Annastasia

1st Act

1.

Year: 1680

Van De Sterren

It was a muggy morning in early November, heavy with tattletale humidity of the latest thunderstorm, and the surety of another later that day. Regardless of the weather entering the stormy season here in the northern region of the continent, specifically Vielle, a territory state well-known for its prolific farms, there weren't many worse days in recent times to be thronging the main market street amongst the ever-growing crowd of shoppers.

More so impeding than the rainfall was the ongoing war which would tally its third grim anniversary in the coming December.

However, neither could hinder the adequately named Market Day in the territory, a custom faithfully held every first Friday and third Saturday of the month when vendors would boast their best wares on freshly spruced stalls to entice buyers and offer discounts for those who bought their goods in bulk. Although there could only be so much variety of produce before it became apparent that everyone's goods were mostly the same, it promoted a reverse-auction environment where the vendors would all compete by shouting their reduced prices, vying for the lowest margin that could still net a profit. These cost-effective circumstances easily attracted buyers from neighboring territories and Annaliese was one of them.

Irrespective of this, as poor as her sight was, Annaliese could see that something was wrong. For one thing, her money purse was getting light, and her hessian sack wasn't nearly as heavy with food as it ought to be; though this could be fairly attributed to the war, it had never been this inadequate before. Secondly, the vendors weren't calling as loudly as they normally did. Third, her daughter was nearly ready to break her neck trying to look everywhere at once, which was more than her habitual amount of observation that she used to account for Annaliese's near-sightedness.

The woman acknowledged the fact that there was a war being waged and the new worse norm would constantly wax worse from the previous step during the chronic decline, and that would explain away the market issues. The Renoirs' army and its allies possessed superior firepower and they fought predominantly in the east and south on enemy soil. Because of this, Meridian and Vielle in the northwest were guaranteed safe at least fifty-one weeks of the year. However, the girl's scrutinization bordered on obsessive paranoia as if she was searching for an enemy shell that could blow up in the market.

She looked around and saw nothing of immediate danger. But she was poor-sighted; did her daughter see something that Annaliese, with her poor vision, couldn't? She felt that she could sense something palpable in the air, regardless. An edge, a high of potential violence barely being lidded, not a mortar exploding in the market, but the market itself was a bomb, and she suddenly became anxious. Then the feeling passed. Must be nerves, she thought, empathetic suspicion brought on by her daughter's paranoia.

About to ask the girl about her overtly skittish behavior, it was suddenly Annaliese's amber-colored eyes peering up into her own face like a living reflection, only that the girl's eyes were more crystalline with youthfulness and sharp with her no-nonsense, reading her mother like a book with only a glance.

"I'm only looking for pickpockets," Annastasia remarked, already gazing around again but with a bit more restraint.

Annaliese didn't know how to react to having her question answered before it was queried. "Oh! Oh. Well, that's fine. It's good to be cautious."

At the age of fourteen and a bit on the smaller side, Annastasia was sardonic whenever she wasn't essentially quiet and thoughtful. Past this, she was equipped with a full script of expressions: on both antithetical extremes, most notable was a knifelike deprecating glare when her blood was up, and a pleasant open-mouthed smile whenever it wasn't. One of Annaliese's favorite things to see, Annastasia's smile had a charming way of crinkling her button nose and her eye corners and somehow diffused happiness into those who saw it. However, as widely genuinely emotive as she could be, she was also uncannily skilled in manipulating them, a genius in falsehood and theatrics; Annie could persuade anyone that red was blue and convince day into night.

Now, she was wry. Annie said with a grin, "It's not just the thieves. I'm looking out for knives too. Don't worry, not one to be seen."

Annaliese smiled in response to the girl's forced humor. The subject of sharp objects was something of a taboo between them as both suffered from hemophilia, though Annastasia's seemed far ghastlier than her mother's given the few terrible times when Annie's life had almost been in mortal danger, least of which included mishandling a knife when she was peeling a fruit. "That's good to know." She checked their market bags to verify their contents. "We have most of what we need."

She glanced to their sides in the market in between the passersby and only saw splashes of cheerless colors sitting on brown backdrops – veggies on stalls, probably. Are those carrots or cleaned sweet potatoes? She'd have to continue to rely on her daughter's sight, and it was becoming excessive to the point of being embarrassing. "A soup would be lacking color, it'll be unappealing to your father if it looks too plain. Annie, do you see any carrots?"

Annie looked out across the bustling marketplace, a long foot-paved road with stalls of bland-looking produce lining each side with the crowds crossing one another as they shopped around to make the most of their buying power and literally weigh their options. Most of the food wasn't as vivid as it should have been, a sure sign that the crops weren't nurtured properly in the greying countryside. Wartime industrialization, pollution, and the depleting manpower into the war effort were taking a toll on the once-lush territory, and the cloudy day only made things seem even bleaker.

To make sure, however, Annie looked back at all the stalls they'd already visited and forwards again before cussing something under her breath. Not a carrot to be seen. "Umm… No. None."

Although euphemized, her language was distinctly reminiscent of a swear one could only hear in the sleaziest bars. While Annaliese believed that Annie didn't frequent those, it was possible that she'd gotten either it or the watered-down version from the friends she had, probably trying to fit in with them. Although Annie was expressing her disappointment crudely, unknowing that her mother had overheard it, Annaliese didn't feel like chastising her for the time being; she'd do so later. "It's okay, Annie. Perhaps next time. We'll have to make do with the pumpkins for the color and filler. Now, how about taste? We have salt, but we'll need bones."

Annastasia felt ill at ease. "No soup bones yet."

"Could be in the butcher's shop. It should be just ahead, right?" Annaliese remarked, knowing from memory that a butcher shop was close by. "We've been walking on the straight long enough."

Annie could probably spot it but she didn't answer. Instead, she brought her mother close enough to discover what was left of the butcher shop for herself. Annaliese was horrified as she gazed with dim eyes at the remains of the shop, now a charred shell of what it used to be, burnt to ashes and blackened stones with only three of the four pillars still standing as the shop's last testament that it used to exist there. The owner had long been the easily-forgiving grandfatherly type to all of his buyers, overlooking short money purses and overbearing customers. "Good heavens, it burnt down? Is the butcher all right? Who could we ask?"

"I heard the butcher's with some relatives," Annie said, trying to console her. "He got hurt trying to put out the fire, but nothing serious."

Annaliese stopped walking and stared down at her daughter. Although very nearsighted, she could see that her daughter had a markedly guilty look on her face, and one of juvenile apprehension, having realized she said too much and put herself into trouble. "Annastasia! This isn't even your home territory, much less! How do you know of this? Why were you even out here? By yourself in Vielle? Traipsing out as if it was a simple walk and putting yourself in danger? Have you forgotten there's a war going on? What if you'd gotten hurt?"

The girl's amber eyes flickered in nervous desperation, likely struggling to think of an excuse or to make one up to acquit herself. "I heard it from a friend!"

Annaliese was skeptical. "Did you really? You heard it from a friend?"

"Yes, from Gregory," Annie lied through her teeth, trying to extricate herself from trouble as painlessly as possible. "He told me yesterday about it. It was a rumor that a lot of people were rioting and looting some of the shops over here because they don't have any money or means to support themselves. I wasn't here."

"That so, is it?" Annaliese calmed down. It sounded truthful enough, but she suspected that Annie was lying to her, that she had brazenly put herself at pointless risk. However, one thing was clear about the butcher's shop: it was probably not the first ransacked store Annie had seen. Vielle was just east adjacent to the Meridian territory (their home territory) and was among the first to join in Meridian's war campaign to amalgamate the entire country which originally consisted of nine territories or otherwise independent states, each having their own governing body, resources, and even species and currencies.

It came as no surprise that Vielle became resented by the other opposing territories, which promptly resulted in the cessation of official outside patronage and trading. Despite the supplies and plunder procured in the war effort as their allied soldiers under the Renoir flag pounded the others with their unrelenting onslaught, it was hardly enough to keep the entire territory sufficient. Following this dilemma, Vielle was probably starting to fall apart due to its increasingly destitute lower-class natives. If the crime was so bad to the point of arson and looting, then both she and Annie were in danger from criminals, so distant from home.

Annie's paranoia made her decidedly guilty: now she was certain that Annie had been disobedient, and gone exploring (in her condition! Annaliese thought), under the childish pretense of adventuring.

Though being Annie's mother and bearing grey streaks in the thick braids of her aquamarine green hair, they both rested almost on the smaller side of the petite scale despite their twenty-year difference in age. Except for little else save for Annie being a tad shorter and keeping her own similarly colored hair in a shoulder-length bob, they both looked alike enough to be sisters if one stood far enough away, and feeble as kittens. They couldn't defend themselves if anything went wrong.

Well, perhaps Annie could, according to those vile rumors that she often scrapped with Gregory and the boy's challengers but it was still out of the question. No more fighting. Her hemophilia won't allow it, and neither would Annaliese.

Being almost at the edge of the territory line, it was a seven-mile journey back to Meridian, only eased by their mule that carried their groceries. Now her daughter's suspicious behavior was fully justified; everyone around looked uneasy from the recent riots that only needed a spark, one wrong word, one stupid person to restart discord. She thought she could make out the uniforms of soldiers posted here and there, and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that they were there to preserve the peace. Any semblance of order was better than none. She hoped that if anything happened, one of them at least could be easily summoned by a scream, and hoped even more that it wouldn't have to come to that.

"Make haste, Annie, but let us be careful."

This wasn't much to ask for, they were almost finished. Instead of going by lists, be it either written or memorized, what Annaliese and her daughter did was shop by categorical meal. Knowing their future meals, they would then shop for all the ingredients of the particular day in mind. They had nearly every meal for the next fortnight already in hand, albeit with changes that were beyond their control. Some ingredients, if not most, were simply affected by inflation and thus affected the quantity. The others had to be completely substituted, something that becoming frequently occurring recently.

For as long as she could remember, ever since she had emigrated to Meridian from the Chess Kingdom, Annaliese left the grey steel and cold stones of Meridian to the lighter agricultural Vielle to do her shopping, a territory that had always been favored for its pastures and crops cultivated in well-kept fields. Despite being on the Renoirs' payroll, Conon often said if they had to move, it would be to Vielle for its better class of people, and Annaliese had agreed with him.

She had doubts now. Between the price gouging, prospective pickpocketing, and children begging in their parent's stead, and although Meridian had its fair share of evil, it was looking better all the time despite the flaws brought on by industrialism and wartime provisioning. And now rioting? Conon would never believe it.

Annie asked, "How much money left? The soup bone's the last thing we need, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's the last." The woman heard the agitation in her daughter's voice. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, mummy. Nothing's wrong."

Her tone was still strange. She was probably concerned about the expenses. In addition to her usual motivations, Annie always came along on the market trip for a customary indulgence, almost invariably cheese which she had an ardent fondness for. Annaliese didn't mind treating her, but the likelihood was looking slimmer all the time as the price inflation in the marketplace was eating into the surplus money usually spent on her treats.

"Are you sure–"

The girl shook her head, insisted, "Nothing's wrong. Let's just get the soup bones." The streets got narrower, crowded by hackneyed vendors and customers alike and the animal skin tarps covering the stalls became fouler and worse-made, stinking. At one point, Annie was at constant pains to make sure that she and her poor-sighted mother didn't trip over any of the stakes and cords on the ground as well as maneuver around the congestion of motley stale customers. The sour smell of the tarps and the salted meat, and the stink of sweltering people haggling over substandard goods got thicker, and their progress slower and slower.

Almost to the other end of the market, Annie was the first to spy a meat vendor, an older heavyset gigan woman sitting on a log behind a meat-laden cart. The woman was what got her attention first, looking all around as if nervously searching for one person in particular but not finding them – which in itself was weird as she was the tallest and bulkiest person there, even while seated. Before her on the cart was an array of meat products, beef, mutton, chicken, and a variety of pieces from the animals including bones, all salted for preservation. A spring scale hung from a nail hammered into the side of the cart.

"Good afternoon. I need a pound of beef soup bones, please." Annaliese bent in closer to look carefully at the vendor, not recognizing her. She must be new, an obvious thought given the fact that she wasn't any of the usual species: she wasn't pure Human, nor Dagonian (a half-human with half-aquatic features), nor was she a zoomorphic Feral (which were usually three-quarters human with a few animal characteristics).

A gigan, putting it bluntly, was as humanoid as one could hope for except that they were usually heavily furred, had horns that grew slowly but steadily with age until mid-life, possessed a mouthful of serrated teeth, and were typically hulking in size and upper muscle definition. As one could imagine, they stood out in any crowd, and not just literally. In fact, when a small child, Annie had once confessed that she thought of them as a race of mishmashed brutes, all oversized gorillas with lionlike grins and bull horns with which they sometimes butted to resolve their disputes with one another instead of talking. Annaliese, though quiet, had been in complete agreement. Conon had laughed and advised her never to repeat it in public.

"Hello," she added to her daughter's courtesy, "a pleasure."

The gigan market woman nodded. With her massive fingers – each almost as thick as Annie's arm – she gathered the soup bones between them as if she was gathering marbles. Dropping them into the steel bowl container of the scale, she slowly and methodically picked out the soup bones as if she was doing them a favor, filling the scale with soup bones until it measured a pound and got her parceling paper ready to complete the sale. "That's eight francs."

Annie was clearly perturbed, and Annaliese was beginning to become empathetic to the feeling: something about the woman was off-putting and any chance or excuse for boycotting ought to be taken. However, she seemed to be the only one around who sold what they needed, and Annaliese made up her mind to tolerate any underlying issues to not create a fuss. "Eight francs?" she asked. "Sorry. We only have Meridian canopies."

"Shame. Then it's fifteen canopies," the market woman said matter-of-factly. "To make up for the exchange."

That was all the money they had left, the ten Annaliese had in her drawstring purse and the fiver that Annie kept for herself – it'd been seven canopies only two weeks prior. "That's expensive," Annaliese murmured. Beside her, Annie was glaring at the woman.

"That's not just expensive, that's just an obvious setup for price gouging! Our money's always been just as good as Vielle's, better even. No one else has any problem with it!" The gigan was already upset with Annie's petulant accusation, looking about as if she was searching for something to clout the insolent girl with. Annaliese clapped her hand over her daughter's mouth, but she continued to spew fire that struggled and escaped through the cracks of her fingers, "It's robbery, you just want to take us for all we have–"

"Annastasia! Mind your tongue!" Annaliese chided before turning her attention to the visibly angry vendor. "I'm so very sorry for that. She didn't mean it. If you could sell us a portion of a pound instead–"

The woman's jaw was set like granite, her eyes darkening. "She can take her attitude and leave."

"No, please, we want the bones–"

"I said leave. Or are you deaf?" The market woman wasn't budging.

Annaliese nudged her daughter. Annie pouted. No, she wouldn't.

She nudged her again. No.

"Please, Annastasia, just tell her you're sorry," her mother quietly begged, almost afraid now that the gigan could become violent. With their kind of size and strength, if she was vile enough, the gigan could have Annaliese for lunch and use Annie for a toothpick after breaking her in half like a dry stick. Goddesses help them if the gigan so much as became upset; they were terrible enemies to make, Annaliese silently prayed for the matter to become peaceable before Annie got hurt, or worse, accidentally reignite the riots – people around them looked on edge. "Apologize to her."

"But this is too expensive!" Annie protested, wanting her mother to side with hers. "You know that it's price gouging! We haven't got the money for this, tell her that she's wrong. Why should I apologize when you know she's wrong?" Now she was pleading for her mother to support her and back her claim.

She wanted to agree, but she couldn't. Not now, especially not in front of the gigan. Sorry, Annie. "It doesn't matter if it's expensive or not. You're the one who's in the wrong. It's her goods, and she decides the prices." To this, the gigan nodded in satisfaction and insisted that she should belt the impudent child – much to Annie's chagrin – and Annaliese pretended not to notice. "Apologize to her."

Defeated, Annie gave up.

"I'm sorry." Her normally strong tone was noticeably subdued.

The gigan stared at her. "It doesn't sound like you are."

Annie fumed, brimming with hatred for the woman before her. If looks could kill... Annaliese thought, panicking.

Before culmination, Annie's eyebrows relaxed, her intense amber eyes lost their ire, and her mouth pursed in repentance and disappointment. It was as if all the fight and anger had washed out of her pitiable face and the gigan could only stare in astonishment. "I'm really sorry, ma'am. I really didn't mean it. Times are hard on us, and I was just taking it out on you. Our money didn't go far enough today. There's four more of us waiting at home, and our groceries need to last us for the month."

There was only the girl's father at home, but Annaliese watched the act play out, tightening her lips and not daring to say a word to interrupt, almost afraid to even breathe. She'd only asked her daughter to apologize to quash the woman's anger, not perform a theatrical con.

"Just that?" The market woman pointed at their bags with a long nail. Their groceries were less than their usual bimonthly haul, but they clearly couldn't feed a family of six for an entire month unless it was carefully rationed.

Annie looked down at her feet in shame. "Yes. All we have left is ten canopies. Could you at least give us a fraction of a pound? We'll just boil it for the broth more than once." She sounded like she wanted to cry. Everyone knew that using only small amounts of bones ended up tasting bland and ruined meals. And she was going to use it more than once.

The market woman said sympathetically, "Poor girl. Ten canopies?"

"Yes, ten canopies," Annie said pitifully as if she was going to cry from frustration for her plight, pulling on all the compassion the gigan could muster. "It's all we have." The market woman seemed to pause to consider their predicament, hemming and hawing about what to do.

"All right," the market woman agreed at last. Something tapped Annaliese's foot, and her heart leaped in her chest. She looked to Annie who'd gently kicked her shoe, and noticed her gesture towards the gigan with her chin – she was being signaled to pay the vendor.

Annaliese vaguely went over the act in her head and realized that the gigan had initially charged them fifteen canopies, which they did have in total. Now she was paying ten. You little swindler. Going to land us in trouble just to save a few coins? Couldn't you haggle as is normal?

Embarrassingly, Annaliese was too tentative to haggle either, and didn't like arguing. On the matter of Annie's sob story, to reveal that they actually had the full money would undo the benefit, and would almost certainly infuriate the vendor. Having no choice but to play along, she retrieved the ten canopies from her money purse and dropped the coins into the market woman's massive hand. In exchange, the gigan woman, without even using the scale, parceled up a heftier package of the beef bones and rested it in Annie's hands. Feeling the weight of the bones in her hand, Annie looked up at the market woman with surprise; whatever it weighed had to have been at least a pound and a half.

"Isn't this too much?" Annie protested.

"Non, non, can't have you starving to death before you come back to buy," the market woman said, a warm smile gracing her features that one wouldn't think she could have, even with her under-biting canines. "It's fine." Annie tried to insist that it was too much, but the woman wouldn't have any of it. "Just don't let your emotions rule you next time, okay chérie?"

Being shooed away, Annie reluctantly placed the parcel of bones in her cloth bag of groceries, thanking the woman profusely with a radiant smile. "We'll see you next month!"

"Good to know. You make sure, you hear?"

They left quickly, soon emerging back into the main part of the market. Annie's smile didn't drop until she got to the stall at the beginning of the street where the cheeses were sold. Taking her pick of the cheeses with the five canopies she managed to save, she patted her shoulder to congratulate herself on her acting skills. "I'm even better than I thought."

"You little liar, doing all that just to keep your cheese money…" Annaliese said as levelly as she could, and would've sounded more reprimanding if she hadn't been trying to keep herself from having a heart attack. "You got lucky. All of that, throwing a fit, lying, making hostility, you could've started the riots all over again… What if she had found out you had more money?"

Annie chuckled. "Then I would've pretended not to even realize, and paid her in full. The hard-luck act would've gotten us the extra bones, anyway."

The woman held her head, feeling her pulse pound in her temple. "Should I approve?"

With most of the cheese packaged up and in her grocery bag, Annie sampled the rest of a crumbly piece on a toothpick as they walked to where their mule was hitched. "I'm not the crook. How many butcher shops in on this side of Vielle?" she asked pointedly.

"I think five." She remembered that her favorite butcher shop had burnt down. "Must be four now."

"With competition like that, did you think a woman selling from a dingy cart could afford to play butcher and buy salt for the meats and bones she's selling?"

Annaliese straightaway realized what her daughter was saying. The market woman was one of the looters of the butcher shop, selling the stolen wares. "But why ask for Meridian currency?"

"She never wanted Vielle currency," Annie explained as if it were obvious. "She's just a dumb greedy crook, selling stolen goods at the back of the same market instead of properly hiding from the soldiers. She guessed that we had Meridian money, and wanted a lot of it. She played you, and it's a good thing I was here with you, 'cause I played her better. Spent less money, and got more food. You can't ask for a better deal. She'll either get caught, or we can keep getting that discount whenever we see her."

Annaliese wanted to be proud of her daughter, but the fact of the lie made it difficult so she instead settled for neutral. "Let's just go home." They got back to their mule, hitched by the outpost manned by a few jaded-looking Meridian soldiers, and placed their groceries into its hampers. While Annaliese untied him, Annie stroked the hair on the animal's neck.

"Sorry Stan, no carrots this time. I'll make you some mash when we get home."

The journey, as slow as it usually was, had a high amount of tension and it made Annie uncomfortable. Being the eyes of the pair, she walked ahead, leading Stan on a small length of rope. Her mother was followed closely behind, her hand resting on the mule's back as it carried their burdens in the baskets on its sides. Annaliese's sight wasn't so bad that she couldn't see where she was going, but the dirt road could be rocky and uneven at times and she couldn't risk falling – her hemophilia could turn that into a death sentence.

"It's been a while since any of us rode Stan, isn't it?" the girl remarked, trying to make conversation.

Differing Annaliese said, "Annie. That took me by surprise; I kept quiet. I'll excuse the lying since that gigan woman was clearly a crook. But we still need to talk about your behavior."

Annie didn't look at her, and ostensibly most of her focus was now on leading Stan around the most insignificant of holes. "Oh goddesses, not again–"

"Yes, again. I'm concerned about whether your friends are good enough to keep, and I'm on the fence about Gregory. I've seen how they act, how you behave. The difference keeps getting smaller. You're becoming like them."

"They're just out on the streets more, mummy, they're not bad."

"I never said that they were bad."

Annastasia rolled her eyes. "They don't have much and they're always on the streets, I admit that," she said, trying to defend her choices of company, "but they know more too, mummy. They know how to handle themselves."

"They know more than you, is it? You want to learn from them? You want to learn how to swear?"

Annie shook her head vigorously, still her daughter and not wanting her mother to be disappointed in her; she rushed to mitigate the concern. "No, no! I don't swear–"

"Yes, you do. I heard you today, and it's not the first time. And I keep hearing about you getting into fights, and you know you shouldn't! It's too dangerous, and you're sick." Annaliese was entreating, almost begging, "Annastasia, you're smart, and your father taught you, and you have so many more opportunities than they do. You could learn how to invent like him, or if you want, I'll teach you how to sew so we can take in more clothes for mending. If you're complaining about the money, it's good to have a trade to earn a little extra."

Annie turned her head to side-eye her mother before looking forwards again at the road. "Trying to put some ambition in me? It'll make me better than the other children, won't it?"

She ignored her daughter's cheek. "You don't need to sink to their level. You ought to be the one teaching them. It could be anything. Teach them constellations. Teach them how to find their way around using the stars. Your friends are barely literate. You could even teach them how to read."

Her mother was particularly wistful at the last. It was a sore topic. Born and raised humbly in a coastal territory in Chess, another country altogether, she was as illiterate as her parents who had no use for the written word. Her vision was just bad enough to dissuade her from trying to learn in adulthood, and that left Annaliese dependent on her family to read to her. It was equally burdened on Annie and her father originally, but now more heavily yoked on the former due to Conon being drunk more often than not as he spiraled in a depressing dive.

Annie, fortunately, was able to teach her letters and syllabification, but Annaliese had a self-imposed stigma for not being able to read and write as well as her extremely educated husband and their daughter. Not having the faculty gave her a better appreciation of it, but it also made her place higher value on Annie and what ought to be her standard for the friends she kept.

"Last I saw them with a book," Annie said with a shrug, "they were burning it to drive away the mosquitoes. They're not the type to appreciate a book the same way we do."

Annaliese was mortified at the idea of anyone burning a book. "It's always been my belief that friends should emulate their betters. They should pick up good habits and help one another to succeed at what they want. But all they seem to do is drag you down and take you to places where you have no business being in. And you were here, weren't you? You were here in Vielle earlier, doing what? Just to watch the looting? What if you'd gotten hurt?" She said it so worriedly that it was suggested as a foregone conclusion, and Annie didn't answer.

It was better, safer that way. Annaliese had an idea of all the responses coursing through her daughter's mind, and they'd only give way to an argument they both didn't want to have. After a long silence, however, Annie asked the most painful one that she couldn't hold back, knowing that her mother thought the world of her:

"If I'm as good as you think, above all else, then am I even allowed to have friends?"

"It's not about you being better than them. I just want to you keep safe, Annastasia, and to set an example. You have more opportunities than they do, and you're more learned. You can be someone they can look up to."

"Mummy, I don't want to be placed on a pedestal!" Annie said angrily. "It doesn't matter if you think they're undesirable, uncouth, or if they've got a latrine for a mouth. It's Gregory, isn't it? You don't like him because he's one of the street boys? Or is it because he's my reason for getting out? If it hadn't been for him to come calling, what, were you going to keep me locked and cooped up under your wing at home for the rest of my life?"

The journey had just started, but they were already done talking.

When they got home, Annaliese would struggle over some words in one of Annie's old schoolbooks and the scripture, her father would be putting away the liquor as if it was water, and Annie would go back to sulking in her room – she was a prisoner. She'd stay in there waiting for an errand for her chance to escape, the next fortnightly market outing, or for Gregory to come calling. When worst came to worst, when at last her frustrations boiled over, she'd sneak out, probably through her bedroom window.

It didn't matter why she left or the means or how far she tried to stray. There were other prisons of her mother's making, much more closer and restrictive than just the walls of their home. She couldn't break out of her mother's suffocating cosset and imposed ambitions. Even the occasional unwelcome thought that suggested that she should leave home wasn't an option, there was no way she could escape her influence or her inheritance. A collar and chain around her neck, her mother's hemophilic blood ran through her veins and it kept her firmly put at home. Just beyond the door were the prison guards, a world full of danger and edges, pointing at her and waiting to be coated red.

Something else, anything else had to be better than this. Anything.