Chapter 1
The morning sun pierced through the window like an ill-mannered guest. With a groan of utter contempt, I yanked the blanket over my head. Yesterday's toil had stretched into the absurd hours of the night. After completing my chores far later than anticipated, I spent the better part of the evening counting my miserly stash of copper coins.
Sleep tugged at me as I worked, which necessitated counting the wretched things not once but several times. The grand total? Eighty-nine coppers. A sum so pathetic I could scarcely stand the sight of it. I required five silvers, a laughable ambition in my current state. One hundred coppers amount to a single silver, and fifty silvers create a gold coin. Have I owned a gold coin in the past four years? Oh, indeed I have, in dreams so fantastical that even my subconscious was mocking me.
This incessant struggle for coins was maddening. The life of a peasant is a relentless exercise in humiliation. But why was I brooding over such matters this morning? The answer is Kyle.
Ah, Kyle. Recently, he celebrated my twenty-third birthday by presenting me with a new pair of shoes. A thoughtful gesture as they replaced the pitiful scraps I had worn for the past four years. And yet, this act of kindness has ignited a fire in me, for I had intended to gift him a new pair of shoes first!
Kyle is my husband, fourteen years my senior. Tall and robust, with the sort of build that speaks to years of relentless toil beneath a merciless sun. Handsome? Hardly. His rugged appearance could scarcely be called striking. His face bears the marks of his laborious existence, his black hair streaked with white.
I once jest with him that my hair is white as well so we are destined to match. He responds to this with a dubious look. "Aye, but there's a difference," he grumbles. "You were born with that fancy snow-white hair, and mine's just giving up on me."
And his beard? Entirely white. This makes him self-conscious when standing beside me. To spare himself this indignity, he shaves each morning with a diligence that borders on obsessive.
We resided in a modest little house, tucked within the bustling streets of Torvalis. Torvalis sat proudly within the kingdom of Zalvanica, though I had no sentimental attachment to the place. After all, I had not been born here nor had I arrived under circumstances one might call favorable.
My journey to this land was neither chosen nor dignified. Abandoned in the depths of a dense forest, I had been left to the mercy of the wilds. Starvation had robbed me of strength. I had resigned myself to death with the bitter acceptance of one who no longer expected kindness from the world. Then, as though the universe itself sought to mock my resignation, a bear appeared. It was then that Kyle emerged. With the precision of a seasoned huntsman, he loosed an arrow, striking the beast squarely in its eye.
Kyle saved me. He lifted me into his arms and carried me to his humble one-room dwelling in Torvalis and nursed me back to health. He was kindness itself, a quality I had long ceased to expect in others.
Over time, Kyle confessed his love for me. His declarations were awkward yet sincere. He insisted I was free to leave if I wished, though the question of where I might go was a moot point. My empty heart held no place to return to. And so, I stayed. One day, in a moment of clarity, I proposed to him. If I were to remain, it seemed only logical to bind our lives in marriage. Kyle accepted my offer with joy.
Did I love him then? No. Do I love him now? Certainly not. He is simply there and I am simply here.
Kyle earns his coins by selling logs from the trees he chopped. As for me, I possess a talent that he does not: I can read and write with the finesse befitting someone of far greater standing than my current lot in life.
With such skills, I took to tutoring the children in our impoverished neighborhood, imparting literacy and numbers to sticky-fingered urchins. The compensation? A few paltry coppers for an hour's effort. Yet, what choice did I have? We are all paupers here, clinging to survival like rats to a sinking ship. Charging more would only see my services avoided altogether.
Oh, but I did attempt to market my talents to the nobility. However, the so-called upper class would sooner hire a monkey in a bonnet than a humble tutor from our downtrodden district. Their arrogance is as infuriating as it is predictable. Shame on them. The very thought of it makes my blood boil.
Returning to the pressing matter of money, Kyle's birthday is but two days away, and I find myself in a predicament. I need five silvers to purchase his gift. I have set my sights on a pair of shoes for him. They are of the most lamentable quality but what can one do when finances are as grim as a rainy funeral?
I finally cast the blanket off me, sitting upright in a state of righteous indignation. Our bedroom was miserably small, much like the rest of this cramped house. The kitchen and living room were forced to share the same dismal space, while the bedroom itself could accommodate nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and my vanity.
My gaze fell upon the vanity mirror, and there I was: a disheveled vision of chaos. My long white hair stood out in wild tufts. My mismatched violet eyes stared back at me. The right was vivid and sharp, a hue that seemed almost otherworldly while the left was softer, a reflection of my blindness. That it had not turned entirely white yet was a marvel even I could not explain.
With a sigh of resignation, I reached for my black cane, steadying it in my right hand before attempting to rise. My right foot struck some unseen object on the floor, sending me stumbling. My pathetic left leg failed entirely to catch me. The cane skidded across the wooden floor, and I collapsed to the ground in a most ungraceful heap.
"Fuck!" The word burst forth as I lay sprawled on the floor. This wretched leg of mine worsened with each passing year, my limp becoming more pronounced as if it sought to announce itself to the world. And as if that indignity were not enough, I was also missing my right pinky finger.
Then, amidst my self-pity, a memory surfaced. I gasped and clambered to my feet with the help of my cane. Yesterday while trudging home after tutoring that insufferable child, I had seen a sign. A portrait shop was seeking a woman to model, and the pay was a staggering six silvers! How could I have forgotten such an opportunity? Why am I so utterly foolish? I blamed the child. His inability to grasp even the most basic concepts had clearly drained my mental faculties.
I turned back to the mirror, scrutinizing my reflection with a critical eye. Yes, I am beautiful. More than that, I am striking. A woman of poise, grace, and just the right hint of mystery. Surely, I could be the model they sought.
Without wasting another moment, I washed quickly, skipping breakfast entirely, for what was food compared to six silvers? Then, cane in hand, I made my way to the door, well, limped. But I limped with purpose. Today, I would seize this chance, flaws and all.