Once upon a time, as most of these stories begin, there was in a far-off land, the prosperous kingdom of Elssium. Though the villagers were not wealthy, they lead lively existences. Farmers farmed, bakers baked, tailors sewed. On beautiful days, such as the one which begins this story, there seemed that nothing could be wrong in the world.
Our tale begins with a young farmer's boy, a trio of seamstress sisters, a lost soul, a gypsy man and his sister, and a dashing young thief.
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David carried a sack of oats to the pig pen. He always got stuck with the dirty jobs. His father was a mean man, but he was all he had. David had become acclimated to the work. He used to grumble and complain, but complaining didn't make the load any easier for the fourteen-year-old.
"Boy," shouted David's father. "Where are you? Get your lazy arse back inside the house!"
David gave a small sigh as he emptied the sack into the pig's trough. "Coming," he shouted back to his father.
The only thing the boy had in common with his father was his appearance. Both father and son had ginger red hair and pale complexions. Although the boy was young, he already was showing signs that he'd have his father's strapping frame. David entered his single story home, glancing at his father with almond brown eyes.
"You called, sir?" the boy inquired.
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Elsewhere in the Kingdom of Elssium, the sisters Viola, Sasha, and Christine swept, wiped, and prepared their shop for the day's business. The girls were tailors, and quite good ones at that. Their parents had passed only two years prior, and now they supported each other.
"Could you set the spools on the counter, Christine?"Viola, the eldest, asked, sweeping the floorboards with a primitive broom, her beautiful green eyes scanning the room.
"I suppose," Christine said with a feigned sigh, sweeping long brown hair from her dainty face. Meanwhile Sasha, the youngest at sixteen, wiped the display tables and windowsills, her thin, platinum blonde eyebrows scrunched in her focussed state. The three girls looked similar in face, each inheriting the perfect lips and innocent, pale faces reminiscent of their mother. However Viola and Christine shared brown hair, while Sasha's was silvery blonde. Moreover, Viola and Sasha's eyes were luminous blueish green, while Christine's were gray. Each of the girls sported loose petticoats of varying colors with matching corsets and blouses. The prevailing color of Viola's outfit was brown, Christine's was forest green, and Sasha's was crimson.
Although their shop was in an upper scale section of the village, business was scarce these days. The girls couldn't afford more expensive textiles, whereas the other tailors in town could. The trio made only enough profit to keep from starvation. It would seem that they wouldn't have the shop for too much longer however, and their livelihood would rest in the hands of fate.
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Claude Sebastion walked down the dirt trail, carry a heavy looking sack cloth over one shoulder. He wore a leather jerkin over an open collared white shirt with billowy sleeves that exposed much of his acrobatic chest. His brown breeches were tucked into black knee-length, deerskin boots. He hummed a drinking song, a cocky smile plastered across his face. He nodded to a young lady as he passed, flashing an even wider, wolffish grin.
Now few could deny that the young man was handsome. He had auburn hair, almost brunette, a few shades darker than blood, and green eyes the color of spring grass. He had a thin face and elegant features, with innocent looking eyes and mischievous eyebrows. At only nineteen years of age, he was already quite accomplished when it came to wooing the women.
He was also an accomplished thief. In the bag so carefully slung over his shoulder rested three sets of earrings, a wedding band, two golden nuggets, and a pure silver dagger. The perks of being attractive were many; Claude knew that more than most. Of course, he'd payed the consequences more than most as well.
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In a sprawling castle on a mount, overlooking the fair village, a beautiful young woman admired herself in the mirror. With pale skin, ebony hair, deep red lush lips, and a smooth, heart shaped face, one might argue she was the image of perfection. She wore but a petal pink silk slip which accented her womanly curves.
Silently, in a sing-song voice, she whispered an incantation. In the mirror, a figure seemed to emerge, as if from water. The figure was draped from head to toe in a wispy, translucent veil which flowed as if lifted by some unknown breeze. The wearer of the veil was a young man with an equally perfect, heart shaped face. His snow white flesh could have been made from ivory. His eyes were sunken and teardrop shaped, showing immense innocence and sadness. His lips were a light red; Cupid's bow in shape. His hair was pure white, his eyes ice blue. He seemed to glow the blue color of light which passes through a glacier.
He wore no shirt, exposing his malnourished form: protruding ribs, sharp shoulder bones, prominent collar bones. His chest showed no blemish or scarring, not a single freckle appeared on the entirety of his body. His legs were covered by brown cotton breeches, his feet bare.
As soon as the woman completed her spell, the boy stepped through the mirror into the room as if it were simply an open window. Cold seemed to emanate from the youth as a knelt before the woman, head hanging low.
"What is your bidding, my mistress?"
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Nicu had sat in his cell for too long. Locked in the Queen's personal dungeon, Nicu had been torn from his sister after the two had been caught in the royal forest. They had been with their caravan and had been left behind after a night's rest. Lost in the woods, Nicu and Talitha thought they had been saved when the squadron of guardsmen found them not too far from the village. Branded as trespassers the duo had been taken back to the castle to await Queen Seriphema's judgement.
When word reached Nicu's cell that Talitha was being released with a warning, he could not help but sigh in relief. Nothing could tear the bond between the brother in sister. Both had wavy brown hair and tan flesh. Nicu's rugged looks caught the eyes of many maidens who admired his strong jaw and dark brow. His blackish blue eyes seemed to spell adventure and excitement, as opened to his sister's kindly, laid back personality. She had full lips and a dainty nose. With doll-esque looks, the only imperfection about her was a scar trailing horizontally across the bridge of her nose from a hunting accident.
As Nicu thought of his sister, he shivered a little, hugging his bare arms together. He wore only an open vest for a top, showing his athletic physique from years of wandering and hunting for survival. His pants were torn in the knees from being dragged and thrown on the journey to his temporary prison.
Broken from his reverie by the sounds of footsteps, Nicu stood and rushed to the bars of his cell. "Come, gypsy boy. Her Highness awaits," said the grizzled guardsman.
Manhandled from his cell, the twenty year old half walked, half stumbled along dark and cold passageways. It was as if the Queen hated light; torches were a rarity in the cavernous hallways of the fortified palace. Finally the pair made their way to a colossal set of wooden doors, engraved with elaborate designs fit for royalty. The first thing Nicu noticed when the door was opened was the towering throne in the center of the room an expanse away. The second thing he noticed was the person standing beside the throne, looking distressed and frantic, tears streaming down her face. Talitha.
