Author's note: I own everything except for the basic archetype of the story and the idea of making ladies' shoes out of glass. Review and I will post more. If you love it, tell me why, if you hate it tell me why. I know there is a lot of my writing to fix... Enjoy the brattiness (now that is an offical word!!!) of Isabelle! If you want to read more, then please review!
Wolf-Maiden
Chapter 1
Isabelle had slept late that morning, curled in her bed which stood near the fireplace in one of the back rooms. Her parents had berated her for delaying their breakfast, which had put her into a dark mood. When Isabelle was going to pull out her embroidery, her mother had asked her to bring a pot of soup to one of the ailing widows in the village. Isabelle Fernette stomped down the path to the village, determined to be finished with the errand her mother sentenced her to. Why wasn't Lady Fernette doing it herself? She had more than enough time and help from the servants, or could have sent her smaller brother Antoine to do this.
Isabelle Fernette lived in the manor at the top of the hill overlooking the village. She was the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Fernette, who had been childless for many years. They doted on Isabelle and her younger siblings, Antoine and Marie. Isabelle had not only inherited her slight build from her father, but also his chestnut brown hair and fiery temper. Isabelle had the delicate, pale face of her mother, her bright blue eyes, and her sense of elegance and aristocracy. Isabelle's nose was straight and her complexion fairly clear. She had the best of everything life had to offer and this often went to her head.
"Why did mama have to send me," she muttered, slipping on a stone with an irate grunt. Isabelle kicked the offending rock into the weeds that lined the narrow path. The little trail went in switchbacks from one side to the other of the hill on which the Fernette's manor stood. After a hearty walk, Isabelle arrived at the village.
The houses nearest the hill were the best, with neatly thatched roofs, shuttered windows and smartly painted doors. They belonged to the craftsmen who worked in the village and a few gentlemen farmers with land nearby. Well-dressed people bustled through the streets, all pausing from their business to nod to Isabelle as she strode by. Some young girls were sitting on the doorstop of a house playing with their wooden dolls. The boys were all inside the schoolmaster's house being educated whether they wanted to be or not. As Isabelle came to the end of the main street, the tidy houses descended into shacks in a haphazard arrangement that defied orderly streets. Some boys rushed by her as they chased the neighborhood strays. Few people were outside for most of the poorer citizens worked in the fields during the day. Isabelle paced determinedly down the streets according to her mother's directions.
When Isabelle found the correct shack, she rapped on the splintered door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a girl not much younger than Isabelle. The girl's sunken, glassy eyes dropped to gaze at the floor when she realized who was calling. The girl's long, tangled hair was half-tumbling out of her worn brown cap which clashed with her faded blue overdress and grey chemise.
"Thank you for coming, Madame," she said hoarsely. "Mama is very sick."
Isabelle entered the hut, squinting in the dim light. There was a pile of blankets on which laid a pallid woman who, Isabelle guessed, was near the age of thirty. The woman was very plain, but her despairing eyes told a million simple tales of the little tragedies that mold or break a soul. Five children huddled around their mother, the older ones comforting the toddlers.
"I brought some soup," Isabelle said plainly as she tried not to breath in the putrid odors of the hut. The eldest girl took the pot and set it on the rough table that stood in one corner.
"We thank you," the girl said, expressionless.
"I shall see," Isabelle began with as kindly as she was able, "If my mother can spare a little time tomorrow to come down and see you."
"Merci," the girl replied, as Isabelle walked out of the door. "May you be blessed with good health, Madame." The girl was staring at the ornate hem of Isabelle's dress with obvious envy. A cold wind blew between the huts, causing the girl to shiver. Before she knew what she was doing, Isabelle shrugged her thick cloak off of her shoulders and shoved it into the girl's hands.
"Madame," she said, stricken, "What are you doing?"
"Take it," Isabelle commanded, "Do not lie to me about desiring this. It is yours."
"Madame, why, thank you," she said, reverently stroking the fabric with the tip of one finger.
"You are welcome," Isabelle said coldly. "Good day." She hastily passed through the village and to the trail which led to the manor. She was so relieved to be away from the sickness and poverty that even the harsh wind had become a comfort. Isabelle longed to be back in her warm home knitting herself thick stockings or, at the worst, patching the farmhands' shirts. At home, she would be among her equals and able to forget about the poor. Why had Isabelle given away her cloak like that? Isabelle grumbled as she was assaulted by the cold.
Half-way up the hill ahead of her, Isabelle spotted an old, haggard woman pushing a cart. Isabelle groaned. Perhaps she could move past the old woman when the path widened as it turned to switch back across the steep rise. Isabelle rushed along the trail which was cut into the earth. It seemed that the closer the girl came to the old woman, the slower the hag moved. When Isabelle was directly behind her, the woman stopped, panting. She had on a long, brown dress, tied at the waist with a cord, and a grimy red kerchief. The wagon that she pushed was filled with turnips and onions as wrinkled as the hag's face.
"Step aside now, woman," Isabelle said archly, "so that I may pass."
"What was that?" The hag asked, gesturing to her ear.
"Move aside," Isabelle raised her voice, exasperated. "Let me pass."
"I am rather deaf," the woman said with effort.
"Step out of my way," Isabelle cried. "I have no time to wait for you to stump along like a demented troll. Move!"
The old woman turned and stared at the girl with growing anger. Isabelle straightened to her full height to meet the hag's gaze. A moment passed before the old woman spoke.
"I was like you once…it cost me my happiness," she added bitterly.
"There is nothing wrong with the way that I am," Isabelle said icily. She edged along the path, trying to pass the old woman.
"You are wrong. You are as unkind as a wolf when it chooses its prey." Rage filled the hag's dark eyes. "Go, and change before it is too late for you to be saved." Fire flew from the hag's fingers and Isabelle collapsed onto her hands and knees in pain.
"Other people's lives matter as much as your own…" The hag's voice trailed off as she faded into a stupor.
***
"Have you, by chance," Lady Fernette asked her husband as he tramped out to the stables, "seen Isabelle?"
"Non, I have not," Lord Fernette replied, slapping a saddle on the back of the horse that the stable boy held.
"I sent her down into the village this morning with food for the widow and she has not yet returned."
"Worry not," Lord Fernette said from beneath his horse. He fastened the girth strap and stood up. "Isabelle is probably just sulking. I will be out hunting this afternoon and I shall keep an eye out for her. She will be back by tonight, my dear." Lord Fernette led his horse outside of the stable and sprang onto its back. Although he was in his late forties, he was surprisingly strong and agile. He waved a last time to his wife and headed off toward the village. As he rode down the path, he spotted a dark speck on the steep hillside.