Marked
1812, England, September 7th, Stoneville Mansion
The night is cold and black; the moon a mere feeble nightlight about to be extinguished. A man stands over a crib; a baby lies there; wrapped in linen. She looks up, focusing only on her onlooker. He's stares back, his eyes glazed over in thought. Beside them is a bed with disturbed sheets and a deep crease in the pillow where a head has only just lingered. A nurse takes his place leaving the man to stand in the doorway and stare. She ignores him placing another blanket on top of the baby. Eventually he leaves them, taking one last hard look at the room before closing the heavy oak doors behind him. The nurse continues to dress the child, pausing every few minutes to take a fugitive glance at the place the man had only just occupied. She lifts the blankets one by one inspecting the child. The Baby has dark blue eyes that look like a midnight sky; her hair is a striking black that stands out against her pale skin. The nurse picks her up, cradling her head in her hands. She notice's something on the baby's shoulder… She screams putting the baby back in the crib and retreating several paces back. The man runs in, his face holding the same empty expression. He says something to the nurse; her face contorts in rage and fear as she raises a shaking hand to point at the child in fearful disgust. The man says something to her that makes her eyes grow large and the corners of her mouth turn down in a worried expression. She walks over to the crib and takes the child with a grimace walking briskly past the man; not once looking at the child…
1812, England, September 7th Marge's Camp on the Hill
The nurse was walking quickly, trying not to stumble amongst the brambles and tree stumps. "Carry'n the devils spawn throo the dark woods at night!" She cursed quietly as she stung the back of her ankle on some vicious nettles. "Bi'ena good Christian woman an' all…" She could see the Hill in the distance its dark trees surrounding it like towers on a fort. The Camp consisted of a large tent; its poles were entwined withwild vines that had crept up the thick wood over time. Various animal furs were draped over the unforgiving forest floor like a poor mimic of a rich household's carpet. A wooden chair made out of curved branches and moss stood next to a log that had been carved down to a flat surface to resemble a small table. On it were cutlery made out of twigs and bound by horse hair. The nurse slowed her pace until she stood by the opening of the tent where the warm glow of a camp fire filled the camp withflickering light. She placed the baby with a note in the entrance and then she knocked on the pole and ran.
Marge:
I saw the coward run from the tent with her skirts flying around her knees and her wispy blondehair falling out of her well pinned hair net. The baby was wrapped in a thick woollen blanket and winter clothes; the small hat was slipping down over her eyes, unable to hold back her striking hair that covered her head withthick black curls. Her face was like a china dolls, her smooth white skin contradicting her large midnight blue eyes. She didn't cry, but she stared at me intently as if she were searching my soul in deep concentration. I picked her up, cupping her small head in one hand. I kicked away the note; I had already foreseen why she had come here. I took her inside and placed in the wooden crib I had prepared. I removed the fabric covering her snow white shoulder. The dark birthmark was in the shape of an X. I stroked her face once and her eyes closed instantly. "Goodnight Constance."
18 years later…
Constance:
The night was cold and dark; I twisted my fingers as I uprooted the large oak tree and quickly turned my hands in circles, making the gusts of wind catch it before it fell. Marge said I would be ready soon. I willed the wind to swirl faster. It danced with the trees; picking up the leaves to form a wall around me. I through my arms forward, unleashing the full power of the forest to strengthen the wall. Water from the stream nearby joined me, sealing the holes in my shield. The soil thickened the water solid. Rocks and driftwood embedded themselves in the wall. Vines snaked through the ground, tying the top until no sky could be seen. Then I stopped. Clenching my hands into fists and admiring my work. The dome was several metres tall and wide enough to fit four humans lying across it. It was impenetrable. I stroked the wall. It was like rock. I smiled and raised my hand to pull it off the ground so I could get out.
I heard marge before I saw her; she was standing at the entrance of the tent calling my name with impatience, her worn hands on top of her hips and her greying flames of red hair in wisps around her face.
"CONSTANCE!" She frowned at my dirty clothes and wild black hair. "I hope you have something to show for your hours in the clearing." She said it as a threat, but her wisened face became softer as I grew a small yellow flower from the earth and placed it in her hands.
"I was making the shield." I said calmly.
"Dinner is ready." She replied. Obviously my absence would be overlooked; her frown had disapeared into the many wrinkles that lined her forehead as she pulled up a tree stump for me and herself.