6. Becoming a Lady
Note: Obligatory angst in this chapter. Proceed with caution. I mean it.
July 13
Death Valley
Underground Bunker
Lady Midday was many things, most of them even she'd admit weren't good, but if there was one thing she was not, it was a slob. Sadly, being immortal meant possessing many things gained over centuries of travel, things that tended to pile up. And, since she was still working on purging the ice magic from her system, the summer spirit had chosen today to do her version of spring cleaning.
Reaching the basement of her three story compound, she set to work. Marie Antoinette's broach: keep. Military trench knife: keep. Marie Curie's scarf: burn (regrettable, but she didn't need winter clothes). Radioactive dirt from Chernobyl: sprinkle it on someone soon. Midday's eyes widened as she carefully removed the final object from the trunk. It was a very simple, entirely outdated dress. Midday ran a red-nailed hand down the skirt, uncommonly gentle. The pure white of the material was the same as it had been centuries ago, the material just as soft. This was the only outfit she had kept from the dark ages, and it had one hell of a story.
HSHSHSHS
1427
Kingdom of Aragon (Spain)
"Hurry up!"
Two girls, no older than ten, ran barefoot through the fields, laughing wildly. The speaker, a girl with curly brown hair and dark eyes smiled at her friend, silently admiring the way the sun made her auburn hair glow. "Augusta, we'll be late if you don't run faster!"
"Coming, Anabel!" The duo continued their trek back to the village, arms weighted down with baskets of fresh fruit from the orchards. The cousins made quite the sight, both dirty and disheveled from their labors yet glowing with satisfaction. Anabel and Augusta were best friends, raised in the same household and as close as sisters.
Augusta held her head up high as they reached the village, resolutely ignoring the whispers. In a secluded location where everybody shared the same dark hair and eyes, the birth of a child with light brown eyes and auburn hair had been a source of scandal and years worth of speculation. She'd grown up hearing it. Abomination. Adultery. English brat. Anabel's parents had taken her in after her father publicly denied their relation within hours of Augusta's first cry. He and her mother had left the village several months later, never to be seen from again. To be honest, she was almost grateful to him. Her aunt and uncle were wonderful people, treating her like their second daughter and teaching her to see herself for who she was as a person, rather than how she had come into this world. Arriving at their destination, the girls entered the modest home, putting the baskets on the kitchen table.
"We're home!"
1430
Augusta glared at Cristóbal, hating his presence in her home and what it meant for her cousin. The years had not been kind to their little family. Work had been scarce and her uncle had recently taken ill. With little money and no sons to help support them, her aunt had chosen to take matters into her own hands by beginning marriage negotiations. Not for her, of course, no man in Aragon would willingly touch a child of sin. Augusta felt her blood boil as she stared down Anabel's fiancé. This was wrong.
Cristóbal was handsome, she'd give him that, and his family was moderately wealthy, but he was by no means a suitable match for Anabel. The fifteen year old was loud, vicious, and slovenly. She had seen his mother, bruised and submissive, breaking her back for years as he and his father lazed about. He had no respect for women, no respect at all. And he would be marrying her sister. Visions of Anabel, spirit broken by her husband, flashed through her mind. Augusta's teeth ground together as her heart beat in her ears, drowning out the sound of his smug voice.
Cristóbal and Anabel were married three months later. It was the first and last time Augusta cried in public.
1431
Augusta held the weeping brunette, feeling her own heart breaking. Cristóbal had been as she'd predicted. No, even she hadn't thought he would stoop so low. Drawing back, she used her sleeve to wipe away the blood trailing down Anabel's temple. One dark eye looked helplessly back at her, the other swollen tightly shut. How had this happened? Wasn't it just yesterday they ran through the fields, young and free of care? No, it hadn't been. They had both grown up, childish innocence cast aside by necessity. Augusta reached out, grabbing the hand Anabel kept pressed to her stomach and holding it in both of hers.
There was nothing she could say to comfort the other girl. As if a miscarriage wasn't bad enough…
-One week later-
Augusta blinked, awakened from her sleep by a frenzied pounding at the door. Taking her candle, the young woman opened the door, fully prepared to give the guilty party a piece of her mind. The candle clattered to the floor, fire dying on impact with the cold stone. It was Anabel, her dress covered in blood, a kitchen knife glinting in the moonlight clutched tightly in her hand.
Fighting back a cry of alarm, Augusta herded her cousin to the table, lighting another candle. Anabel looked so lost, so little. "Anabel-
That was all it took for the other to begin wailing uncontrollably, knife hitting the floor as thin shoulders shook. Augusta reacted on instinct, one hand flying to cover her mouth while the other arm wrapped around her, pulling the other into a firm embrace. "Be quiet!" She whispered harshly, terrified that her aunt would wake up. "What has happened?"
And so it came out. After the miscarriage and Cristóbal's reaction to it, Anabel had been petrified of him, more so than she had been before. Tonight, he had attempted to bed her again and she had panicked. She wore the proof of her crime.
Anabel was still shaking, eyes wide and pupils dilated. "What will I do? Where will I go? They will kill me. They will kill me, Augusta!" Augusta crouched down until their faces were inches apart, her eyes deadly serious. "They will not. You will be a wealthy widow with your pick of men if you follow my instructions. Do you understand?" Shakily, Anabel nodded, a small spark of hope returning to dulled eyes. "Take off your dress."
Anabel did so immediately while Augusta fetched a bucket of water and a rag. Within minutes, her cousin stood, freshly scrubbed and wearing Augusta's spare dress. "Stay in my room and wait quietly." The brunette nodded, disappearing from sight.
Just before dawn, Anabel returned to a cleaned house and followed Augusta's orders. When questioned, she claimed her husband had not returned home the night before. It was much too late that she realized the consequences of her cousin's plan. Cristóbal's corpse was found a week later, hand clutching several auburn hairs.
Augusta had known a cold, hard truth: Anabel could never live free of suspicion unless the "true" killer was discovered. And, as everyone knew, Augusta had hated Cristóbal with a passion. By the time the body had been discovered, the murderess was long gone.
1432
The Pyrenees (mountain border between Spain and France)
Augusta sat shivering by a small fire. Those that had known her just months before would be unlikely to recognize her. Her once glorious auburn mane was knotted and greasy, her skin darkened by grime and body robbed of its vitality by much labor and little food. The girl watched the sky, face blank. She'd underestimated the hatred the villagers held for her, hadn't imagined they would chase her from village to village. She'd lost them weeks ago, but now she had doomed herself to a slow death. The mountains were wild and dangerous and so, so cold. Winter was setting in and Augusta knew she couldn't cross the mountain in time.
She was going to die.
-days later-
Augusta ran, eyes wild as the mountain broke, sending torrents of mud and rocks hurtling forward. The rain stung her eyes, blinding her as thunder and lightning lit the sky. Instincts sending out a warning, Augusta froze, toes grazing the side of the ledge. She was at the top of a cliff, the mudslide blocking out all possible exits.
Augusta closed her eyes. An image of Anabel, standing bloody and lost in the moonlight, appeared in her mind. Augusta smiled. She had no regrets. Eyes closed, she barely felt as the freezing mud struck, pushing her over the edge.
1440
The sun blazed hot over the Pyrenees, an uncommon occurrence for the usually snowy mountain range. The valley was peaceful, young plants thriving in the heat. It was beautiful, a miracle of nature. And not the only one to happen this day.
In the valley, there was a small circle of land where nothing grew. The dirt cracked, deprived of water and nutrients. The dirt cracked a little more. And a little more. Slowly, the earth began to crack open, startling the animals. Within seconds, the soil had moved away, revealing a figure dressed in white underneath. The girl, who had been in the fetal position, looked up slowly, blinking in the light. She slowly uncurled, climbing up from the new formed crater and examining her surroundings. She was a beautiful girl, but oddly colored by any race's standards. Sun-colored eyes looked around curiously.
The girl didn't have a name, but she would. The voices of nature whispered in her ears, providing comfort and guidance. And so began the Lady Midday.
HSHSHSHS
Lady Midday looked down at the dress, smiling softly. The memories of her former life had returned slowly over the first few years, but she hadn't minded the delay too much. Mother had kept her busy. Midday re-folded the dress and placed it back in the trunk. That one was a keeper.
Note: First off, I realize Midday isn't a Spanish legend. My only excuse is that I don't know much about her real country's history, so I decided to take some liberties. Plus, I did want to show that she does have a soft side…even when it's only when she is totally alone in a place named after its high mortality rate. Please review.