About the, what, fourth story of mine I'm rewriting? Ah, well, there's not many chapters to this to rewrite. There won't be much change, mainly that she's not at Aquien's.

PROLOGUE

I probably stole this story from one of those other girls. This wasn't my destiny; it was theirs. Those lovely young ladies dressed in flowing silk gowns and tender skin was supposed to have a life like this. But it isn't theirs. It was, apparently, mine. Granted, they probably had many stories left to partake in, and I had none--none but this.

This never was supposed to happen to me.

I'm not the princess he's supposed to marry. I'm not the breathtakingly beautiful young maiden who was lost in the woods and near death that he'd rescued. I'm not the soft-spoken yet intelligence lady to help him rule the country.

Rather, I'm a common villager with no direction in life who wasn't supposed to live past the age of twelve. The only thing that's so special about me is that I am especially ugly.

Since my birth, I've always been an ugly thing. Scrawny and bald, I was those many years ago. The doctors believed that I was going to die, for I was that weak and shriveled in appearance. My hair did not grow in until I was almost two, and I could not walk until I was three. But the first word I had ever uttered was when I was one. I spoke my first complete sentence when before I could walk.

But that did not matter for the most part; many of the townsfolk often scorned by hideous stature. "Look at her!" they'd whisper to each other, not caring if I heard or not. "The color of those eyes! Never have I seen a more revolting dark brown. And her hair! Its sickly yellow color is only barely better than her eyes, and so straw like! Have you seen her wrists? It looks as though her hands are ready crack off, so thin they are!"

Indeed, I have never made it to being plain. I was barely ugly, in fact. I was hideous. So thin that you could see my bones directly underneath my skin, which was a pale (so pale, it was clearly unhealthy) white that was dark beneath my eyes.

They said I wouldn't live to see daylight for more than twelve years.

I proved them wrong. I'm sixteen.

My home is the library, and the librarian there, Aquien, is my only friend still alive. His father, Jequile, had left a few years ago. My father passed away when I was a month old, and my mother--she is rather old now--is the only one who takes care of me. I had an two older brothers and an older sister, but they had all died some way or another--and all of them healthier than me. There was no doubt that I would die someday, too.

But it hasn't happened yet.

My entire wardrobe is filled with attires of well-worn rags. Never in my life had I worn anything more fine than the rough materials found discarded. Never in my life have I dreamed of even feeling the texture of silk.

So now I ask you, how is this my story?

---------------

I will not address you by name, for I no longer know how to speak or think your name properly. To refer you by title, or with intimate relationship? I know no more. I will merely address the questions that you have proposed to me. You asked me, I seem to recall, "Why?"

I will now tell you of my story, from the very beginning, on that terrible day in which my twisted fate was revealed to me, and the reasons of why you have ever met me. It will do no good for me to write you this letter, knowing that you are to read it, for it will only make me awkward and conceal parts of it. Thus, I ask you to pardon me when you find awkward parts to my story. I will write this as it is, without any implication that you will ever read this.

I suppose I must start sometime in some place, and the start of the day is as good as any. I was barefooted, like I always was, but it did not mean that I minded it at all. I enjoyed feeling the earth and stepping in the soft soil that soothingly wormed its way around my toes. Of course, I often stepped on more painful things such as fallen branches and pebbles that littered the area, but I did not care. I would wince and continue, for life will not ever stop for someone for the mere fact that bark had insulted their feet.

The small bell chimed as I pushed open the light door to the library, announcing my entrance. Aquien, elevated on a ladder to reach the top shelf, looked over his shoulder and smiled as he saw my entrance. "Sina!" he said, smiling broadly, as he put the last book back in its appropriate place and climbed down the ladder. "You look more beautiful everyday."

He knew quite well as I did, and everyone else in the village, that his statement was a complete lie. But yet he still said it everyday, and everyday, I pointed out how wrong he was. Then he only smiled and chuckled, and the subject was ended. And today was no exception, and after his small laugh, I asked him if any new books had come in yet, like I always did. It was routine. It was custom. It was tradition.

"No, not yet, I'm afraid. But we're expecting a few books next week," he said. He looked at me and waited for an answer. I only smiled. "Was there something that is in your fancy?"

"Mmm," I mused, running my hand over the spines of the books. "Not particularly--but a self-beautifying book wouldn't hurt," I said teasingly. Aquien laughed, but insisted that I was not all that atrocious. My response? More laughter. There was never any need to feel self-conscious with Aquien. Though with his dark hair that sometimes dangled in front of his gentle, sparkling brown eyes and the fact that he was rather handsome, he felt the same compassion for books as I did and through personalities, we got along perfectly.

Maybe that was why he had befriended me; that my intelligence was the only one that matched his in the town, and he found those with shallow minds frustrating and quite useless, resulting in his own solitude with the books.

"But no, I lied," I admitted after I had ceased my laughter. I turned to look at the books and pulled one of them out, fingering its cover. "I had been wishing to read a particular book." I looked up at him and saw him staring questioningly at me. "Perhaps... the works of Homer?" I proposed hopefully.

"Ah," he said, nodding. "The Iliad and The Odyssey. I'm afraid that our library cannot get ahold of those treasures." He often referred to books as precious treasures, but I turned away and blushed, spiting myself for speaking even when I knew that Aquien's family was not exactly the richest. Knowing his personality, Aquien would likely strive to obtain those works, despite their financial status.

I shook my head. "It's quite all right--I can satisfy myself with what you have to offer here," I said in an attempt to ensure that he would not cross the budget for my pleasure.

"Have you not read all the books of this library already?" he said smilingly. As I opened my mouth to respond, he shook his head and continued, "No, no, it's quite all right; I have been thirsting for those particular books as well."

I sighed. It was exactly as I thought would happen; he would buy those books, for my benefit, and conjure an excuse as not to make me feel poorly. I tried several more attempts to divert his interest, but in vain. At long last, I admitted defeat, but solemnly promised never to speak to him again if he was struggling to live for my sake. He assured me that it wasn't the case.

We exchanged views on the latest book that I had read; he had read it quite some time ago and had been waiting for me to complete the novel to discuss its plot and characters. It was often times like these that I thought about my own character, his, and mother's, for I did not know many other people very well.

But soon, our discussion was finished and he put away the book and bid me a good day and reminded me to return tomorrow, like he always did. It wasn't as though I needed reminding, however, for I was so fond of the library that words cannot find an apt description for it.

I arrived home and closed the door behind me. Mother immediately fretted over my health, despite the fact that her health was much worse than mine. I promised her that there was nothing wrong with me, and if there was, I would report it to her. Only then did she calm.

Starting to continue my daily chores--which was considerably less when compared to the amount other girls with my fortune, or lack of, had--I was interrupted when Mother called me over.

"Child," she whispered, trying to climb out of the straw bed. I quickly came to her side and insisted that she remain lying down. "I must tell you something."

She did not speak until she was certain she had my complete attention Only then did she continue, "I am weak... I am dying. Hush, child, do not interrupt me. You are quite aware of my deteriorating health, and you will do well not to deny it." She quieted for a moment and closed her eyes. "I have a secret that I've kept for sixteen years now."

Sixteen. Sixteen years ago, I was born. I frowned at the implied suggestion.

"Your father did not pass away, merely because he passed away. He was murdered, condemned for a crime of his. A sin. You must resolve that sin, child. You must--!"

Her voice broke off at this and I looked at her, my eyes wide. My heart pounded loudly in my chest and blood flowed strongly in my veins at this new information, quite similar to how I feel while reading a fascinating story... only so much stronger. "What sin?" I prompted hurriedly. "What sin?"

Here, she let out a weak smile and said, "Once I tell you, I must die."

A tear tore out of my eyes and slipped onto the floor, splashing silently. "Then don't tell me," I whispered. "I would rather not know."

"Would you not want your beauty back? Would you not want to be able to bear children?" Mother said to me. When I told her I cared naught for beauty and no man would marry a woman such as me, for my personality differed from most, she said, "I am to die anyways, and I must tell you now." She quieted me when I opened my mouth to interrupt. "See to it that no one is aware of this secret, understood?"

I clamped my mouth shut and nodded, tears staining my face. I could not summon the energy to raise my arm to wipe them away; indeed, I felt utterly useless, as though my body were made of lead in place of flesh.

"You must be the nurse of a member of royalty. You must help her grow in strength and knowledge and success. If you will not do this for yourself... do this for your father. Do this for..." Her voice started to trail away as her grip on my hand grew weaker. "Do this for me."

Her last words were a mere whisper, barely audible. But I heard it.

And I died on the inside.

---------------

I departed that day, heading to the castle of the country, after burying my mother and packing whatever I had that belonged to me. It was not much. I left without much of a word, and my only words were directed toward Aquien, for who else would worry about my departure? I begged him not to mind me, that I must depart without a word, and that he not think about my reason. Naturally, he agreed, but cautioned me to take care, and gave me a bit of food. This I declined, for he barely had enough to eat himself, but he refused to hear me out and said that the journey was several day's worth and the least he could do for himself was to ensure that he had aided somewhat in my safety. It was all he could do.

He wished he could do more, he said, but he couldn't. I never asked him to help me any more, nor did I want his help, for he was much too kind and thought of others before himself. I felt spoiled and self-centered when I accepted the bread he had offered me. And, with great difficulty, I departed.

Never had I felt worse.

I hardly survived that trip. It was cruel, terrifying, and odious, with heart-wrenching memories constantly replaying in my mind. Not even my sleep spared me of such haunting scenes as my mother's departure. But alas, after two weeks of hardship, between living on the ground and uncomfortable inns, I made it to the castle, and I will skip over my numerous difficulties to spare your precious time.

I apologize; I should not have written that. Sarcasm, I believe, is evil in a sly sense. I do not mean to slight you through my stray comment.

It was difficult to become a caretaker of anyone, let alone a child of royal birth. For who was I, but a beastly young woman with such a weak appearance? Surely I would not have the strength to become a nurse! And this I believed in myself as well, but once recalling my mother's last plea, I set my mind.

I promised them knowledge of books. Indeed, this was true, for I have memorized many of Aquien's books. I offered the children the understanding of plot, the depth in characterization, and the hidden meaning behind those books that Aquien and I have discovered together. After much struggle, I was accepted.

But only on the lowest level, for they did not trust me immediately. I was first to tutor some noble children, of whom belonged to rejected knights and nobles that have been imprisoned. But I worked my way up; I proved myself worthy.

I need not say more, I suppose. You met me there in the castle. You remember the rest of the tale, in your own point of view. You thought me hideous. You thought me repulsive. You never spoke a word, but I could tell. And frankly, I did not mind.

You see now? If I could have helped it, I never would have exchanged my simple, however hard, life for one of breathtaking ease and beauty. I hope you are now aware of the difference. I hope you are now aware of why I rejected not only you, but everything else that you thought valuable.

Please do not respond to my letter. From this point forward, I would much rather sever all connections and memories we have. I caution you now: should you send me a letter, I will burn it, unopened. I ask you not to look for me, nor to think of me ever again. I would like to live my life the way it was before it was so rudely disrupted.

With the greatest sincerity,

Kiersina L.

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I looked at the letter steadily before dipping my quill into the inkbottle. Hesitantly, I signed my name at the bottom. I hoped that my point was clear enough to him; I never wanted to hear of him, see him, nor speak of him again. I wished him gone from my life. It sounds, and seems, cruel, naturally--but it is truth. And truth is never cruel. It is merely honest, and honest is merely reality.

I paused, debating my ideas for a moment, before setting the quill down and waited for the ink to dry. While I did, I prepared my candle beside me and looked into its small, flickering flame. It reminded me of the brilliant lights that were in the ball.

I shook myself, telling myself to forget about the hated life I had lived in the past several years. I was traveling back, now. I was doing the same as I had done several years back--only this time, to the opposite destination. I had never told him where I had lived, and in this manner, I would be safe.

The bright red sun was setting, only halfway visible in the horizon. It was by pure luck that I had managed to come to the inn at the precise time, and I was thankful that I would have a bed tonight. After so many pampered years of living in the castle with soft beds and warm sheets, I recoiled slightly at the idea of sleeping on the dirt floor. But I would have to grow accustomed with the idea once more, I knew; such luxuries were sure not to last.

Though the poor inn with low hygiene had scratchy sheets and a hard, uncomfortable mattress, it was better than dirt and straw. Turning away from my observation of the bare room, I lifted the smaller candle and let the wax drop onto the envelope before pressing my seal into it. An ordinary seal--not that fancy one that he had bought me. I briefly wondered what he would think of my seal when he received the letter.

After carefully extinguishing the small candle flame, I crept downstairs and caught the attention of the innkeeper. "Sir?" I said. "Might you have a messenger? I hope to send a letter out."

The innkeeper turned to me with that intense look that he had. Feeling uncomfortable, my eyes flickered downward for a moment before I forced myself to lift my eyes to meet his. "It's dark," he said, his voice gruff. "I will have a boy send your letter tomorrow, when the sun breaks."

I considered the deal. My letter was of no urgency--well, not to me, at least. I supposed he would be quite anxious, but that was none of my concern. To a plus, having the letter sent out tomorrow would give me extra time to lose him, should he come after me, despite my warning.

Nodding, I smiled. "That would be perfect," I said, holding out the letter and removing a few gold coins from my purse, dropping it onto his hands. "Thank you."

"And who might this be delivered to?" His question caught me just as I had turned my back upon him, about to head back up the stairs.

I chided myself; had I forgotten to answer such an important question. "To the prince," I replied evenly. Just as he started to speak of how difficult it would be to have a letter that reached the prince, I continued, somewhat spitefully, "Simply say that a hideous governess with excessive pride sends a message. He will understand." I paused for a moment. "And please do not reveal any information of me, it that is not too much to ask."

"No, that is quite fine," the innkeeper said hastily. I smiled in thanks before turning up the stairs to go to bed.

Purposely turning away from the mirror as not to catch my reflection, I blew out the larger flickering candle and lied in bed. I could not get used to the coarse material that had been used for a long while as it irritated my skin.

This is better than dirt, I told myself silently.

I tossed and turned that night, and I could not get any sleep. My mind constantly returned to the curse that I had been forced to endure. I bit my lip, recalling that I had written only half of it in the letter. I'd left out a significant part:

And you must find true love for your complete beauty revealed.

I sighed. What did that mean? With the last thoughts of confusion filling my mind, I fell asleep, and the days of my castle life came forth in my dreams against my will.

-------------------------

"This is Madeline. Her mother died in childbirth while trying to give birth to her brother, and her father is currently paying time. You are to take care of her," the man instructed as he opened the door, revealing a small girl with lush dark brown locks. Her hazel eyes were wide as she stared at me, not saying a word. I nodded to show that I understood, and the man closed the door, leaving me alone with the girl.

The first few moments were awkward. Deciding to end the silence, I squatted down to her height and said, "Hello, Madeline. My name is Kiersina. You can call me Sina, if you like."

She did not respond and continued to stare at me.

I tried another tactic. "How old are you, Madeline?" Once again, I received no response. "Do you like to play with your dolls?" Silence. "Can you read?" When I was met once more with the same expressionless face, I sighed and stood up and looked around the room. It was rather bare.

"Do you play with the other children, Madeline?" I asked her, pulling away the curtains to allow sunlight to stream in. The gardens were large, but it lacked activity. It was much too still, even for my taste. "I remember when I was young. I didn't have many friends; my only friends were the books. Still, I have only one friend who is still... still alive."

She didn't respond. I didn't expect her to.

"Would you like me to read you a book? My favorite book when I was your age was, I think, The Qu--"

"Are you going to die?"

I snapped my head over her and looked at her, surprised at her sudden outburst. She looked at me with those same wide eyes--not ones of mocking, but one of sincerity. I smiled quietly at her childlike behavior and said truthfully, "I was supposed to when I was twelve, but I'm sixteen now and I have not yet passed. But everyone will die someday."

"I'm going to die, too."

It was not a question; it was a statement. I frowned and looked at her. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"The doctors say that I'm sick," she replied with the same blank expression. "They say I'll die when I'm six."

"They said that to me, too," I said, a soft smile on my face. "But I'm still alive."

The little girl nodded and said, "But you're ugly."

I had to suppress my smile at that; I had always known that I was hideous, and hearing it did not hurt much. After all, I had been hurt too many times before to be affected anymore now. "I am," I agreed, "but I was born ugly. You are born beautiful, so you will always be beautiful."

Madeline did not respond and only returned to her blank state. After the short conversation, however, I figured this silence was due to the fear of death. She'd likely been brought up with the knowledge of an early death. I shivered to think that she had shared my fate. It was a fate that I would wish on no one.

I tried to think of ways that could be used to help her cheer up. I recalled how I had felt when I was young--absolutely tortured. I refused to leave the house and lapsed into a time where I was completely dumb and could not speak, but I had an outlet: books. They healed me. I could only hope that they would heal this young girl as well.

I tried to think of a story that would divert the idea of death from the little child's mind. I searched my mind for any memory of a book that fitted my wanted description: something appealing, something magical. Something that showed her that there was more to life.

The corners of my lips lifted as I recalled a light, lifting children's story of life. That night, I searched the library and asked around before finally finding what I had quested for: The Velveteen Rabbit.

The next day, Madeline was quiet as ever. I held the small book in my hand and sat beside her. "Would you like me to read you a story?" I said. Her eyes flickered up and stared into mine, blank. I could not openly admit that I felt somewhat intimidated and frightened by the lack of feeling, but I managed a small smile before sitting down beside her and started to read.

I had memorized this particular story, having read it countless of times during youth. As my eyes were diverted from the enthralling words of the book, I looked at Madeline's face. Her expressionless face started to melt away and I thought I caught a flicker of interest spark in her eyes. However, by the end of the story, my hopes of her exiting her tightly closed shell was quickly dashed.

She turned away, not looking at me. I bit my lip; did she not enjoy the story? I had sworn she did! "Madeline, what's wrong?" I said gently to her, placing my hand on her small shoulder.

She didn't respond for a moment, but she did, in the end. "I'm not Real," she said quietly. "I'm going to die, like they say I will."

I sighed and shook my head, kneeling down to be at the same height as she was. "No, you won't die," I insisted. When she wasn't convinced, I continued, "Would you like to know why? Because I'm going to love you so that you do become Real. And after then, I'll keep on loving you."

She looked at me doubtfully. "You wouldn't," she said, as if stating fact.

"I will, and I am." I smiled as I saw her expression lift somewhat and, for the first time, I caught a smile start to tug at the ends of her lips. "Can I have a hug, then, Madeline?"

The smile did erupt then and she stumbled forward into my extended arms. When she pulled away, she looked surprisingly more happy than she was previously. I smiled encouragingly. "Now, would you like to go outside and play with me?"

I felt like such a child, asking her that. I felt as though I were five again, only this time, I was naïve of the discrimination of those who were ugly. I took her hand and nodded, egging her on. "Come; we can play in the gardens and pretend."

"Pretend what?" she asked, a foreign look crossing her face.

"All sorts of things," I explained encouragingly. "We can pretend that fairies are coming down and unicorns are everywhere. Maybe we can pretend that there is a terrifying dragon and a prince that will rescue you!" When she didn't look very persuaded, I asked her, "What do you wish the most?"

She quieted considerably and I wondered briefly what it was that I had said wrong. Her eyes were downcast and her lips moved, her words scarcely heard and rather inaudible. "I want to see my father."

I faltered at her request, biting my lip nervously. I did not wish that she think of me as a person saying words simply to please; I wanted her to trust me, to believe in me. I could not deny her her first request, her greatest want; but would she really want it afterwards? To get to a specific cell was hard enough--with its huge maze and all, designed to capture enemies who had attempted to let their allies free--and perhaps the environment would not suit the small, innocent child very well.

After all, it could further deepen the pain.

My encouraging smile slipped slightly as her hopeful gaze started to disappear, looking downcast. I sighed and shook my head. If this was what she wanted, so be it. "I'll try," I whispered, nudging her gently. She looked up at me and found my sincerity. "I'll do my best."

"Would you?" she asked, apparently not ready to believe that I would do such a thing. I quickly assumed that no governess or maid had ever thought of her as another person with wants and needs before. When I nodded, she continued, "Do you promise?"

"I promise," I agreed. I saw a true smile cross her face then. Never had I seen something more elating. Her eyes sparkled with not only hope, but delight and joy. The grin spread across her face as she looked up to me with excitement. I knew then that I couldn't let her down.

She was considerably--surprisingly--pleasant and happy the remainder of the day. We collected flowers and I told her I'd press them for her before we returned inside, where I taught her the alphabet.

She was a quick learner and had memorized the first few letters of the alphabet that day. I moved on with numbers, telling her to study them while I was away. She agreed and held the sheet before her, her brows furrowed in concentration. It lifted a smile upon my face before I slipped out the door.

It was difficult trying to organize a session with Madeline's father with the prison head. He was far too serious of a character and seemed to constantly spite himself for not being able to achieve a higher rank and looked down at those below him. Naturally, he did not stand with a good first impression, and despite my numerous attempts, he seemed to stand firm.

I tried to get him to see from Madeline's point of view, from my point of view, and the point of view of the prisoner. He cared for none of that, so I was resorted to direct my argument at the head. He seemed none too happy with that.

"Do you have a mother?" I said angrily, crossing my arms, speaking my words with such a fire that it seemed impossible that a person with my frail and fragile health could possibly emit. He, too, seemed startled. "Do you have a father?"

"Of course," he replied pompously, sniffing down at me, which he seemed to do every several lines. It annoyed me greatly, but I supposed that was just what he was aiming for.

"Are they dead?" I demanded bluntly.

He seemed shocked by my lack of propriety, regarding him in such a low manner--with such a dishonorable question. When I didn't relent, however, he was forced to respond. "No," he sniffed. I bit my lip at his repeated behavior.

"If they were killed, would you miss them?" I said, glaring him down. He had not yet started to quiver under my gaze, nor did he seem uncomfortable. He was, however, affronted by it, but at least it was something.

"I hardly think that a person with such a low class as yourself can ask a person of higher status--like me--such a personal and offending question," he declared.

"And I hardly think," I said, raising my voice, "that a person who supposedly is of high rank could do something so unreasonable--so hypocritical to their rank--as not to allow a child see her father. Just a few numbers, sir!"

"I do not have to respond to you," he said, sniffing once more. He then turned in the other direction and opened a book, suggesting that he was now ignoring me and that I should leave.

I, however, was not so easily disgruntled and persisted, slamming my hands onto his desk. "Have you ever suffered, sir?" I said. When he opened his mouth to respond, I cut him off. "No, don't answer that. You didn't suffer. You've never had your parents stripped from you and people looking down at you like you are the biggest disgrace to humankind, so don't even try to act like you do. Now, let her see her father, and I shan't bother you again."

Apparently, the idea of my final departure seemed to please him greatly as he nodded his head in thought, considering my last words. Finally, he relented, saying as long as he never had to see me again. I did not mind at all, for I found him repulsive and would rather not see him again, anyways. I bid my thanks and I returned, finding Madeline still staring at the numbers that I had left for her.

I sat down next to her, a smile on my face. She felt my presence and turned to me, looking at me strangely, turning her head over to one side. "What happened?" she asked, anticipating something.

"I have a surprise for you," I said. Her eyes widened as she tried to peer around my back, but I quickly shushed her. "I don't have it with me, but I'll show you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," she said, nodding, returning to her books. I smiled slightly and maneuvered myself to face her from the opposite side of the table, where we resumed the lesson.

That night, after I tucked her to bed and left to my own small room, a woman who I have seen but never met came up to me, introducing herself as Mya. "I have known Madeline for quite a while," she confided to me, "and she hardly ever speaks and never smiles. Two days with you, however, and it is like magic; life for her seems possible once more."

I smiled softly and thanked her for the compliment. We became friends then.

The next day, I told Madeline that she was due for the surprise. She nodded and followed me out as I brought her to a place that she never had before: the dungeons. She shivered and I draped my cloak around her, wrapping her around several times.

"I don't like this place, Sina," she said to me, tugging on my sleeve. "Can we go back?"

"Hush, Madeline," I said. "You will like it soon enough."

And she fell silent since then, holding tightly on the basket of food that I had told her to bring. Finally, when darkness suddenly seemed to rise, I lit my lamp, shining on an old stone passage way that reeked of odor with rats scampering around.

I felt the small child cower against me for safety and I comfortingly put an arm around her. I peered at the numbers on the rotting wooden plates above the doorways. Suddenly, I was ignited with an idea.

"Do you like treasure hunting, Madeline?" I asked her. She looked at me strangely and hesitantly nodded. I beamed. "Excellent! What we're doing is something like that, and we only have numbers to make our way. Do you see those yellow numbers on the top?"

She looked up, and sure enough, she spotted the plates with painted yellow numbers. Nodding, she looked back at me.

"Okay, the first number is: One, Three, Six, Two," I told her. She nodded and craned her neck to look up, peering back and forth.

Soon, she grew a little more excited and she scampered a few feet ahead of me, looking for the numbers that I'd dictated for her. At long last, she stopped and pointed to a certain hallway. I nodded approvingly.

And so it continued. I gave her numbers and she found them. After the third time, we arrived at a row of cells and I prepared myself to give her the last number--the cell number.

"Six, Nine, Three, One, Eight," I said. She looked down the long row of cells and pointed to the last one. I nodded and reached for her hand, which she slipped into my larger one. Squeezing her small hand, I walked farther down, holding the lamp ahead of me.

Prisoners looked up at us, not having seen any light--or anything, for that matter. They winced, blinded by the flame, as they waited for their eyes to adjust. Some of them looked at us eagerly, hoping that we would see them, but we only passed by their cell, finally stopping at the last one.

The man there was dressed in dirty torn rags, his hair grown and tangled that he looked rather primitive. He was lying on the cold floor, turned the other direction. I cleared my throat, but he did not move.

My heart began to pound; he was not dead, was he?

My fears were released, however, when Madeline took a step forward and leaned into the bars. "Father?" she whispered, her sweet, child-like voice drifting as a redeeming angel would in hell. He turned, his eyes wide. Suddenly, with renewed energy, he scampered up and clutched the bars before him.

"Madeline," he whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse from lack of use. "Madeline--is it you?" His dry hands clutched his daughter's soft and tender ones, tears dripping from his face. "Madeline--it is you!"

He felt her face, and she did not mind the dirt that smeared because of it. I held the light a little further toward them so that he could fully appreciate his daughter's appearance. It was, after all, nothing to be ashamed about.

However, when I moved, he noticed me--something I had hoped wouldn't happen. I had wanted the entire session to be focused on him and his daughter, not on me. But he did and asked for my name.

I did not have the chance to speak when Madeline answered for me. "She's my maid," she said happily. I found it odd that the child was so ecstatic in such a damp and dark area. "She's the one that brought me here."

He turned to me, his face full of thanks, glory, and relief. My appearance did not seem to bother him at all. "How can I ever thank you?" he whispered.

I smiled sadly in response. "By showing love to your daughter," I said, "and making her smile. I've been here but naught for three days, now, and I know enough to understand that she hardly smiles." He turned to his daughter once more, but I continued, "Madeline, do you not have something to give to your father?"

She looked up at me, confused, but suddenly remembered the basket that she was clutching. Nodding, she held up the basket with two arms before her, smiling proudly. "Look, Daddy!" she said, the formal term of 'father' forgotten. "We brought you food!"

I looked at the father once more and noted how skinny he was--perhaps just as bad as me, or maybe even more so. Piece by piece, we fed the food through the iron bars into his cell. Looking into the basket, Madeline said, "That's all."

"No, it's not," I said, reaching in. I pulled out a piece of white cloth with a poorly stitched design with loops and knots on it, handing it to her father. "Here," I said, as he took it gingerly. "Madeline's first embroidery."

"But she is naught but four!" he cried, looking at his daughter.

"I had her do it yesterday so you would have a keepsake," I said. "But think not of what has been done, but of this moment. Do not waste it, I beg of you."

He understood my meaning and directed all attention onto his daughter. I held the lamp, but managed to sink back into the shadows even so. I watched the display of love, the small child holding hands with her father as he whispered comforting words to her, be it or be it not that they may one day be fulfilled. I tried my best not to cry, for crying results in sniffs, which would ruin the moment altogether.

When I noticed the wax of the candle had started to dip down low, I quietly mentioned it to them and he nodded, reluctantly letting go of his daughter's hands. Madeline protested for a bit, but I said to her that perhaps we could come again next week. I saw the surprised and hopeful expression on her father's face and I nodded sincerely. I may have been ugly and chided at my whole childhood, but at least I had a parent.

I couldn't bear to have Madeline lose that from her life as well.

Two months passed, and Madeline had managed to look healthy, a permanent flush on her cheeks from being outside constantly, demanding to go to the gardens even for studies. I had relented after making her promise that she would not be distracted. She had, of course, agreed, and could now read numbers and could write the alphabet in her sloppy handwriting that was somewhat improving everyday.

And, as I had promised, once a week, I brought her downstairs to her father. No longer was she afraid of the dark, asking me if I could take her outside one night to count the stars.

But when the two months were due, I was unsuspecting pulled away from my lesson. People had noticed Madeline's dramatic improvement under my guidance and assigned me to another child--or two, to be accurate. Two young boys who were rather rebellious.

I had, of course, protested at first, but I could not change their minds. To them, Madeline was someone who was fated to death, and my care would be wasted. And above all, she was a girl, not a boy.

Madeline was upset as well when I told her as gently as I could, but I told her I'd promise to try and meet her to bring her down to her father once a month. Under the prospect of knowing that this was not the final good-bye, she managed to stop her tears but didn't lighten her tight grip on me.

But we had to depart, and depart, we did. My quarters moved to a place that was closer to the two boys that I was to look after. I didn't like them all that much. With my hideous appearance and the fact that I was female, they regarded me as below them. It was rather annoying at first, and all they seemed to care about was fencing, duels, and, well... battles.

It always started out, seeming as though they were giving me the most impossible tasks, trying to test my abilities. I wasn't one to succumb, however, and I would prove to them my power, despite my frail appearance.

The boys tugged on my hair a lot and ran in circles around me, making jokes and laughing. Sometimes they would sing songs specifically to ridicule me, but I never showed any form of resentment at all. Sometimes, I had managed to smile in amusement, which had puzzled them endlessly.

At night, I would let out all my aggravation with a book. After a good night's sleep, I would walk around the gardens, refreshing myself before I was to take care of the two rowdy boys. My constant composed behavior never failed to baffle them, for all their other governesses and tutors were driven away with insanity.

They refused to learn anything I tried to teach them, until one day, I stopped persisting them with lessons and allowed them to act as they wished. They were surprised by my retreat but took full advantage of it. The next day, I started the second part of my plan.

I proposed that they imitate kings of opposite enemy countries of some sort. They enjoyed the idea and allowed me to continue. "You, Wilfred," I said, referring to the older of the two, "are angry at Frederick for something and you want to declare war." He nodded approvingly and opened his mouth to shout at his brother, but I stopped him. "If you're in two different countries, how can you talk to him? You must write him a letter, of course. Then it will be carried on horseback to Frederick."

Wilfred frowned at my idea. It was apparent that he wasn't fond of writing.

"Frederick, you will write a response. First, you will try and solve the problem, and you two will enter into a bargain. However, if that doesn't work--" I paused for dramatic effect. "You will declare war."

They grinned simultaneously at my suggestion and readily agreed with it. After all, the idea of being kings was much more exciting than simply dueling. I had personally thought my intention rather obvious, and I was thankful that the two of them were still young enough not to notice a thing.

That day, I aided Wilfred in composing his letter. At first, he wanted to declare war on the silliest of things--saying that Frederick's country wasn't giving them money, or that Frederick's nose was too big. I had to reason with him and helped him put his ideas in aspect with the real world--of how many wars we would be engaged in at once!

He seemed interested then. I seized this as an opportunity to teach him of politics. First, I spoke of the most interesting schemes that occurred in history that councilmen had formed. That had caught Frederick's attention then. I saved all the strangest things, however, slipping them in randomly in my rambles of the money involved in war, ranks, and duties to maintain their interest.

The game idea that I had suggested became more than that. It started to become their everyday life. As the days wore on, their letters grew more sophisticated and reasonable. I took the letters from one for a few hours--in place of the weeks it would take on horseback--and gave it to the other afterwards. I incorporated a few of their friends as well, engaging them into a full-fledged political stance: allies, enemies, wars, meetings, truces, and debates.

It advanced and I made them use numbers to calculate their treasury. All of them were given a set amount of money and their income and a set price of war. Their arithmetic improved as well as their calligraphy, when I suggested that fanciful lettering appeared more sophisticated and came from wiser people.

I was lucky that the boys had lessons from tutors other than me. After all, I was hardly the person to teach them fencing and combat. With my weekly spare time, I visited either Mya or Madeline, switching every other week. And, true to my word, I brought the four-year-old child down to see her father once a month.

The boys--and not only Frederick and Wilfred, but their friends involved in the game as well--had learned to respect me. I smiled when I saw them think of those of female gender in a different light--not as one to look down on, but more of as an equal. While this did not pass very well with some, I was praised--once more--for my ability to teach the boys who had refused to learn.

Indeed, they hadn't seemed so horrified later on at what they had been tricked to do. They called me sly and chided me for it, but it ended in smiles and laughter. My initial dislike with the two boys had melted away, turning into something lighter. They made me laugh with their active personality, while Madeline had made me smile with her sweetness.

I realized then, how different my life was here from the previous one.

I had proven myself here. People respected me, despite my lack of beauty. It was a new feeling.

Before, I only had Aquien. Now, I also had Mya, and all the children--and their parents--who looked up to me.

And the number was constantly growing. By my first year, I had already been designated to over ten children, all of whom had been reluctant at my leave. And yet, every month, I managed to meat Madeline and bring her to see her father, now at the age of five and had almost memorized the way to her father's cell and back.

Soon enough, I became accustomed to having to depart quickly after setting children on the right track--which was my new job. No longer was I simply a nurse, governess, or caretaker. I was to bring the twisted children around by a hundred eighty degrees. However, the departure was always hard, no matter how many times I had to suffer through it.

In actuality, all my departures were completely different from each other. Different personalities, different bonding, but same situation caused a different effect altogether. Nothing could ever be duplicated.

The people who were aware of me grew, and Mya remained my constant friend. With those who knew me, some respected me, others shook their heads at me. But my name did grow, and soon even royalty had heard of my name.

I was "that ugly girl with a magic touch to bring direction to the lost and sense to the defiant."

And I didn't mind at all.

Published in 1922, however, this story has no set time period. Let us now ignore the years!

Thanks for all those who have reviewed! Yes, this has been a combination of chapters 1 and 2, but they were both prologues so I didn't see why I couldn't shove them together.

Please review!