A/N: YES!! It worked!! Well, except for the dividers, but, hey, that's highly preferable to one long paragraph, isn't it? Anyways, I'm feeling industrious today, so I'm pumping out another chapter! Yay, for me! Maybe this one won't be quite so angst-ridden and maybe a little more humorous, I like to think I'm funny. I'll try the dividers again, I think. Here we go.

I look like my mother; maybe that's why Dad hardly speaks to me. (A/N: So much for not being angsty. Here comes the lame exposition, a necessary evil, I'm afraid.) I've got her brown eyes, and her curly red- brown-gold hair that I yank into a messy, can't-tell-what's-holding-it-up- there ponytail when I'm working, as well as her slightly willowy, but not waifish, body. The only thing I got from my father was his narrow nose, which totally ruins mom's generous gifts, giving my face an odd, incorrect look. I hate my nose, but I loved my mother. I loved life with my mother, when Dad was whole, when Dad loved me. We weren't rich, but Dad was a gifted farmer. The money from his crops bought us a comfortable home, a strong horse and plow, and a fertile crop of land. Things were happy for a while.

But good things never last, so, when I was twelve, Mama fell ill. Those two years, that's when I lost my hope and both my parents, while she slowly slipped away from me. Once we left home, though, I found some happiness. I was never one to wallow in sadness, most of the time, anyway. In the several towns, cities, and villages we breezed into, I went to the festivals. Dad never came, but I loved the music, food, colors, anything to distract myself from my life. I sometimes spent days following festivals, sleeping in the fields, or even with the performers, if they were friendly. I learned a cornucopia of folk songs, as well as how to play the lyre and flute, and juggle. The juggling skills actually came in handy at work: I could hold three dusters in one hand while drying a floor. I knew I wouldn't be seeing many festivals here.

"Sasha!" called Crawford from the main hall. It was our third day of work, and I was on my hands and knees in the sweltering kitchen, scrubbing the bloodstained floor. Svetlana wasn't very neat with her butchery. I got up and gratefully made my way into the cool air of the main hall. Crawford was standing by the door.

"Yes, sir," I said. Crawford didn't make me call him "sir," it was just habit from years of snooty, upper-crust bosses. Crawford didn't seem to mind, it had probably been a bit since he'd heard the respectful title so often.

"I want you to clear the carriage yard of the weeds, all right?" I never understood why he asked if it was all right, he knew damn well I wouldn't say no.

"Yes, sir."

"And be done by lunchtime, Svetlana's making borscht." He did his little heel-turn and disappeared into the bowels of the castle. The questions pressed into my mind: where does he go? Is he talking to the master? And the inevitable: what's the master like?

I made my way into the yard with the end of my stained apron in my hands. It made no sense for these questions to even pop up, I berated myself for them. It's no business of mine; I'm just the servant. I angrily ripped the overgrown roots from the dusty ground. The sun was out, but it gave no warmth due to the season. I couldn't see anything past the claw- trees, not a field, a road, nothing. It was creepy, after living around people so long, being so isolated. I didn't realize I had been staring out at the dense trees until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I jumped with a yelp and whipped around to face whatever was behind me. It was a boy, a little younger than me. He had dark brown skin, and tight, black hair, cropped close to his head. His near black eyes were next to blank, with the slightest hint of curiosity. I'd never seen anyone like him, let alone a boy. All the boys I'd known had been boisterous to the point of obnoxiousness, but this boy was so still, like stone. I was surprised to hear him speak.

"Who are you?" only his mouth moved.

"Sasha," was all I could say.

"What are you doing here?" his voice was low and firm, like stone.

"Picking weeds. I- I'm, I mean, me and my father are the new servants." I saw a glint of recognition in his black-brown eyes.

"My father and I," he corrected, the slightest hint of a smile gracing his lips. I relaxed a bit.

"You must be Ivan, 'm I right?" I wanted to go back to work, I had to get done before lunch, but his eyes held me with more strength than anything physical he could have attempted.

"Yes," he answered in almost a whisper. He stepped back now, and I breathed again. I felt like I'd been underwater. Svetlana'd never talked that much, except to tell me what to do, "I work in the stable."

"Yeah, Crawford told me. Said you even slept out there. What's the matter, not a fan of the indoors?" I gave him a smile, anything to lighten the atmosphere.

"You could say that. I enjoy spending time with the animals, I get along better with them." That reminded me of my escapes to the festivals to get away from my father. What was he getting away from?

"I know whatchu mean." No sense pressing the issue now when we'd just met. Ivan bent down and plucked up a weed from the ground, dropping it in my apron. I smiled appreciatively and continued my work. We worked in silence until lunchtime. Crawford stepped out onto the first step and looked surprised to see Ivan and me working together.

"Time for lunch, Sasha," he paused, "Ivan. If you'd like to join us." Ivan dropped another weed in my apron and looked at Crawford, deliberating. He sighed and regarded the entire castle, like it was a daunting maze.

"No," he said after a moment, "Not this time, Crawford."

"You do know you are always welcome." Ivan again regarded Crawford.

"I know, just, not today, all right?" He looked with an undecipherable emotion at the path that led to the stables. It could have been longing, but it may have been resentment, I couldn't tell.

"Very well, Ivan. Come along then, Sasha." I trotted up the stairs, turning around at the top only to see Ivan's back as he ran to the stables. What was he getting away from?

A/N: What's wrong with me? I must be in a seriously angsty mood right now! I didn't think I was, but there it is. Maybe because it's raining outside, or it's night, or I'm tired, or something like that. I don't even know why I made Ivan black, it just sorta popped up. Kinda interesting though, dontcha think? Hm, I wonder when I'll introduce Beast. Next chapter, the next? Who knows. Well, I've got to go to sleep. So, see yall next chapter, it'll probably be up soon.