(AN: So far, we haven't left the perspective of our antagonizing protagonist: this chapter will be different. There will be a brief return to the primary character because, after all, we need to see how she comes about doing...well, you'll see.)

Pyrrha's Story

1604 AD

Clean the house, that was her duty. She wasn't really that good at it, to be completely honest. Of course, there would be some reprimands, but those never ended well. She whined and said "I'm sorry!" so much that those who reprimanded her either gave up, or got so annoyed that they punished her for that rather than for her failure. So it had been for four years of her short life.

But the master was kind. If he was around when she made a mistake, he would often tell her that such things happened and give her lenience. The chief of the servants was not happy with this, but the master kept his own council and so the young girl's life was easier.

One day in October, the young girl was busy with her cleaning. Though she wasn't very good at it, it was the only thing she could really do. Her cooking was awful and she had absolutely no skill at anything that a servant would require, so she was kept where she was at, scrubbing and sweeping floors. While she was busy, the master appeared in the door-way.

"Nice work you've done," he greeted. His presence surprised the girl who jumped back with a gasp, knocking over the bucket of water she had been using to clean the floor and spilling its contents all over the floor.

"Oh, master! I...I'm sorry!" she begged.

"No need," he said. He then picked up the bucket and placed it aside, before offering her his hand and helping her to her feet.

"Thank you, master." she said, eyes averted.

"Please, call me Jurgis," he returned.

"Yes, maste...I mean, Jurgis." she stammered. "If you please, I must get back to work."

"Oh, I'll just be a minute," he said. "I want to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he leaned against the wall and thus began. "I understand today is your birthday."

"Yes, master. I mean, yes, Jurgis."

"How old does that make you, then?"

"S-sixteen."

"Let me ask you something else," Jurgis continued. "In the four years you've been here, have you ever wanted anything?"

"No, mast..." Jurgis held up his hand in dismissal.

"Have you ever been unhappy?"

"I don't know, master," she replied. "Uh, may I continue my chores, master?"

"Not yet," he replied. "I have a few more questions for you: you are my servant, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And bound to obey my wishes?"

"Yes, sir. Uh, where is this going?"

"I find myself in need of a good, riding companion," he said. At this, the maid-servant blushed profusely. She had, at least once or twice before, walked in on some of the servants riding one another. It was rather embarrassing, both for them and for her. No matter how much she apologized, they never looked at her the same for at least three weeks.

"I meant horses," he laughed.

"But I...I don't know how to ride!"

"Just the same," he said. "I would be glad of your company. I'll have the stable-boy lead your horse right beside mine."

"But I don't have anything to wear," she said. "Except this..." She indicated to her dress, a plain brown dress with a white apron and a little white bonnet to keep her hair pulled back. Not exactly riding material.

"You can ride side-saddle," Jurgis said. "Or, if you prefer, I have some old riding boots that might fit you. What do you say, would you give your master this one pleasure?"

"I...I don't know," she stammered. "I...don't suppose it would hurt."

"Thank you, my dear," he said, then prepared to take his leave. Today would definitely be different.

-|-~-\o/-~-|-

The day was cool and moist from the afternoon drizzle. The air was fresh, clean from the downpour. Two horses were making their way across a wide field full of fruit vines. On the one horse was Jurgis, the master and lord of his manor. Young, dark-haired and clean-shaven, he cut quite the impressive figure for a nobleman. At his side was his maid-servant, dressed in a clean white dress with a leather corset and riding boots that went up her tiny white skirt. She was sitting upon a horse with a look of abject dread of the huge, brunette mare upon her face. Even though she was being led by a stable-boy, she was still shaking in the saddle.

"Easy now," Jurgis said. "She's fully broken, she won't harm you."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "It's just that I've never ridden before."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," he returned, then turned to his horse, petting the mane. After a period of silence, broken only by the maid's whimpers atop the steady horse, he looked back at her.

"You know, you've been in my service for four years," he began. "And I still don't know your name."

"Pyrrha," she replied. "Pyrrha Alexandra."

"You're from Greece?" he asked.

"I don't know," she shook her head.

"You speak German quite well."

"I really don't know, I've never learned. I just listened and tried to say what made sense, I guess."

"Do you have any family?"

"Family?" She asked, as though she had never heard the word before.

"Yes," he replied with a slight chuckle. "You know, mother, father, brothers, sisters. That sort of thing."

"I don't know," she whined.

"Well, everyone has to have at least a mother and a father."

"I don't know."

"Orphaned, eh?"

"I don't know."

"My questions seem to be upsetting you," Jurgis said. "Should I stop?"

"I-I don't...whoa!" She swayed in the saddle for a moment, then fell completely off. Her horse wasn't even running, just trotting at a comfortable pace. Jurgis immediately dismounted and ran to her side.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so," she replied. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall!"

"It's okay, it's alright," he assured her. "It was your first time, it was bound to happen."

They were both uncomfortably close to each other. It was the first time they had ever been this close. Pyrrha began feeling things she had never felt before, delightfully painful feelings in her chest that made breathing quite difficult. All she could think about was her master's face and...

"No," she shook her head, slowly pushing herself up to her feet. "I...I'm sorry, master. I think I should go back to my chores."

"Why?" he asked.

Pyrrha sobbed, afraid of telling him what had happened, what had been happening as long as she could remember. But he was her master, and she was obliged to tell him.

"People get hurt when they get close to me," she began, her voice quivering with fear. "In Germany they called me Der Mädchen von Trauer, the Bringer of Woe. I...I never meant to hurt them, I don't even remember doing it. But every time someone would take me in or try to help me, they always ended up dead, with their blood on my hands!" She broke down into the most pitiful sobs one had ever heard.

"Hey, hey, there's no need to cry," he said. He had no handkerchief on himself, so he used his own hands to wipe the tears from Pyrrha's eyes. "That was your old life, you left that behind when my father purchased you."

For a moment, he paused as well, feeling himself incapable of words. She merely looked at him in awe with her large, green eyes.

"Listen," he began. "There's something I would like to ask you, and now that you're old enough, I suppose now would be the right time to do it. Will you listen?"

"You're my master," she replied. "I have to..."

"No, please," he shook his head. "None of this 'master servant' nonsense. For now, you are just you and I am just me: you're not obliged to answer any question or agree to anything you don't like. Now, will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Yes...Jurgis."

"Well," he began. "Over the past four years, I've grown rather fond of you. Oh, maybe 'fond' isn't the right word...affectionate, perhaps. I have a proposition for you, and I hope you'll accept it."

"What is it?"

"I would like to marry you."

She gasped in shock, both hands covering her mouth. "But, that's not..."

"Please, just hear me out," he said. "I know that, because of my status, it's frowned upon for a noble to marry a servant. So, for the next two years, I will pay you for your work. At the end of those two years, you will be free and we will be married...if you would have me, that is."

Little Pyrrha was shaking so violently, her hands over her mouth and tears welling up at the bottom of her emerald-green eyes. She feared to say yes, for she knew all too well the fate of those who got close to her. Even so, she did not wish to say no. She herself had grown fond of her master over the years as well; he was nice to her and for four years, nothing had happened. Maybe, just this once, the curse was finally over.

"Yes, Jurgis," she nodded sheepishly. "I will."

For months she had searched for the one who had stolen her pet. She threatened, bribed and killed to get the information which had led her to the dead end of the Dampierre Company. With weary resignation, she had wandered the world, killing for what little pleasure it had given her. Life seemed to have no meaning anymore. The angry, gloomy voice in her head kept her alive, but she relished in the kindness and joviality of the jolly voice. After the incident in Hungary, she became determined to find her quarry again.

But four years had passed, and many had forgotten about what happened in Venice with a child, a nothing and a nobody. But she did as she had in the past, and more than a few of the Dampierre Company workers felt that they were not paid enough to give their lives for their master. These gave her the information she needed, until she was back on the road to Hungary again.

She arrived at the manor of one, Herceg Jurgis Kovacs, a wealthy young man who owned fields and horses. His father, her sources had told her, had made a purchase from the Dampierre Company four years ago. What made it more important was that this purchase was not listed in any public records. Though in the east, in the lands plagued by the Ottomans, slavery was still the norm, Italy had several restriction on slavery: not enough to wholly stop the trade of slaves, but sufficient to keep all transactions 'underground.' She was certain that she had come to the right place.

Getting in would be no problem. Her time with the Birds of Passage had instilled within her from the very beginning the tricks of how to enter a place without being seen or heard. At her age and with her knowledge, she could become a master in the art and school other people. Nevertheless, getting into the manor-house was easy. She made her way to the master's room on the second floor. Though she herself was physically and emotionally detached from sexual intercourse, she knew that other people enjoyed it. Though Pyrrha had been a virgin when she was taken from her, who knows what had happened in four years: she might have been this herceg's mistress.

As she climbed up the window-sill and looked into the room, she saw that this was not so.

What a pity, her jolly thoughts bewailed. It would have been so much better if she were here.

Then we make sure that she is here! growled the gloomy side.

Oh, it will be so much fun!

Without saying a word or giving out a single sound that betrayed her location, Tira climbed down from the window-sill and slid down the tiled-roof, landing in a bail of hay in a wagon that had been left outside when the workers found no more light to continue work. After pulling herself out, hay and all, she crawled into a ground-level window, then started poking about for the cellar. Every house she had infiltrated in her time had the servant's quarters in the cellar, if it was part of the house proper at all.

At last, she found what she sought. A door at the back of the kitchen opened to a stairwell that went down. Into this she crept, keen-eyed even in the dark, cold basement. No lights were on, for it was night and everyone was asleep. But she had in her hand the shard, the one that had spoken to her all those years ago. It would guide her to Pyrrha, for it was glowing brighter and stronger the closer she was to her pet. It led her straight to one solitary room, where a little girl, still a teenager, lay curled up on the floor, her thumb planted firmly between her lips.

That's her alright! growled the gloomy thoughts.

Aww, she looks so nice and peachy, cooed the jolly thoughts.

The b*tch is still sucking her thumb! hissed the angry thoughts in reply. Min Gud! Will she ever grow up?

Sneaking up quietly behind Tira, she crawled behind a large barrel that sat at the far right corner of the room, close to where Pyrrha's head lay. Only the grim determination of her gloomy side kept her from screaming at Pyrrha or striking her where she lay. She had a task to do: get Pyrrha out of the servant's quarters and into the herceg's bed, so she could kill him and make it look as though Pyrrha had committed murder. But how? She thought of setting fire to the manor, but that would probably kill Pyrrha in the process. Over and over she flogged her brains, thinking of some way she could...

Then it occurred to her, a secret fear she herself had had for many years as a child. Those thoughts only came up in her lonely hours, when she wondered about why she was so different than everyone else. Mostly, families told these stories as explanations for strange or disturbing behavior in their children: for Tira, the thought that this might actually be more than fable was a very real fear in her heart.

"Yoo-hoo!" she whispered sinisterly into Pyrrha's ear. "It's the troldmor! I've come to take you away to my cave and eat you up!"

"No, no, please!" Pyrrha moaned in her sleep. "Go away!"

"But I'm not going away, you are!" seethed Tira. "Don't worry, I'll put an ugly baby troll in your place. No one will know you're gone: no one will ever miss you!"

Pyrrha awoke with a scream, and Tira ducked back behind the barrel, shoving her hand into her mouth to keep from exploding with laughter. It worked! Already she could hear doors slamming open as the other servants rose, startled by Pyrrha's screams. She heard the servants enter Pyrrha's room, and Pyrrha's frantic, fearful description of a nightmare in which a troll had kidnapped her and was roasting her over a fire. One of the servants jokingly said that she was so thin, no troll would want to roast her. Pyrrha apologized amidst a sea of new-born tears. The chief of the servants took Pyrrha in hand and went to inform the master, despite the protests from one of the other servants that this was nothing with which to bother him.

One by one, the others left to return to sleep, while Tira waited until they were all gone. Very carefully, she made her way back up to the ground level and then up to the top floor. Once on the roof, she crept up to the edge of the window, listening intently to the herceg's attempts to calm Pyrrha.

"It was only a dream, kedvesem."

"It-It sounded so real!" Pyrrha wailed. "I could feel the troll's rotting breath on my ear and my neck..." She buried her face in the herceg's chest, at which he wrapped his arms around her.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered. "Nothing will harm you tonight, I promise."

"B-But how?" she asked.

"Just close your eyes and think of happy things. Think of our marriage, just two shorts years away."

"I-I can't! I keep seeing a troll's ugly face, it...I..."

"I'm sorry, master," the chief servant said. "She was like this all the way up here. I tried to calm her down, but nothing's working."

"I think I know what might do the trick," the herceg said to his servant. "Goodnight, Pol."

"Goodnight, master." The chief servant bowed, then closed the door as he left.

"Well," the herceg said to Pyrrha. "As we are betrothed, I see no reason why not."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"Sleep with me tonight," he replied. "I'll keep the trolls away."

"Uh, I don't know if..."

"I give you my word," he assured her. "I will do nothing to offend your honor."

"Slaves have no honor, Jurgis."

"But you're not a slave in my eyes, Pyrrha. You are my love."

And then they kissed. From the window, Tira saw the whole thing, as Pyrrha and Herceg Jurgis crawled under the sheets. She waited for at least an hour, as sleep was daring to draw her heavy eyelids down over her amethyst-colored eyes. But she had to be sure that, when she struck, she would not wake up Pyrrha. It would destroy the whole ruse. She had been so very careful for the past nine years (not counting the four years she was separated from Pyrrha), she could not afford to slip up this time. She crawled over the window sill and crept across the floor of the master bed-chamber, all the while eying Pyrrha and the herceg with utter contempt.

It's just not fair, wailed the jolly thoughts. All Pyrrha's ever done is whine and complain, and she gets treated like a queen!

It's like we've always told you, growled the angry, gloomy thoughts. You will never have this with someone else.

But that's not right, is it?

Then take your anger out on that pretty little rich boy!

With quickness and silence, Tira seized a pillow and held it down tightly over the herceg's face. He thrashed about and called for help, but Tira only pushed harder, her eyes swelling with delight as she savored the kill to come, her heart banging against her rib-cage like a drum. She bit her tongue to keep herself from squealing with delight as she saw the herceg struggle in vain to stay alive, to find some way out of the pillow.

With a sickening groan, the herceg's body finally grew limp and all struggle was gone. A smile split across Tira's face as she knew she had won.

Yay! exclaimed the jolly thoughts. He's dead! I'm so excited!

Just shut up! Plenty of time to throw a fucking ball once we're done here.

Tira returned the pillow to its place, then reached into her boot and pulled out a small knife. It was only appropriate, really, that she would use this knife to rob Pyrrha Alexandra once again of something dear to her. And, to make it all the better, this time Pyrrha would be blamed for it.

(AN: No wonder this story is rated M. I thought that describing Tira suffocating Jurgis Kovacs was enough, you didn't need me to tell you what happened after. It will be referenced in the next chapter.)

(In this chapter, we see how Pyrrha got her first outfit from SCV. Also, I was being nice to you, ThalieXVII, when I had Kovacs tell Pyrrha that he would wait two years until he married her. In the 17th century, women were definitely married off at sixteen [or younger], but I already had some iffy material of that nature in the first few chapters and I promised that I wouldn't have anything else except violence and blood-shed. So here's to me keeping my word. As for Pyrrha's nightmare, it was based on the folklore about Changelings, children abducted by trolls who either eat or raise them, and usually leave either a piece of dead wood or a baby troll that looks human in its place. Rather disturbing, if you think about it. I use 'troll' rather than 'fairy' because in Nordic culture, from whence [in this story, at least] comes Tira, 'troll' is often used as a word for any kind of magical creature. Tira also wonders if she herself was abducted by trolls, since she has no memory of her parents and is quite different among other people [not just her purple eyes].)