Drawing her away from the damage they had just sustained, she absentmindedly stroked her hair smoothing down the defiant strands escaping from her woven hair. It was the day it all changed the fire took away all their chances of a proper life. With her father and the manor gone, they were left to make their own way in the world. And it was taken hard. A fallen aristocrat could never find their way back up. Mother couldn't adapt to the labour thrust upon her. As any highborn woman, brought up in comfortable standing. She was never expected to be anything more than a mother and wife. Everything she was, turned to ash with papa. Broken, blackened and soot was all that remained all that she was now. Her singing voice was cracked and chipped. Once well kept they stood in ruins.
After months of scrounging and starvation, she finally recognised what talents she could manipulate. Her own daughter. A governess of good standing was only as good as her reputation but mother had resources that increased her favour amongst tired fathers. Her daughter brought in the money clod and unfeeling. Spent on the mother with no remnants of a mother looking out for the child she had brought into this destitute world.
Young as the daughter was, she worked fro her living. Learning to pickpocket and trade whilst maintaining the home her mother wished for. Fetching supplies, cooking, cleaning and making herself scarce when her mothers gentlemen called.
Each had their own life, the daughter bringing in enough to feed themselves and the mother claiming all the rest for gowns to drew men's eyes to then claim their gifts. Rarely sharing more than a few hushed words.
It wasn’t until the day she bled in her 11th year did her mother pay more attention to her. The changes her body went through although foreign to her they seemed to excite her mother. As her face and voice harshened and wrinkled in the years that weighed upon her, her daughters physique defined itself with curves and shapes with every monthly bleed. A year would pass and she would sit across from her daughter at dinner, staring hungrily with a malice that glowed in her eyes as she brought her daughter fitted gowns and scented soaps. Until that moment the worst event in her daughters life was the death of her father, the starvation and neglect, not the thieving and trickery or his death itself.
Do you think, watching her now, pitifully as she huddles in the corner that she had been wronged? As what had happened to her runs through your head in fragmented thoughts. Do you pity her or are you too disgusted with the thoughts that may have happened to dwell on them too long. Your guesses cause you to redden and turn your face away from me. the worse is still to come in this tale, but turning away will not distract you.
your face remains away from me, but you keep glancing back. Yes I do notice. come, do not worry she will move along. we have more to tell yet.