My hands dig into the earth. I sigh as I tear the brown material apart, trying to root out the vegetables I've been growing. The sun is a pleasant warmth on my back and I smile as it warms my body. For England is always cold, mostly , and it rains all the time, but do I love my country.

Once I've torn out the vegetable I stand up, ready to go back to my small house. It's small and it's cosy, but I don't mind, it's enough for me. My aunt once said a woman has no prospects without a husband. Yet, look at me, I am 23 and live on my own, seeing to my own needs.

I step inside my house, drop the basket on the table when a blue strip of cloth catches my eye. An immediately I am brought back to my past, my childhood with my cousin Isolde.

-"Yseult !" Ysolde, my cousin, smiles as she takes hold of my hand. -" Let's play princess and knight. " I grin. -"Okay."

-" You be the knight!" I frown at her words. -" I don't want to bet he knight."

Ysolde puts her hands on her side and then her eyes brighten. " I'll play the princess first and then we'll switch." I smile and both of us run outside.

Even as a child, my cousin Ysolde was beautiful. Her hair is a golden blonde that glimmers in the sunlight. Her hair hangs long into beautiful loose curls down her back. Her face is white as snow, and her eyes are the blue of the sky. Her lips are pink and pretty and even now she turns heads everywhere. I'm kind of proud of having such a beautiful cousin.

Me? Well, my mother, lady Isenna, is, or rather was Ysolde mother's sister. Since they got along so well and we were born with the same hair colour, they decided to name us alike. My aunt named her child Ysolde and I was namedYseult.

There is a little difference though, between us. My aunt married a rich man while my mother though from noble blood, fell in love with a wandering hand worker. Though they loved each other dearly, they were poor and so while Ysolde was born in a warm bed, in a room filled with warmth and candles, I was born in a small broken house, where the sun brought the only warmth.

I'm different I'm not as beautiful as Ysolde, you see. I have blonde hair as well, but mine is a more light blonde, lighter then Ysolde's golden locks and my eyes are grey. My mother used to liken it to a stormy sky when it's about to rain.

I'm pale, but not the beautiful noble pale of Ysolde. The servants in my aunt's house call it " peasant pale". It is a pale colour that is not as flawless as Ysolde's skin. Also, my cheeks get a little rosy whenever it is really warm or cold. Isolde not, she stays the same pale color as porcelain, always.

But that's okay. Mother said I was like my father. Plain in looks, but with a heart of gold. Unfortunately Mother is not here anymore. She's been gone for over two years now, but I still am sad when I think about her, though I don't cry for her anymore.

-" Yseult!" Ysolde screams and I smile. I follow her into the fields.

I smile at the small ribbon and then put it away . I turn to the small fire flickering in the cornier of my small house and then put some more wood on it. I'm tired so make it an early night. But yet again, Idream of a person from so long ago even if I've not seen them in years.

It's pouring down, so I am stuck at the doorway. It irks me in a way. I'd looked forward to spent some time picking berries and nuts in the woods but it seems it will be for another day. I don't mind the rain most of the time for it holds me back from remembering my past life. Though today I can't hep i, and I stray back to when I and Ysolde first arrived in Camelot, the newly chosen base of our new king , Arthur Castus.

-" Ooh, I can't wait to see Camelot!" Ysolde gushes. She turns to me, blue eyes full of excitement. Her maid is helping her dress in a beautiful blue gown, the color of her eyes. And I , I am am contending myself with cleaning up her mess.

I love Ysolde, but with the years, the difference between us has become obviously clear. Ysolde has grown to be a beauty and I well, I look like a failed version of my cousin.

It became painstakingly clear once I fell in love with a poet. His name was Kent and he traveled the country to earn his money with songs and poems. He was not particularly beautiful but he was really charming and so I fell head over heels in love with him.

Of course I wasn't sure of his feelings for me. I had always been brought up with the fact I could not be alone with a man without a chaperone, but the time we spent, with the proper attendance of course, revealed us to be able to speak of many interests .

I was but 15 and foolish and only afterwards, when he announced at a feast his intention to marry my cousin Ysolde did I understand he only had been interested in me trying to find out more about beautiful Ysolde.

It broke my heart. Yet I was not allowed to grief. When I was in a sullen mood Ysolde said he was not worth it. How could she kow? She'd never spoken to him beforehand and had been flattered by his interest.

While I cried for my broken heart, I heard her giggle in her rooms with her maids about how he'd been interested in her.

And that was Ysolde for the most part. She needed all the attention on her, like a flower that needs sunlight. She liked attention, whether in the form of men or her family or her maids, she was used to getting attention and she liked it.

And the thing is, it didn't end there. It happened few more times and so after a failed romance or two, or rather where a romance could have bloomed I gave up.

I was always more pragmatic then Ysolde, serious most of the time and quiet, taking my task with the same seriousness I took everything in my life.

While Ysolde flounced and fluttered around in her pretty dresses and long golden hair, waking up with the cushions and sheets thrown from her bed, I stood behind her, made her sheets and bed, brushed her hair until it shone, polished her jewelry until it glittered and helped her with everything I could.

I wanted Ysolde to be happy, for even if I was bitter that my love life always seemed to cross with hers, I adored her, even if she was a self centered spoiled child at times.

-" You should wear more colors, Yseult.'' Ysolde pouted, her blue eyes looking at me and the dress I wore.

I shrugged, continuing to put away her dresses and silks. My dress was blue as well, though it was a muted dark blue without any embellishments. It was much more sturdier then Ysolde's dress with silks and ornaments.

I wore no jewelry at all and my hair in a braid pinned that went down my back. A few bronze pins holdings some of the fly aways from my face.

I sigh, waiting for the rain to stop. Eventually the drizzle is gone and I can go out. Softly humming a song while walking along a well known path in the forest, I put down my basket to pluck some berries and nuts. It is perhaps monotonous, but it helps me keep my thoughts away.

I bow forward and then a small jingle catches my ear. I turn to find a small pin on the ground. I frown, and look at it. Had I not gotten rid of all of them, especially after everything that happened? Apparently not, because it seems even here my past haunts me.

Still, I suppose I can't make make the past disappear, that I can't keep hiding any longer, so I close my eyes, reliving the first moment i came to Camelot, the first time I met him.

The stone walls are tall and I breathe a sigh of wonder at the enormous construction that surrounds us.

My breath is taken away so that I don't realize when the king and his knights have arrived. When Ysolde bows, I hurriedly follow and already i can feel the appreciating glances of the men around us.

-" What's your name, my lady? " The king adresses her directly. Ysolde blushes in pleasure.

-" My name is Ysolde , Your Highness." She bows again. and while she and the king converse, i busy myself with bringing together yet again objects she's left to fall. That girl is such an airhead sometimes, I think with a small fond grin.

-''These are my knights." The king speaks and nods to them. As he introduces them one by one, there is one of the knights that picks my interest. He is tall, with unkempt hair and a braid by his ear. Blue marks are beneath his left eye. The king introduces him as Tristan. His eyes are locked on Ysolde and with a small pang I realise he hasn't even noticed me.

-" Are you with any famil here?" The queen, Guinevere, politely inquires. Ysolde nods.

-'' I"m here with my cousin, your grace." Their eyes flicker around but do not seem to find what they seek for. -" Your cousin? I don't see anyone."

I step, forward, box with Ysolde's trinkets still in hand. -" I'm here, Your Highness. My name is Yseult." They size me up and immediately I can see them make the difference between me and Ysolde. I smile and then quickly turn to my cousin, already used to the mocking glances i receive. -" Ysolde, I will bring your belongings to your room."

She nods and watches me go as I hurriedly get away, still feeling eyes of a certain knight on me.

That evening, after Ysolde is settled in, I walk outside, ready to get refreshments when I bump into someone. He is rather tall and my nose hurts so I hiss and blink the tears in my eyes away. To my surprise it is the knight, Tristan. He syas nothing only, looks at me.

-" Hrrm, I'm sorry." I say. -" I didn't see you there." I hear the door of Ysolde's room open up behind me. -" Yseult, brush my hair, please?" Ysolde appears in the doorway and immediately his attention is drawn to her. -" Oh, who are you?" She says in a soft breathy whisper.

-" My name is Tristan." He says, and I can't help but feel my pulse going up at his raspy but deep voice. I turn to look at them and it strikes me how good they would be together, as a couple.

I swallow harshly and close my eyes.

A sigh leaves me as I throw the pin away. My heart pounds loudly in my ears and I grit my teeth, feeling tears well up in my eyes.

Old anger, old fury, old grief comes to the surface and I pound my fist into the ground. A breaking branch catches my attention from my ordeal and to my surprise a small rabbit is seated not far from me. It's nose goes quickly in fear and it's eyes are wide.

I wonder for a moment why it doesn't move, my anger and memories forgotten. Then I spy blood on it's body. Any other living n the woods would kill it and eat it's flesh.

But I don't.

I take the rabbit in my hands, wrap a piece of my selfmade apron around it and then start walking back the way I came, the pin with the silver bell attached to it in the sun, still glittering in the sun.

Once home, I dress the rabbit's wound and lay it on a pice of warm cloth and give it water and milk. Once she's better I let her jump around and decide to call her Rosemary. Though I let her go free but she comes back the next morning and refuses to leave my side. After that, she accompanies me everywhere I go and her sweet presence heals my grief for something I will never have.