Ummm... hey guys? This is kinda my first FanFiction story, well i did put it up, like, a year ago, but this is the updated version. Much better in my opinion. I'm very open to constructive criticism. But make sure it's constructive. Anywayz, I'll leave you to read this and I hope you like it :) BTW, this writing is 100% mine, so none of it belongs to anyone else :) Happy reading!
11th October 534 A.B.F. (after fall of Berget Empire)
Written in the morning:
Okay, I've never had a journal before, so I'm not sure how to start. I wouldn't even have done this if not for my tutor telling me my memory is getting sloppy. She handed me this journal yesterday and demanded that I write down everything I can remember from my day. She said if I can manage to do that properly for a year, then she'll buy me sommat special. Her 'special' things are usually new knives, or mayhap a gold-plated hair brush. Gods, I hope it's not another journal, I don't think I'll manage this year, let alone next year. Knowing Esmeralda's sense of humour, she probably will. Esme Gold has been my mentor/teacher/older sister for as long as I can remember. Ma hired her when I was young to look after me while she had to work, so I would stay at home with Esme from really early in the morning, until late in the afternoon. After years of doing this, Esme and I knew each other so well, that when Ma . . . died, Esme sort of just filled her shoes. Ambrose never had to suffer when Ma was no longer around, because as soon as she could walk and talk, she made it clear that she much preferred to live with her father. So here I am, sitting at my desk, in my room, writing a journal of my life. I hope it'll be worth it. I've heard tell of people from hundreds of years ago, who had written journals and passed them down through the generations. I'd like to do that, if I ever have children, that is. I'd very much like to have kids, but as I haven't yet found anyone that I'd want for my children's father, I might have to wait awhile. Not that I mind much. I look after my friends' children during the day, if the parents are too busy. And even that is sometimes too much. I have no idea how Ma managed me and my younger sister, Ambrose. I haven't seen my sister in the two years that I've been living in the Lower City. She's only fifteen, but she's been married for a year already. From what I've heard in her letters, the noble she married was one of the richest in the land, with ties to almost all the royal families on the southern coast. Ambrose's husband, Lord Henry, is, in my sisters eyes, "amazingly handsome, and romantic, and . . . just perfect!" Personally, he sounds kinda dull, lazing around in his castle, drinking expensive wine, and ordering servants around. But he's good to Ambrose, and she loves living like that, so I guess I should be happy that they're happy together.
To start this off properly, I suppose I should start with what I look like. I have a tall, slim, muscled body, long, powerful legs, toughened from long years of running messages from one end of the city to the other. The slimness of my waist makes other girls jealous, but it didn't get that way from doing nothing. My chest is alright I suppose. The clingy silk shirt I'm wearing pronounces it somewhat. My face is quite plain in my opinion, but others (mainly admiring young men) have said I'm beautiful. As my eyes are a lovely, deep blue-green, and my nose small and delicate, I have to admit they're not all wrong. I've been known to actually hypnotize people with my smile. It's ridiculous really, as if my smile could do that to people! I'm not some kind of witch that can control folk just by using her eyes. Nor am I that charming. I have the grace and coordination of a cow. My thick, black hair is constantly annoying me. It never seems to stop growing. And because of this, I take spare ties whenever I go out. Some say that Ma fed me hair growing potion one day when I cut it all off in an act of rebellion. Well, that's not too far off from the truth. I never was a Mamma's girl, always biting and scratching, I preferred to spent my time outside, exploring the city, instead of staying home with Esme and learning needlework. I mean, how boring is needlework? And what's the aim of it other than mending clothes and sheets? That's why I roam the streets, learning from a young age how to run, fight, draw, paint, ride, and most important, laugh and have fun. At the age of ten, I could fight a grown man and win. Or ride a horse well enough to jump fences over a metre high. Once, I helped a pregnant woman paint her door a bright yellow, in home-coming for her husband, who was returning from months away serving his country in the army. A famous artist was drawing in the park once, and I was so curious, that I stood next to him for hours, watching his pencil strokes across the parchment, occasionally handing him a cup of water, or a new pencil if the last ne broke, then he taught me how to, guiding my hand as I drew an almost-perfect sunflower. The
I hear banging and crashing downstairs. It's probably what's-her-face on the second floor. Doesn't she ever sleep? Up until all hours, having one party after the other.
Someone is knocking on my door but I ignore them. At this time of day, it's usually drunken idiots thinking they have a chance with me. I'm quite used to all this after almost three years in this house. I'm one of the more permanent lodgers. Most of the other rooms are stayed in for a few weeks then vacated. I guess nobody much likes living in a building where thieves come and go freely. I'm safe though 'cause I'm a thief too you see. Every street rat in the city knows me. The infamous Rosella Cooper. I have friends that decent folks would baulk at. I wouldn't blame them either; sometimes I surprise myself when I see just who it is I work with. Here's an example: a floor below me lives the sister to a baker; I get free cakes or bread whenever I like now because I saved her from a pair of drunken men with knives. And because I'm so friendly with her, I know her cousin who lives as a maid in the royal palace who serves one of the princesses. And that cousin has friends that serve other royal children or noble children. Meaning I have very smart friends in very high places.
Looking out my window I see Hayden Keela from the jewelers talking with a pretty girl from across the street. Hayden is a thief I used to be with. He's very handsome, and he breaks hearts almost as often as he steals purses. I couldn't stand to be with someone with such a reputation, so I left him. He had it coming to him. I mean, come on, standing me up one night for a girl he's known three hours? Well, it seems the girl he was just talking to either knows of his reputation and is sensible enough to stay polite with him, or she has a sweetheart and isn't the sort to go behind their lover's back, because she just walked away from him. I find this extremely funny, especially after the last time I talked to him. We'd been walking through the city, talking causally, when sudden like he started to get closer to me. When we were only a few inches apart, he grabbed my elbow and tried to kiss me on the mouth. I was having none of it though. I punched him in the gut, stomped on his foot, and walked away. I knew he would not follow, for he does have some sense of when to leave a girl alone. I will now write about something else, I have always said there's no point in worrying over the past. Perhaps I should go over to the markets today and buy some ribbons or something. Silk ones, mayhap, with beads at the end. Or not, I always seem to get sick of shopping within five minutes of it. That reminds me, I need to buy myself some food for midday. I woke not long ago and it's near noon already.
I sigh as I think of my work tonight.