1 POV Glendetta
I was born, on an autumn night, surrounded by the moorland - apple orchards in full bloom. Glendetta was my father's picking, after his late sister Gailietta. I was lovingly received by the midwife and raised until I was two by my milk mother when suddenly, she disappeared.
I never met my father the day I was born, and I never met him hence. And so, I had never harbored any capability of missing him from the beginning of my life to now. Whether he had passed, or he had simply vanished from the face of the earth, I could never conclude for myself. And I never asked my mother. So, it remained an undeciphered mystery.
When I was a young girl, my mother told me that children were borne from the seeds of rotten apples that had fallen from their trees and left their homes. I suppose to her it was amusing and light-hearted, calling me a rotten apple, but her true victory was that upon hearing such a story, I, youthful and naive, swore then and there never to leave my home.
My mother, Astroline, was beautiful and vain, and my father had left her a fabulous title and fabulous wealth.
She was named Duchess of Hinter, and assumed the highest position in all the manor, Duke’s Dowager. Despite her money and her title in the village, my young mother was not someone of clear wealth or distinction around the lively kingdom. It was likely the king had never even lain eyes or ears on the existence of a Duke and Duchess of Hinter. Although not amicable in the least, she certainly was reserved and soft. Her smooth, white hands concealed her inferior youth, where she’d acted as servant to, Count and Countess Henderson, who she commanded today.
Underneath her womanly exterior were her dishonorable calluses, her rudimentary foundations. And so, she wore her femininity as proud costume and never removed her mask.
Never seeing my mother unclothed of her clever disguise, I was quite alone in the world.
When I was three, and already my language was fluent and my penmanship coherent, my mother began to dress me with the same cloak she uniformed herself in. I was taught to keep my hands and neck, soft and white, to keep my straight and stubborn hair curled into ringlets, and to learn the crafts of true women.
But feminine arts were not my sampling.
It was around that time that a merchant by the name of Picos Monorto visited our grand manor. For three days and three nights he stayed, but in those three days and three nights, I was changed forever.