Chapter 1
Amelie opened her gray eyes to the thatched roof above her. Her two older "brothers" lay snoring beside her, her younger "brother" on the other side. Wearily, she crawled from the below the warmth of there shared blanket, careful to set it back in place after her absence. Her adoptive mother and father remained asleep across the room.
Amelie grabbed her boots, and slipped out the door of the log cabin. Outside, Amelie stretched the stiffness from her muscles. The autumn air was cool and crisp, and the pastel fog banks drifted lazily along.
Amelie had lived on the Northern Coast of France for as long as she could remember. She'd been orphaned 16 years ago as a baby when the Plague had swept through their small town, and she in turn was brought to the neighboring farm. She now lived with her three "brothers," "mother" and "father," growing hearty apples and selling them in the markets on weekdays.
Amelie grabbed the empty pale laying in the dirt beside the well, and carefully lowered it into the water. She washed her face in the freezing liquid, dispersing her remaining weariness. Refreshed, she tied her hair back with a piece of twine from her apron pocket. A single red streak in her otherwise straw blond hair stubbornly refused to be held back. Amelie sighed, and resigned to tucking it behind her ear.
As Amelie began her stroll towards the family orchard, she was surprised to hear the distant thunder of hoof beats. Suddenly panicked, Amelie raced into the orchard, hoping the blossoming apples could hide her. If the hoof beats were that loud, it could only be one thing.
The English.
Eyes wide, Amelie stiffened in fright when her fears were confirmed.
Hundreds of black and brown flanks of sweaty horses came into her field of view. Men hollered to one another to maintain order, brandishing fearsome spears and swords.
Amelie had been aware for months, everyone had, that the English invasion was fate. France had engaged in another dance with England – and France was loosing. England had a plethora of ships, and could unpredictably pillage any number of French towns with no warning.
And now they were here. Amelie watched in horror as the General of the army- red cape and white horse standing out from the rest- barged right up to her family's log cabin. He knocked loudly; Amelie could hear it from the orchard.
Amelie watched as her "mother", petite and frail, came to the door. Cowering in fright once she saw who it was, she attempted to shut the door. The General stuck his foot in the door, banging it open again.
Amelie's "mother" screamed in terror as the General streamed in with four comrades, all waving swords wildly. Amelie heard her "father" roar with rage. Her "mother" screamed again, something fell, her little "brother" shrieked, glass broke, and then it was quiet.
The silence was worse than the screams.
The General came back, triumphant. He wiped blood from his crimson sword. He hastily slid it back into its sheath, grin spreading wider. He ordered his men to dismount, and gestured into the orchard where Amelie was hiding, bursting ripe with apples.
Amelie's knees finally collapsed from beneath her. She couldn't cry. She couldn't stand. She couldn't run. The English killed her family in order to pillage the orchard. And now they were going to kill her. Shaking, Amelie scrambled away –red terror coloring her vision.
She could hear the men behind her; they'd seen her, and now they were going to kill her. Amelie ran faster, adrenaline pushing her forward into the misty morning. Her breathing was ragged, her strides uneven, but she ran.
The men behind her fell further behind, heavy armor weighing the down. Amelie dared not look behind, for fear of tripping. She circled in the orchard, wanting to see her family one last time.
Just as the leaves of the apple trees were thinning, Amelie slowed. She couldn't breath. Her house was in view again, and the only thing she saw moving were the men's horses.
Everything was quiet, as if nothing had happened.
Amelie tentatively crept towards her house. Did she really want to see? No.
But she had to.
Amelie pushed the door open, smashed in on the right side where the General had pushed his way through.
Amelie fell to her knees, and the tears finally came. Everything was covered in blood. The bed, the ceiling, the floor. The woman who had cared for her since the Plague, washed her, fed her, sang her to sleep, lay draped artfully over her husband. Both stabbed through the chest, they painted an immortal picture of love. And terror. The agony was stamped to their faces, frozen in time. Her older "brother" both lay on the bed. It almost looked like they were still sleeping, except for the fact that they were dripping in crimson.
And Amelie's little "brother" was too much to look at. Beheaded, he remained suspended in horror, dead on the floor.
Amelie sobbed uncontrollably, overcome with grief. What was she going to do?
She sat there for a moment, lost in her own small world of pain.
Suddenly, she was jerked to her feet by her hair.
Amelie screamed, kicking her assaulter wildly.
She kicked something solid and was immediately dropped into the blood of her "mother." Amelie whipped around, eyes searching frantically for some kind of weapon.
The hearth poker lay disregarded nearby.
Amelie lunged for it, but her arm was crushed by a heavy boot. Pinned down, Amelie looked up into the glowering eyes of the General.
His eyes were a piercing, cold, green. Amelie flinched, squirming in discomfort. Suddenly, the General stomped on Amelie's arm, and she felt the bone break. Amelie shrieked, involuntary tears streaming afresh from her eyes. Cradling her injured arm, she scampered away from the General, further into her family's home.
"I thought you might come back here." The General spike in soft English. "Rats always come back to their nests."
Amelie whimpered, shielding herself from the man's piercing gaze with her bangs.
Stumbling to find the words, she spoke in shaky English.
"Why are you waiting? Kill me already."
The General paused in his advance, momentarily dumbfounded by her question. "You want me to kill you?" He asked.
Amelie finally looked up at him, surprised by his gentle tone. She was shocked when she looked at his face. His bloodied sword juxtaposed the youthfulness she saw in his features. He looked much to young to be a General – only a couple years older than Amelie herself at most.
Amelie shook her head, and repeated her question more firmly: "Why are you waiting? Is it so I suffer?" Amelie shakily sucked in her breath, her arm painfully throbbing.
"I don't believe in killing young girls." The General replied. "You aren't the one's England's worried about."
With a sneer, the man's tone changed again. "Of course, most army men would take a young woman like you for his own pleasure."
Amelie stiffened, reminded once again that this man was a ruthless murderer. Suddenly filled with rage, Amelie screamed at him: "You murderer! You killed my entire family, and took everything we own! You English are nothing but scrum!" Amelie spat on his boots in defiance, eyes burning with a challenge.
"Disobedient wench!" The General roared, slapping Amelie across the face. Amelie felt the blood well up inside her mouth. Suddenly, his voice dropped to a whisper again, and he crouched down low to be beside Amelie. "Words like that may change my mind girl. I can still kill you."
Amelie puckered her lips, and spat blood at his face.
He stared back at Amelie impassively, startling her.
"You know," the General deadpanned, "You've got some real nerve." Amelie stared up at him, confused. He wasn't going to punish her? Suddenly, it clicked. He really wasn't going to kill her. Yet.
"What are you going to do with me?" Amelie whispered.
"Well," the General thought, scratching his chin. "I like your spirit. You're going to come with me."
"NO!" Amelie screamed. "I'd rather die than submit to English scum! Kill me now, or I'll do it myself!" Amelie reached between the General's legs to the poker, and stuck the tip to her throat, fighting back tears.
"Wait, stop!" The General shouted. "Don't kill yourself! I spare your life, and you already want to sacrifice it?!" He hastily ripped the poker out of her grip.
Amelie stared up at him, confused beyond belief.
"You killed my family. How is my death any different than theirs? Why do you care if I die?" Amelie asked.
The Englishman signed. "This probably sounds stupid, but you remind me of my little sister."
The General hid his face with his hand, looking both embarrassed and ashamed.
'Seriously?' Amelie thought. 'Not what I was expecting.'
"Okay," Amelie stuttered. "So, you're not going to kill me...and I'm…not going to commit suicide…so…what am I doing?"
"You're going to England." The General sighed. And with that, his cruel smile returned, and Amelie was dragged over the bodies of her family, shell-shocked and terrified for her future.
Author's Note: Ha. Ha. Ha. Sorry to leave it on such a depressing note! I've written quite a few chapters for this story, and it definitely gets happier, trust me. Please review and tell me how I can improve, please?
Also, Amelie is FemFrance, I just don't like FemFrace's 'regular' human names. Sorry!