"Margaret? Did you hear the news? The prince is dead!" Virginia's father said from the wagon. He had just arrived from the village after trading some wheat and paying the taxes. Now he yelled the news to his wife over the din of the hungry chickens, the clacking wheels of the wagon, the cows and the braying donkey that was pulling the cart.
"Good ridence! A war mongering stubborn prince he was!" Margaret cheered, spraying chicken feed for the birds. "Not much better than his father!"
"Well he was just a lazy fat bastard. I think this prince was worse! We have to pay more taxes because he added more countries to the empire! A shame really, barging in on neighboring lands to just add to the collection…" He sighed as he started hauling a bag of oats to the barn.
Out came running their daughter Virginia with water for the donkey.
Her father smiled as he saw his peasant ray of sunshine run out and tend to the donkey. She smiled so innocently, so happy and beautiful. He prided himself on his adopted daughter, her ability to make him smile. And how smart and caring at such a young age of 7.
"What was the news today father?" She said. He smiled more and went to look at her features. It seemed a shame that her long golden hair should be on a body clothed in a peasant dress and apron.
"Prince Vincent Prospero the 12th died in his bed. He was killed by the plague and someone had ripped out all of his…well…it's too gruesome to describe for your pretty little ears." He bent down and kissed her sweet forehead, not wanting to make her ill by saying that someone had ripped the prince's bodily organs out of his body and smeared them on the wall in the words, A new God is born of Blood.
"Alright father! I'll go in the field to water the garden okay? Good!" She bubbled with joy and excitement and kissed his cheek, waving to her mother as she went out past the house to the herb garden.
"Remember dearie! If anyone comes up to you looking ill…stay away! And tell your father!" Her mother called. Worry was in her voice. The herb garden was near the country road and with the plague spreading, she didn't want to get anyone sick of it.
With their daughter gone and the traded goods unloaded, farmer Timothy went to his wife and followed her inside. She was baking some meat pies for supper. He sat down at the wooden table and wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. His wife and loving mother to their precious daughter started putting away the flour and spices she had set out. The pies were still baking.
"Margaret…I've heard the village of Tristdale has succumbed to the plague…and the village near us had a passerby coming through, a plagued beak doctor they drove away. Now the bartender had died from the plague and a few other patrons won't last the night. If I would have known, I would not have gone to the village for supplies." Timothy sighed and worry went to his face. Without Virginia around he seemed so unhappy.
Margaret looked at him with fear and worry.
"The Red Death won't get us…we're far away! We mustn't go to the village! We'll all die!" She gasped.
"There is also something else. The villagers heard from the dying beak doctor that there is now a new god. He described a tall dark red haired god dressed in red in a carriage…saying he was going to hunt down everyone and spread the plague like wildfire. That this god was a skull faced bloodsucker, and we should all worship him for mercy in the afterlife! That we should call him The Red Death, the God of Blood. Now the doctor could have been hallucinating or…" He bit his lip.
Margaret started massaging her husband's shoulders. He took his hat off and sighed trying to relax.
"Are you saying that the Gods of Death created another one to kill us all?" She replied with a shaking voice.
"There has been no other sickness so deadly, evil, and corrupted. Blood, fevers, chills, rotting skin, dizziness…and kills in the half hour. How could something like that get here unless the Gods willed it?" His fingers gripped the brown hat and feather. He heard the chickens and his daughter giggling ion the garden. If the plague got here, or the god himself, all would perish. Especially the daughter.
When she was given to the family by some noble guards with orders for him and her to protect, raise, and keep her away from the Prosperos should they ever know of her, he felt blessed. As a baby she was an angel, and she didn't even know who her real parents were. In fact, he didn't know. Only he was given money to help support the child. The family was happy, and still is…slightly.
But could he protect her from the plague? The killing evil that threatened to destroy this isolated farm and such innocence?
"Then should we move?" She said softly.
"We could go north, but the plague would get there eventually. It is kpicking up speed. We would have to keep running and wandering until we reach the cold lands. Perhaps the freezing snow would stopper it and we would be safe in the artic. And if we stay here, the disease might pass over. We are a small farm in the middle of nowhere; we have only one small little-used road to town. We would be able to eat and live here." Timothy didn't want to wander.
"But if there is a monster that is killing everyone, he would find us! We stay here and we'll starve or die a horrible death in this house! Even the beak doctors cannot completely cure a person! We must leave to the north and flee this evil!"
"Remember our duty! If we seek shelter under the shadows of nobles and keep moving, the prince might find her! We were given stern orders not to let her be seen; remember last year, when there was news that the prince was looking for a beautiful blonde young woman who should be approximately 6 years old…Virginia is wanted by the Prosperos for some reason, and we mustn't let him get her. We wander, and she is taken into the halls of the unlawful, lazy terrible monarchy!"
"But Timothy…if we don't leave here, she will die. And she is too young to taste evil and death. It would be worse for her and us to…to be with the plague." She leaned down to her husband and sat in a chair, holding him in her arms. She did not want to die. He did not want to die. Virginia of course didn't want to die.
He sighed, holding his tearful wife in his arms. They had worked so hard building this farm, they worked so hard raising their daughter and living life. But it would be better to live.
"We will start packing after dinner. By tomorrow afternoon, we shall leave for the castle of Baron Douglass, and from there we will go to the next noble's land, and so forth till we are farther and farther away."
They kissed, hoping for a better life. Then she got up, wanting to keep kissing him but the pies was done. He closed his eyes and rested, for tonight would be a long night of getting ready to leave.
Then he smelled the scent of something other than pies. Smoke and blood.
His wife screamed, looking around as she saw something very wrong.
Their house was set on fire with torches by the hands of what appeared to be hissing beak doctors.
A/N; Burning? BURNING!? WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT!? Review and I'll update!
Shoys.