This is the first part of the long epic "Quintessence of Life", a long and captivating epic about love, hatred, politics, treachery, and mysteries. This part is called "Mysteries of the Past".
The part "Mysteries of the Past" begins in S2E10. Torn between Robin and Guy, Marian marries Guy during the siege of Nottingham, when, surrounded by Prince John's army, she thinks that they won't survive the siege. Robin, Guy, and Marian have to unmask the mysteries of the past and untangle the triangle of love and hatred. The Black Knights actively plot to kill King Richard and take over England.
The main characters are Robin and Guy.
If you choose to read this story/novel, I think you will like it. Yet, if you are an extremely devoted fan of any pairing (Robin/Marian or Guy/Marian), then you may find it somewhat difficult to accept the fact that, in spite of marrying Guy, Marian is torn between Robin and Guy, as it was on the show in the end of season 2.
The plot is largely focused on the political aspect of Robin Hood's cause – fighting for England and King Richard. The second part of Season 2 was largely about Robin's efforts to save the king and defeat the Black Knights, and this story has a similar plotline. Robin is portrayed as the king's man and the people's hero, but anyway more as the king's man.
The love component includes Robin/Marian, Guy/Marian, Will/Djaq, and some other relationships. The love triangle of Marian, Robin Hood, and Guy of Gisborne is analyzed in details through actions and thoughts of the characters.
The plot is not absolutely historically accurate. Nevertheless, there are many events from history, like the end of the Third Crusade and King Richard's captivity. Some historical events are changed for fictional purposes.
There is no character bashing in this story/novel. No character is placed on a pedestal, even Robin. I am not hostile to any particular character and try to be fair to Robin, Guy, Marian, the sheriff, and other characters. I am trying to portray everyone more or less closer to the reality (what we had on the show). Yet, some actions/situations may be interpreted as out-of-character, but this is alternative reality and fiction, and there can be some deviations from an original portrayal/case.
Please be aware that there are scenes of violence and bloodshed. There are also extremely sensitive scenes, very emotional and dramatic.
Reviews are appreciated. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I would be very grateful if you find a minute to write a review. I only ask you to be polite and tolerant as I believe that if people begin to criticize the story without explaining what they dislike, it creates unhealthy tension.
Undoubtedly, I don't own the characters and the show. I hope you will enjoy reading "Mysteries of the Past".
Quintessence of Life
Part 1
Mysteries of the Past
Prologue
The hour of sunset in Sherwood Forest was still and lonely, blazing in gold, red, and green. The young sandy-haired man stalked slowly through the woods, where he had spent the gladsome minutes of his childhood and boyhood together with Marian of Knighton and Much, strolling lazily along serpentine paths, listening to the gentle murmur of trees and the sweet singing of birds. This man was Robin Hood, in his old life known as Sir Robin James Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon and Lord of Locksley.
Robin stopped and looked around, searching for a familiar path to his favorite place Sherwood. His pale blue eyes were empty, without a flicker of mischief or a sparkle of joy. Dressed in a brown satin tunic and green trousers, his slender figure blended into the green surroundings. His face was ghostly pale, and a gorgeous mane of sandy-colored hair looked bright gold in the last glow of the setting sun. The outlaws waited for him in the camp, but he didn't want to meet them today.
He crossed the clearing and stopped near the meadow where he had often seated with Marian in a tight, affectionate embrace. He stared at the tree as if he were mesmerized, hungry for the vision of a certain form and the sound of a certain voice. But there was no one there – he was alone in the woods, together with his pain and sorrow, and Marian wasn't going to come to him. Now the only interest he could spare from being in this place, or rather from a symphony of his old dreams that would never come true, was a painful reminder of what could have been and what he had lost.
He shut his eyes to block the images in his mind; the despondency of his heart was depicted in his countenance. "Goodbye forever, my love," he murmured as he opened his eyes. "I remember the night when I kissed you for the first time; we stood here, under this tree, then. It felt so well, so true, and so natural – it was Heaven." He swallowed heavily. "We parted our ways here so long ago when you broke our engagement. But we were so happy here after our reconciliation." His eyes stung, and he blinked back tears. "Now all these moments seem so far-away, as if they were just a sweet dream."
The red evening flame vanished from the summits of the trees, and the woods were almost in shadows. The late summer forest was beautiful, but the serenity of woodland didn't interest Robin Hood. The wind gusted through the trees, signing a dirge about the death of the love of Robin Hood and Maid Marian. The sound of this sorrowful, plangent symphony echoed through Robin's head like a shout across a valley of death and destruction, and there was a feeling of rain in the air which would drive in gusts on the forest.
A distraught Robin sat down on the grass, leaning back against the trunk of a meadow. He felt depleted, and all his strength was scattered in fits of agitation, of struggle, of despondency, and of agony most of all. His mind was burning feverishly with the images of the most tragic day in his life – the image of Gisborne holding Marian's hand and informing him about their wedding. Although it still seemed unreal, Robin knew that his romance with Marian was over, and he prayed that God would give him the strength to survive his heartbreak. Robin had lost Marian, and she was now Guy of Gisborne's wife.
He stared into the emptiness, his eyes vacant and luminous blue with tears. The thought that Marian had married the man who had attempted regicide and who had almost killed him filled his entire being with revulsion and hatred. The vision of Marian and Guy standing together, their hands entwined, came to his mind as an unbearable emotional pain ripped through him. All that prevented him from collapsing was his knowledge that England and King Richard needed him. His expression was a personification of agony, as if he were a man felt thrilled at the prospect of dying to stop his suffering.
A sudden flaring of the afterglow of sunset filled the landscape with lights and shadows, yellow, orange, blue, and black, like the radiance of the darkening sky. Robin shut his eyes and dragged a deep breath, and held it for a long, long time. His eyes stung with tears, and the sunset suddenly wavered behind the blur of tears. Failing to banish bitter thoughts from his mind, he lowered his chin to his chest and gave free rein to his feelings, and several tears, salty and burning, slid down his cheeks.
He tried to breathe in and out deeply to release some of the pent-up stress in his system, but the air could barely squeeze through the constriction of his throat. For a moment, Robin hated Sherwood and England; he hated his life, King Richard, his friends, and even God; he hated himself, his convictions and his choices. And yet, he knew that he would have never acted differently even if he had been granted a chance to change his life. He clenched his fists, and his nails bit into his palms. A funereal numbness overcame him, and he feared to move, to speak, and even to blink.
It was a moment of more strong pain and intense bitterness than Robin had ever felt before. "Marian," he whispered as if she could hear him, his chest heavy with pain. "How could you marry this traitor after everything we have been through together?" Why have you betrayed our love? Did you want to hurt me by marrying him like I hurt you when I left for the war?" There was a pressure in his heart that made it difficult to speak, and he trailed off. "Marian, you killed me! Do you hear me? You killed me!"
The utter stillness of the forest greeted him, and Robin squeezed his eyes shut, as if it could save him from his heartache. He was too frightened and too confused, rhythms of agony spreading through his body in waves as his mind replayed today's events again. The desolate silence augmented Robin's distress, heightening his emotions and sharpening his senses. Fresh tears came and rolled down his cheeks, but he didn't even brush them away and let them fall. The world was so unfair, ugly, and hateful, and there was no place for kindness, trust, and truth there.
The sun was low, and the tall trees sent their shadows across the clearing, but Robin wanted darkness to blanket Nottingham and him, as if it could take away all his hurt and pain. His heart was bleeding like a large open wound, his soul was devastated, his dreams and hopes were shattered. Yet, for whatever reason, he felt that his life was not over, as if someone were whispering words of consolation into his ear in a voice full of kindness and tenderness, imploring him to break through the thick fog of fear and pain. But his grief was so great that his pain blocked his perception of voices and sentiments, leaving him almost numb.
Despite a rainstorm brewing, Robin decided not to spend the night in the outlaws' camp. He was so absorbed in his grief that he lost track of time, and soon the darkness descended upon the forest. He raised his eyes to Heaven and studied the clouds driving across the sky. He felt the cool dampness of a cold rain on his face, and drops of rain mingled with his own tears. He knew that it would rain during the whole night, but he didn't care that he would be soaked to the bone.
He rose to his feet and ran his eyes across the clearing, having difficulty to believe that he was alone in this place, but it was real and he had to accept that. There were many other things he had to take care of, but he had no strength to fight anymore, which brought him to utter hopelessness in his own power and in himself. His desperation suggested a resource, and he lowered his head and fixed his gaze on his sheathed scimitar. The weapon belonged to the first Saracen whom he had killed in the Holy Land, and he kept the weapon in commemoration of his first killing in a bloody battle.
Death at his own hand suddenly seemed a blessing and a way to plunge into oblivion which his heart craved so desperately. Robin unsheathed his sword, looking at that blade and thinking how many people had died at the murderous penetration of Damascus steel into human flesh. He went still, completely still, staring at the blade for what seemed an eternity. He wanted to finish his own life with one strike.
The blood mounted to his face and neck, and he looked almost angry as he dropped the weapon to the ground. He made up his mind – he wouldn't surrender to despair. He loathed himself for his weakness as he permitted himself to think of taking his own life. A feeling of revulsion was so strong and painful in his mind that the tears welled up and flowed abundantly, and he gave himself a word that he would never allow himself to think of that again. It was not in his character to give up and surrender.
If Marian betrayed him and their love, then Robin would live for England, King Richard, the people, and his friends. He was betrayed by the only woman he had ever loved, but he wasn't alone in the world – his friends and many other people loved and needed him. Robin Hood had a magnanimous soul and a kind heart. He was a fighter for justice and peace, for what he believed in, though he knew that his dreams would always be illusions.
Robin wasn't an utter fool, and he understood that his mission to save England was doomed to failure from the beginning – he could save only some innocents and the king, as well as give the people hope for the brighter and better future. Such thoughts were painful for Robin, but they had suddenly entered his mind in the past months of his struggle with Sheriff Vaisey and Guy of Gisborne. But he had never told anyone of his grievous musings, for it would mean the death of Robin Hood and his cause.
"My life is not over, and I will survive. It is not a good time to die, for King Richard and England need me and the sheriff hasn't been defeated yet," Robin said aloud, trying to instill more confidence in himself. His cheeks burnt with shame at the thought of what he had just wanted to do to himself, thinking that he was an utter fool to admit a thought about suicide. "I will forget her. I will move on. She is nothing to me. She doesn't deserve my love and devotion."
Robin stayed in the clearing for the whole night. He lay on his back under the meadow, his eyes tightly shut. The darkness and stillness cloaked him in a deep slumber, and he couldn't help but dream about the clouds of dust, the crimson sand, the clang of swords, the clamor of battles, and the smell of blood and death which were an essential part of his life since he had turned eighteen.
Although physically Robin was in the forest, his mind transported him many hundreds of miles away, to Acre, into another reality – to the time when he had served as captain of King Richard's private guard. In his dream, he could see himself dressed in a white Crusader tunic and a silver chainmail as he stormed out of his tent, realizing that there was an unexpected attack on the king's camp despite the ceasefire. It was again the dream about the fateful Saracen attack when Robin had been grievously wounded by the masked Saracen – Guy of Gisborne, his sworn enemy since childhood.
Robin shuddered in his fitful sleep. In his dream, he could see himself in a crouched position on the sand, shooting arrows with deadly accuracy at the Saracen assassins. He managed to kill four of them before the moment of his demise came. Then he could feel a light touch of someone's hand on his shoulder, and then the sharp, violent pain in his left side coursed through him as the cold edge of the blade sliced his flesh deeply through his ribs, not piercing his heart only by a miracle.
Even though he lay upon the green grass, Robin felt as if the ground were the blood-soaked sand, which was usually cold during desert nights. He winced as he saw himself tumble to the sand and felt hot, thick blood slipping slowly out of his body. He could almost hear Much's anguished cries as his friend rushed to him and knelt by his side to inspect his injury. Robin writhed in agony as if he were still tormented by the searing, white-hot pain in his side and dizziness sweeping over him.
Visions changed, and now Robin dreamt of the tall, muscular Saracen standing above the king's sleeping figure, with a sword in his hands, ready to strike a fatal downward blow. He dreamt of fighting with Guy, lunging at him and parrying his blows, then swinging his sword in a deadly arc and making a deep cut on his enemy's forearm. The vision of a black wolf's head tattoo on Guy's forearm was an easily recognizable thing, appalling and causing nausea to stir in the pit of his stomach.
Robin awoke from his nightmare with a loud scream, cold sweat dripping from his forehead, his heart racing. He always awoke at the moment when he sliced Guy's forearm and caught a glimpse of a black wolf's head tattoo on Guy's skin. He dragged a deep, excruciating breath, then brushed away strands of his wet hair from his forehead.
He lifted his shirt and traced his fingers along his left side, where Guy had wounded him more than two years ago. He gasped sharply as his hand touched his hideous scar, stark against his side even after more than two years. He closed his eyes against the remembered pain and fear he had felt on the night of the Saracen attack when Guy had plunged his dagger into him. He had saved the king on that night, but he had failed to kill Gisborne, which made his victory hollow. Before the scar had been a tantalizing reminder of his perceived failure to punish the king's would-be assassin for an attempt on his liege's life, but now it became an everlasting symbol of his ruined life and hopes.
Robin's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up. The sun had already set behind the trees, which were still gilded with a russet reflection. The rain had ceased more than an hour before, and a thick crescent moon hung in the sky. He banned himself from thinking of death. It was not his time to die. King Richard and England and the people needed him. He had a mission to fulfill, and he wouldn't fail.
§§§
At Locksley Manor, Sir Guy Crispin Fitzcorbet of Gisborne lay on a wide mahogany bed hung with heavy green and golden curtains, several striped cushions spread across soft white sheets. On his wedding night, he was alone in his bedroom: Marian was sleeping in another room as she asked him to wait with the consummation of their marriage.
Guy tossed and turned in his bed, muttering something unclear in Norman-French under his breath, as if he were feverish and incoherent. He was plagued by nightmares since his boyhood – since the tragic day of the fire at Gisborne Manor, when Roger of Gisborne, Ghislaine of Gisborne, and Malcolm of Locksley had died in the red flames that had destroyed his life. He had long resolved to stop fighting off his nightmares, and every night he was tormented by demons of the past that were slowly killing him.
Tonight Guy's dreams started from the vision of the burning Gisborne Manor, the orange flames licking every crack and cranny of the building. He dreamed of Bailiff Longthorn and the crowd of infuriated people who set the fire at the façade of the manor, blocking all the ways for the trapped people to escape. His heart thundered an uneven beat as the bailiff's voice commanding to burn everything to ashes resonated in his mind; he could hear the bailiff's accusation of murdering his own parents and the final verdict to banish him and his sister Isabella from Locksley.
Soon Guy was gripped by the dream about the Saracen attack on the king's camp; he often had the same dream after his return from Acre. He could see himself running across the sandy dunes, a group of the Saracen assassins following him. Visions crowded his mind: the disguise of Saracens, the monotonous sandy dunes, the bitter cold of desert night, the fetid odor of blood in the air, the attack on the king's camp, a clang of swords - everything so real, as if he were back on the battlefield of Acre. Yet, all the images of the attack were blending into one man's face – Robin of Locksley's face.
Every muscle of his tired body tensed as his mind reproduced the image of himself heading to the place where Robin crouched on the sand and was firing arrows at the assassins, killing them one by one. Guy shifted on his bed, stretching his long legs across the sheets. He could feel his blood boiling with anger, his heart seized with unlimited bloodlust. Guy stiffened as he envisioned moving towards his target from the back, putting a hand on Robin's shoulder, and then plunging his dagger into Robin's left side. In the next moment, Guy heard Robin's scream of pain and saw his enemy tumble to the ground.
The slow stream of images of the Saracen attack played out in his mind. Guy envisioned himself running to the king's tent and standing near the king's bed. But for some strange reason he paused, hesitating to do the evil dead, his heart hammering harder in excitement mingled with doubt and fear. He recalled Sheriff Vaisey's words that hesitation at a crucial moment because of misplaced sensibilities and conflicting emotions could cause failure of a sacred mission.
And yet, Guy continued standing near the king's bed, the darkness and the light fighting in his heart and soul. Perhaps he still possessed a shred of little honor, which made him loath to cross the line and kill the king. But he had no choice, for he needed the king's death to gain absolute power and enormous wealth. His life and future depended on the success of his mission in Acre, and he steeled himself against a feeling of pity for the king who didn't deserve his throne.
A loud, desperate voice calling for King Richard pierced Guy's dreams, and then the tantalizing image of Robin running into the tent, his Saracen curved sword flashing silver in the darkness, came to his mind. Guy groaned at the memory of his feelings – bewilderment, amazement, fear, and dread. He didn't expect Robin to be alive after he had stabbed him, and he feared that he had to fight with the king's legendary captain for a chance to flee and possibly even for his own life. And yet, oddly enough he felt released from importuning doubt, and he was relieved that he didn't kill Richard.
A frightened Guy gave a howl of pain and dread, and his body started shaking, his eyelids twitching. In his dreams, he was transfixed with horror at the touch of cold steel slashing his sleeve. He could almost feel the sudden, fierce pain shooting through his flesh as Robin's sword sliced his forearm. He suppressed a shiver as his hand automatically went to his forearm, the fingers of the other clenching into the folds of his night robe that clung tightly to his body. And then he was running from the king's tent, being chased by the Crusaders, running faster and faster, knowing that if he was captured, he would die.
He awoke with a jerk, his heart pounding, his mouth dry with fear, a terrible feeling of dread oppressing her. His entire body was shaking with fear and rage. He glanced around, feeling a cold shiver progressing up his back. He slept in the master bedroom which had once been occupied by Malcolm of Locksley. That thought sent a wave of nausea from his stomach to his throat, and he swallowed hard. Since Guy had moved in Locksley, he never felt that he was at his own home, for the memories of Robin were in every room and in every corner of the manor.
Guy turned his head and stared into the glowing, golden flames of the candles on the bedside table. His glossy raven hair shone in the candlelight. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a long time and then exhaled sharply. He took another deep breath, trying to relax, but after feeling a dread of that magnitude it was difficult to regain composure. His breath rasped harsh in his throat, his heart skipped a beat, and he shook his head, blinking the sweat from his eyes.
The Saracen attack was engraved in his memory forever. "Will I ever forget about the Saracen attack? Why does every night I have the same dream?" Guy asked himself, clueless why he always became so anxious when he thought of his failure in Acre. "Why do I feel that I did a wrong thing when I went to Acre? Why do I feel relieved that I didn't kill the king?" He failed to find an explanation, and his anxiety morphed into a hot rage, which, however, quickly abated.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to think of the Saracen attack. He concentrated instead on the recent events, feeling elated at the thought that he had taken everything from Robin and had completed his plan of revenge for the years of living in poverty in Normandy, for insults and humiliation he endured from Vaisey, and for all the misery in his life. He had won the battle with Robin, and he smiled with dark pleasure, thinking of the pain he had caused his archenemy.
He smiled with grim satisfaction as he imagined Robin going mad and suffering in the cold forest on Marian's wedding night. "Mourn the loss of your love, Hood! Mourn and suffer and weep if you can weep," he said, as if he were talking to Robin. His heart pounded harder in delight, for thoughts about Robin's pain made him happy. "You lost her, Hood! I defeated you today!"
Yet, Guy knew that his present happiness was an illusion, behind the delightful facade there was an increasing sense of anxiety and great worry, which were ripping through his gut as he considered all that could go wrong. If he was honest with himself, he feared that he didn't win the final battle with Robin, including the fight for Marian's heart. Guy cursed under his breath, exhaling in a sigh of frustration and nervousness. He felt fear shredding his heart with every tumultuous beat.
He touched the place on his right forearm where Robin's sword had injured him on the night of the Saracen raid. When he came back from Acre, his black wolf's head tattoo was still there and there was a scar across it. But on the feast to celebrate the king's birthday Robin Hood had ripped open his sleeve and had discovered his tattoo; later Vaisey had burnt it off with a special acid. Guy also didn't forget the day when Robin had come so close to murdering him in the woods and they had fought like two possessed men; later the sheriff had only added him more pain.
Guy laughed, the sound reverberating throughout the chamber. "Well done! I took everything from Robin Hood. I avenged the disgrace and plight of the Gisborne family," he told himself, his mouth curving in a poisonously sweet smile. "Marian married me, and now she is my wife. Hood lost her, and that's exactly what he deserves. She is only mine – she will never be Hood's again."
Guy turned his gaze at the window that wasn't draped with curtains whatsoever. The rain had apparently stopped, and only a few thin clouds appeared moving swiftly over the wide, dark expanse of the sky. Yet, the wind continued rising and the moan of the forest increased to a roar. There was the inky darkness outside, for the moon disappeared behind the clouds, perhaps only to reappear blooming in some other spot, in some distant parts of the forest.
All of a sudden, impotent fury swept through Guy with the swiftness of a winter squall. He had to beat back the memories of agony, pain, darkness, and misery. He swallowed heavily, again haunted by the sensation that the events of this day didn't make him happy and didn't give him relief either. Marian plastered a fake smile on her face, but he knew that her smile was only a feeble attempt at the expression a good wife should wear. He told himself that he shouldn't be having such thoughts, yearnings, and doubts, but his gut feeling told him that his concern wasn't groundless.
His feelings for Marian were something wonderful and more special than anything he had ever experienced in the darkness he had lived in since he had met Vaisey. Nevertheless, a part of him ached with the strange feeling that his relationship with Marian was only for a time, not forever, although now they were legally married. He feared that they would fail to make their marriage something more than pretense, for the shadow of the great Robin Hood was still lurking between them.
He shook his head and shuddered. The image of Robin's face on the day of the fire came to his mind. He could still remember Robin's vulnerable and frightened face, his enemy's gaze full of pain and fear, his little voice asking about his father's fate, every word echoing with husky, persistent entreaty and sheer horror, which had captured Guy's attention. He wondered why he remembered Robin's scared face so often, as if fate were mercilessly toying with him, refusing to grant him a desirable oblivion.
"God help me forget the past," Guy said to himself in a pleading voice. His gaze slid to the forearm Robin had once wounded, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest. "Why is Hood always present in my life? Will I be ever free from him?"
Fear lived in his heart. Bloody battles, torture, physical pain, injuries, mental anguish, and humiliation from the sheriff — none of these things frightened Guy as much as Robin Hood did. He dreaded to think about the day of King Richard's return, if the absentee monarch ever returned. He tried unsuccessfully to quell the fears that continued assaulting him, and the thought of his conflict with Robin Hood terrified him to the core, dread wrapping his chest like a band of steel.
"The battle is not over," Guy muttered to himself, clenching his fists, his face stiff with fury. "I should kill Hood before the king's return. One of us must die – this thief must die."
Guy looked as if he might say something more to himself, but his mouth went dry, his heart sank into his throat. He tilted his head back, his eyes fluttering shut at last under the force of his exhaustion. But just before he again drifted off to his dreams, Guy found himself smiling despite his ill temper and bad foreboding, for he had won the fight with Hood today. And yet, he felt that his fate was tied to Robin's in ways that only God and devil understood.
At the same time, Robin returned to the outlaws' camp. Not wishing to wake up his friends, he seated himself on a trunk of a tree and folded his arms over his chest, his face revealing more openly than any words how unhappy and angry he was at the moment. The idea of Gisborne living at Locksley Manor and oppressing innocent people made his skin crawl with disgust and his blood boil in anger.
"Gisborne, the fight is not over," Robin whispered into the darkness, looking up, at the dark sky. "I swear that I will win the final battle. You will pay for high treason – you are doomed to die."
Robin and Guy were dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, where any wrong word, act, and deed could cause immediate, painful retribution. There was an abyss waiting for Robin and Guy. And they could fall there and disappear as if they had never been. Their battles were like lethal dances of love and hatred – like something darker than black moonless night and more hellish than eternal damnation of a soul. The pain and hatred in the lives of Robin and Guy were an illusion that, however, was more real than reality, and the truth was the only salvation from the world of shadows.
I hope you enjoyed the prologue.
Robin is emotionally devastated, and he is trying to find something that can help him survive through heartbreak and heartache. Robin was the king's man and England's man, as well as he was the people's hero and the savior of the poor.
Guy rejoiced in his triumph over Robin as he finally married Marian and now he thinks that now he has taken everything from Robin. Yet, he feels that the fierce battle with Robin is not over.
There is a deep philosophical sense behind many words and sentences in the prologue, and you will be able to understand the meaning of some things only if you read the story.
This is the prologue to the first part of my long epic. Everything is only beginning. There are many shocking and original twists in this story. To know more, you need to start reading the epic. I hope your journey into the world of Robin Hood and his friends with this long story/novel will be pleasant and interesting.
Reviews are always appreciated, including constructive criticism.
Thank you for reading the prologue.
Yours faithfully, Penelope Clemence