So, I was watching Les Miserables, and I was thinking about how Jean Valjean claimed sanctuary in that church, and then I thought about The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and how people claimed sanctuary in that and this idea started to form. And, of course, since I was watching Les Mis, it had to be a tragedy. Anyway, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, HOO, or any other references herein.
Chapter One
Hello, stranger. No, that is incorrect. I know who you are. I have been watching you for a while. You are the first person that I have found who may relate in some way to my story. You may understand why I did what I did. I have searched for hundreds of years to find you. But, then again, you may not relate. You may never have felt love; love so strong you will do whatever you must to keep someone from harm. If so, put down this story now, and I will begin my search anew. It would not be the first time. But I think that there is something different about you, a quality that the last person did not have. Yes, you know what that quality is. Not everyone may see it, but I do. You will be able to relate, and my task will be done. Finally I will be able to join my beloved.
But where to start? I cannot start at my birth, in the year 1612, for how can I remember that day? My death then? No, you would not understand it. First you must hear the horrible story of why. Some would say that the story starts in the Year of Our Lord 1616, when my sister, only one year old then, and I were kidnapped. But I was only four then, and all I remember was shouting, little Lacy's cries, a woman's screams. It was my mother, who was screaming, I believe. Either that or the chef, the only servant we had. Her name was Demeter, methinks. I can't recall all that much about that period of my life. For years I couldn't even remember my own name. I went by the name that my master called me. All I had left was a gold locket, engraved with a P. Others would say that my story starts on the day that marked my sixteenth year, when my master, cruel man that he was, sent me on my first mission. I had been training since I was ten. Of course, I failed that mission, and, in the process, learned a valuable lesson: never to try tell my target, or anyone else, for that matter, of my plight. My sister, only 13 years of age, was punished for my mistake. I shall never forget her screams as they beat her until she was near death. Suffice to say, I was never so careless again. But that time was monotonous: I went on missions, I completed them, my sister wasn't hurt. They never trained her; apparently she was more valuable as collateral. Two years passed, and her health slowly declined. She became frailer and frailer, the poor child, my sister, that I had become like a mother to, though I was only three years older than her. Of course, it had to be then that I made a mistake.
My target was the king's cousin, a middle aged woman named Athena. That wasn't the hard part. Sure, she had many loyal bodyguards, but that was no problem. I was, after all, my master's best operative. I was poised outside her window, ready to throw one of my many knives, thus completing my mission, when a girl walked in. She was my age, maybe a little older, and she looked like Athena's daughter. She walked over to her mother, carrying an open book, apparently to ask a question. Immediately Athena ceased her work and smiled, turning to the girl. My mother had been taken away from me; how could I take a mother away from this girl? Silently I slipped away, unable to complete my mission. But I had forgotten about my sister. I returned, saying that I had been unable to get past Athena's bodyguard. Then my sister was punished, despite her condition. That, I believe, is where my story begins. Summer in the year of our Lord 1630, shortly after the day I turned eighteen.
My name is Sumaiya, and this is my tale.