Thank you to those who read my other story! I wrote this one when I was procrastinating from revision.
I don't own the Skulduggery Pleasant series.
This is set in Ireland, late 1920's, and magic doesn't exist. Certain other things may be different too...
Stephanie Edgley liked to think that she was a normal girl, a normal girl in a crowd of other normal people.
'What was the point,' she often mused, 'of being an exotic dun-jersey cow in the middle of other black-and-whites?'
No, she was definitely a normal girl.
Stephanie sighed. She took off her hat as her orphanage roof came into view.
Her parents, Desmond and Melissa Edgley, had died seven years prior, in a horrific accident involving a steam-train, when Stephanie was just nine years of age.
She reached the door of the orphanage and paused, placing her hand on the wooden frame for a moment to reflect.
She had just come from Sunday mass.
A sigh elicited itself from her lips.
There were times when she seriously questioned religion, questioned Him.
How could He be so cruel, placing her in this orphanage? Taking her parents away from her like that?
'Still,' she thought, 'it could've been worse.'
And it could've been. She had heard of Oliver-Twist-style orphanages up and down the country, where children were frequently starved, flogged and publicly humiliated.
Yes, at least she wasn't in one of those.
The wooden panel beneath her hand disappeared as the door was wrenched open.
In the doorway stood a thin woman, her eyes were different colours, one blue, the other green, and her mouth was twisted in an ugly sneer.
She reached out and yanked Stephanie into the hallway by her ear.
Stephanie cried out.
The woman slammed the door. "What took you so long?" she hissed, her accent American. "Church ended half-an-hour ago, you were meant to come back. Do you know how irritating dealing with abandoned newborns are? Do you? Answer me, you little runt."
She twisted Stephanie's ear.
"No, miss. I don't."
"Damn right you don't, you stupid little girl." The woman shoved Stephanie away from her; Stephanie fetched up against the banister.
"You're worthless, you hear me?" the woman snarled. "You're a worthless piece of Irish trash, a stupid whore."
Stephanie nodded.
"Good. Go and clean out the stables', it's the only place a whore like you belongs."
"Yes, Ms Marr," she choked out.
The horses' stables were warm on that particular Sunday morning.
Stephanie found comfort in the familiar smell of horse hair and hay, even the fragrant manure was welcome.
She made her way over to her favourite horse, a small honey-coloured one with bright blue eyes. Its name-tag read 'Alice'.
"Hey, girl, how are you?" She patted the horse's neck.
Alice whinnied.
Stephanie smiled. "That's always good to hear." She rested her head on Alice's muzzle. "Sometimes I think they treat you better than they treat me."
Alice whinnied again.
Stephanie laughed, turning away. She shoved her shovel into the nearest mound of manure.
She didn't mind the physical labour; it made her strong, and she had decided long ago that if she ever wanted to leave this place she had to get stronger.
The chores set to her were gruelling and often repetitive, but Stephanie liked it that way, that way she didn't have to think if she didn't want to, and today she didn't particularly want to think.
Her shovel went into the manure again and again, clanking every time it scraped against the stable-floor. A light sheen of sweat coated her forehead.
She stopped to lean against the wall, slightly out of breath.
"That's your stable done, girl," she called to Alice.
Alice stomped her hooves merrily.
Stephanie chuckled.
She repeated the process of shovelling manure for the last two stables the orphanage owned before she dropped her shovel to floor and stretched, hearing multiple clicks as she popped her joints.
"I'll be back," she called over her shoulder, "just going to get your hay."
She made her way over to the barn, slipping in through the huge double-doors.
She was in a decidedly better mood than she had been earlier. God, she loved that horse.
She often day-dreamed about what would happen if one night she had courage enough to steal Alice, to saddle her up and ride away with her into the darkness.
She liked that daydream.
She looked over at the hay.
Hay- What a weird name for dried up pieces of grass, or whatever they were. Hay, hay, hay, hay, hay-
HEY!
Stephanie landed face first on the barn floor; her nose stung like nobody's business.
She turned to glare at whatever had just tripped her.
Her eyes widened.
There was a young man asleep in the hay. He had light brown hair, a smooth face, and was dressed as a simple farm-hand.
His eyes snapped open. They were a vivid, startling green.
Stephanie opened her mouth, unsure as to what she was going to do.
Suddenly, his hand came up and clamped her mouth shut.
"Whatever you do, don't scream," he said.
Can you guess who it is?