Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. I own the computer this was written on, this plot, my various OCs *hugs OCs*, and that's it!

A/N: Gutentag! This is my first fic so please, be nice, or at least be constructive. The beginning's a little slow (just to warn you) but it's all very important stuff. *nod* Anyhoo, on with the story!

Daughter of the Dark Lord

Chapter 1 - The Beginning, as it Were

The small fief of Auckland lay several hundred miles north of the border of Scanra, where the country ended, and civilization melted into wilderness, wild and untamed. No other fief operated in such extremes of all things. Spidrens and other foul beings roamed freely, though seemingly at peace, or relative of aforementioned, with the other inhabitants, humans of the Auckland mainly. There was no conflict in the small region, no battles, no gallantry, no war heroism. Families of the Auckland lived there for one sole purpose.to be undisturbed.

On one spring morning the mountains were bathed in white snow, rivers were frozen, and people were shut in their homes, after having brought in their animals. In the small house of one blacksmith, there was a new arrival, a baby girl. The mother and father of the girl were so overjoyed; they forgot their previous child, another daughter, unnamed.

She was used to being ignored. Though she was six she was smart, and could tell that her parents hadn't wanted a child when she was put upon them. They were young, and new to parenthood, and in fear of doing something wrong, they made the greatest mistake and did nothing at all.

The girl was of medium height; thin and willowy, long legged and with a curiously angled face, not rounded with youth. Her eyes were a dark, stormy gray, and long mahogany-bronze hair fell to her shoulder blades. From constantly putting her hair in an old leather tie, a few chopped layers hung around her face. Being in the sun had brought her skin to a warm caramel color and light highlights to her hair. She was a striking child, but she was not what her parents wanted.

Watching their parents loving someone other than them would make other children cry and fret, and beg for attention. She sat at the window that looked down the stable aisle and watched the iron-gray stallion tug chunks of hay from his net, not caring about her parents.

'If only I could go outside!' She pined. On normal days she would her grandpa's stallion, but today the snow was too deep, and he forbade her from riding him at the risk of pulling one of his blessed tendons.

She didn't know why she cared what advice anyone gave her; they did nothing but tell her no and criticize her anyway.

"Nameless, go away and up to your room," Her mother said sharply, "You're disturbing the baby, and I dislike your smug malcontent."

Like hell she was malcontent, what else would she be? She thought as she walked up the steps, her plain gray dress rustling limply. Without warning she tripped, and there was a resounding ripping noise as a long tear appeared, showing her white petticoats beneath, which were stained and threadbare, and one even had a cloth-eating silverfish attached to the meager strands. She looked at the rip, knowing she was in for a scolding, and possibly no dinner, though how she could have less dinner than her bread-and-water meals was beyond her six-year-old mind.

"NAMELESS!" Came the yell. Though her mother was young, petite, and pretty, seemingly harmless, she came after the young girl with the steel poker that usually stood threateningly beside the hearth.

"How dare you rip your new dress?! I worked and worked on it and how do you thank me?!" The girl held still and as a stone, expressionless, as a cruel, bleeding cut appeared under her chin where the poker had scraped through. The years of soot dyed the cut a sickly black, and blackened blood dripped down her neck, though she showed not any trace of pain or sadness.

"Go to your room! No dinner!" She was literally hurled into her room, the attic, and she scraped the wood floors with her side, curled up so as to avoid any further hurt. When she opened her eyes, the sloping ceiling covered in old languages seemed to welcome her back. She sat up and went to her cot, and after pulling her thin sheet over her body, concealing her empty stomach, she looked at the ornately written words and wished she knew how to read them. Soon, thinking about the words made her roll over and drift off into sleep.

In her dream, her mind registered a small amount of recognition, but instead she turned back towards her dream life, leaving the small bout of familiarity behind in the green meadows quickly vanishing beneath her white stallion's hooves.

'Tis short, I know, and I apologize profusely. The other chapters are more like 2000 words apiece, so bear with me on this dinky thing and I promise chapter two is much better. And more interesting.

Questions? Comments?

Review and I'll answer!

Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl