I remember….
My mother was paid to bed married men. One of these married men is my father. Rather then wait for him to dispose of the fruit of his sins, my mother fled. Ten years later she continues her practice within the walls of Camelot. All the money earned was spent at the tavern. Many nights I would would wait up till the sun peeked above the distant mountain range for my mother return. I would take up the street corners of Camelot, pleading for my next meal. My eyes, dark blue, were sunken in. My hair, what would be a vibrant red, was limp and dull. My pale skin was almost translucent over my bones which could be seen for too easily. this was my life. A mother who is never there, a meal every other day, and dark blue eyes that are dull and devoid of hope.
It was like any other day, my mother stumbled into our one room house late the night before. I rose early, and pulled my tread bare cloak around my thin shoulders. The winter was harsh this year, but without money I could not buy myself the proper clothing needed for warmth. So i set out in wooden clogs with old fabric scraps stuffed around the edges, a thin grey dress almost reduced to mere tatters, and my threadbare cloak. i traveled farther then I usually did out of necessity. The shop owners and property owners have taken to driving my away from my usual begging corners. I found myself in the great castle courtyard. The snow on the ground making the place seem ethereal. I went to the nearest man and began the task of asking the passing men and women for food. By the time the sun began its descent, my stomach was as empty as it was this morning. My back hit the walls of the looming castle and I sank to the snow covered cobblestones. I drew my legs to my chest and laid my head on my arms draped across the tops of my kneecaps. My frail shoulders shook as sob after sob violently tore from my body. It had been days since my last meal. I was content to sit there through the night and let the cold steal the life from my body. I felt a gentle hand on mine. I looked up and met the eyes of a beautiful women. Her raven hair cascaded down her back and her skin was a healthy, creamy white. It was her eyes though that drew the most attention. A vibrant green that danced with light and warmth. Filled with love and compassion, but most of all hope. She reached into the folds of her thick green cloak and brought out an apple and block of cheese. She placed them into the bag that I had brought with me in hope of bringing something home in it.
"Hello, I'm Morgana."
"I'm Greta"
She smiled at me then reached to undo the clasp on her beautiful, green cloak. She took it off, then wrapped it around my thin, shaking figure.
"Thank you."
Another smile, this one with a hint of sadness.
"Take care Greta."
She turned around and walked away.