Poppinbubbles
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 13, 2008
- Posts
- 442
It was her eighteenth birthday normally a day of celebration for a young woman but there was no celebrating for young Sarafina, ever since her father had taken ill and been confined to his bed she had had no cause for such joyous frivolities, and even if he were not sick who did she have to be frivolous and merry with?
The dark haired young lady with clear complexion and haunting silver eyes had no companions of her own age, and most of the servants had been made to avoid her since her father had taken ill at the threats of her stepmother lady Isabella da Tuca.
Isabella had always hated Sarafina, because of how much Juliano, her husband loved his only child. She reminded him so much of his beloved Sofia, and he made every effort to educate the girl. Instead of being happy that her husband was so fond of his daughter and herself, was kind hearted and good she sought at every turn make the child’s life miserable.
She even spoke rumors around the house that eventually made their way into the village, that the girl was a witch. And had some sort of spell over her that kept, the good Christian lady of Rome, from being able to bare her husband a son and ehr. Her eyes were witches eyes, and the books that were her companions were the words of the devil sent from her mother, this malicious slander had always been kept in the bounds of idle gossip.
That is until the eve of what was to have been a happy day for the beautiful Sarafina. She had managed to steal out of the house and into the moonlit olive groves and beyond to the forest to find the special poppies and the rare datura stramoni flowers, for a special tea that her mother used to make.
Her basket nearly full of the flora she heard the sharp bark of a dog, making the fine hairs at the back of her neck rise in fright. Slowly she swallowed, feeling as if frozen in the silver beams of the full moon, and turned her head to see the snarling snout of the vicious looking creature.
In her panic she fled, the fine cape, of blushing pink, she wore streamed out behind her as she tried her best to keep ahead of her four legged attacker. He was close on her heels, and the terrain was rocky, once he grabbed hold of her cloak, causing her to stumble and fall, making her dirty and scratching the skin of her face and arms, but she was able to pick herself up and unfasten the cape in haste and keep going.
Once more he caught the hem of her skirt and ripped it as well but she freed herself again, seeing the outline of her home in the moonlight and called louder for help.
The lights were all on, a commotion ensued, and with her last bit of strength she fell through the gate, raced up the garden path and collapsed at the feet of none other than the sterned face of Isabella, looking overly ominous thanks to the shadows thrown into her face by the candle she held.
“What further proof do you need of the child’s witchery!”
spindly fingers grabbed her scratched and dirtied face, pinching her cheeks together roughly and pulled the panting girl up “Trampling the cross, were you? cursing his eminence and God?” The few servants that had followed the sounds of the commotion in the yard looked in frightened awe at the dark girl with the unholy eyes.
Sarafina’s hand despite her shock shot to her neck, and her eyes widened as her fingers did not find purchase on the gold and ruby cross, that had been her mother’s, and she almost never took off. Shaking her head she began to protest but Isabella continued.
“You are old enough, I see the devil has taken you for his whore… See! I have witnesses! Call out! I want this devil’s child out of my site!” A wicked smirk tinted her stepmother's eyes and the corner of her lip as two stable hands clamped down on Sarafina’s young arms and began to drag her away before she even realized what was happening.
She tried to scream, to protest, and struggle, but it all happened so fast and before she knew it she was loaded into a wagon and heading into the city.
The dark haired young lady with clear complexion and haunting silver eyes had no companions of her own age, and most of the servants had been made to avoid her since her father had taken ill at the threats of her stepmother lady Isabella da Tuca.
Isabella had always hated Sarafina, because of how much Juliano, her husband loved his only child. She reminded him so much of his beloved Sofia, and he made every effort to educate the girl. Instead of being happy that her husband was so fond of his daughter and herself, was kind hearted and good she sought at every turn make the child’s life miserable.
She even spoke rumors around the house that eventually made their way into the village, that the girl was a witch. And had some sort of spell over her that kept, the good Christian lady of Rome, from being able to bare her husband a son and ehr. Her eyes were witches eyes, and the books that were her companions were the words of the devil sent from her mother, this malicious slander had always been kept in the bounds of idle gossip.
That is until the eve of what was to have been a happy day for the beautiful Sarafina. She had managed to steal out of the house and into the moonlit olive groves and beyond to the forest to find the special poppies and the rare datura stramoni flowers, for a special tea that her mother used to make.
Her basket nearly full of the flora she heard the sharp bark of a dog, making the fine hairs at the back of her neck rise in fright. Slowly she swallowed, feeling as if frozen in the silver beams of the full moon, and turned her head to see the snarling snout of the vicious looking creature.
In her panic she fled, the fine cape, of blushing pink, she wore streamed out behind her as she tried her best to keep ahead of her four legged attacker. He was close on her heels, and the terrain was rocky, once he grabbed hold of her cloak, causing her to stumble and fall, making her dirty and scratching the skin of her face and arms, but she was able to pick herself up and unfasten the cape in haste and keep going.
Once more he caught the hem of her skirt and ripped it as well but she freed herself again, seeing the outline of her home in the moonlight and called louder for help.
The lights were all on, a commotion ensued, and with her last bit of strength she fell through the gate, raced up the garden path and collapsed at the feet of none other than the sterned face of Isabella, looking overly ominous thanks to the shadows thrown into her face by the candle she held.
“What further proof do you need of the child’s witchery!”
spindly fingers grabbed her scratched and dirtied face, pinching her cheeks together roughly and pulled the panting girl up “Trampling the cross, were you? cursing his eminence and God?” The few servants that had followed the sounds of the commotion in the yard looked in frightened awe at the dark girl with the unholy eyes.
Sarafina’s hand despite her shock shot to her neck, and her eyes widened as her fingers did not find purchase on the gold and ruby cross, that had been her mother’s, and she almost never took off. Shaking her head she began to protest but Isabella continued.
“You are old enough, I see the devil has taken you for his whore… See! I have witnesses! Call out! I want this devil’s child out of my site!” A wicked smirk tinted her stepmother's eyes and the corner of her lip as two stable hands clamped down on Sarafina’s young arms and began to drag her away before she even realized what was happening.
She tried to scream, to protest, and struggle, but it all happened so fast and before she knew it she was loaded into a wagon and heading into the city.
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