Child of the thousandth morning
As the first cold hand of autumn light stretched its long fingers through the window’s shutters and fell upon the young sleeping girls face, she opened her eyes and a grin spread its way across her little freckled face.
Without a word, she sat up, throw her sleeping furs away, and placed her feet on the floor. She had to bite her lip to not scream at the cold. For a moment, she deeply considered crawling back into bed and going to sleep once more.
No, she could not do that she would not do that. This day only came one a year and she was intend on not missing a single second of it.
So instead, she ran to the door, opened it and proceeded down the hall to her sister’s room. The door sighed lightly on its hinges and for a second Lysenea as the girl was called was scared that her plan would fail.
Yet her sister just mumbled something inaudible in her sleep and turned her back on her.
Lysenea was close to laughing as she stepped over the creaking floorboards as silently as possible. Which to be honest was not very silent but lucky for her, her sister must have been very tired this exact morning for some reason, because she did not respond to the noise in any way.
Lysena smirked wickedly as she crawled into her sister’s bed and carefully placed her icy feet on her sister’s warm ones.
“Oh for heaven’s sake Lys,” her sister suddenly screamed as she sat up.
“Good morning Rylla,” Lysenea said smiling at her older sister.
Rylla sighed and ran her fingers through her snow-white hair, while she watched her with eyes as dark as the night sky.
She had always been the pretty one. With her flawless skin, rose red cheeks, the dark eyes and snowy hair she looked more like a highborn Lady, than a kitchen servant. She was tall, slender and elegant. She could even dance and sing.
Then there was Lysenea herself. Her hair a wild tangle of ashen grey and her eyes a watery light blue. Her face covered with freckles and her hands usually blue with cold. When she smiled, it was easy to see that she had lost a tooth in the upper corner of her mouth.
Even so, Rylla had always tried to convince her that she was pretty.
Ha, that was easy for her to say, she was the one who had bards sing songs of her beauty at every given turn and could have even highlords or knights fall in love with her.
Nevertheless, she adored her sister and was somehow flattered, when she called her pretty.
“Come on up Rylla, it’s the marked day today,” she said shaking her sister lightly.
“I know I know, but sleep Lys, it is our only day off today in a long time…,”
“Exactly, that is why I wish to not waste it on everyday activities such as sleep.” Lysenea said as she pulled her sister out of bed.
“Come help me with my hair please,” she begged sitting down on the chair in front of the mirror.
Rylla sighed again yet still went to pick up the hairbrush that the prince had given her for her birthday last winter.
It was made of silver and shone prettily in the light of the candles. Their mother had said that she could sell it for a fortune but Rylla had refused to do so.
She had always been close to the prince…or well as close as a servant could get for years. She sang and danced for him and his guests at feasts a lot.
No one held much love for the royal advisors and caretakers though. They had always been exceptionally mean to the servants and everyone else surrounding the prince and his family.
Lysenea felt the brush run though her hair untangling the knots as gently as possible. Her sister was softly hymning her favourite song “Child of the thousandth morning”. The song she had so often sung to calm Lysenea, when she was sad or hurt.
“Come child of the thousandth morning
Come child of rising sun.
Come child of life and caring
For your tears can no longer run
Oh child of shining morning
Now your gloom must end
For your people need you
You must heed their warning.
Oh child of blessed dawn
The darkness pulls at you.
But your soul must stay strong
You shall see the world reborn,”
She had not realized she was singing before she heard her sister join in. Her voice as sweet as the taste of honey and the smell of roses.
When the sisters were done with their hair, they dressed in their finest clothe and ran out to experience the wonders of the marked.