Marked

Chapter 2

I'd wanted to add in a photo of Sara in a blue dress.. But very unfortunately, technology decided to work against me, and the image screwed up :/ so you'll have to do without it for now..

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Treading cautiously on the marbled floors, she took in her surroundings, making sure to keep a respectful distance between herself and the boy.

Although the Manor was a large house, it had a homely feel to it, and she felt much at ease. Walking through the hall, she saw that it was bathed in a lovely cream color, oil lamps flickering on the walls. Highlighted by the golden light from the oil lamps were carvings of what appeared to be three different symbols—the first, a swirl identical to the one on her palm; the second, three diagonal slashes; and the third, something that looked very much like the snaking wisps of smoke from a flame.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she paused.

“Wait,” she said, halting him mid-step. “How do I address you?”

He was silent for a moment, studying her with curious eyes. Feeling a little uncomfortable, she lowered her gaze, observing the intricate swirl patterns on the velvet carpet.

“I’m Maxon,” he replied, extending a hand to her.

She did not take his hand—that would symbolize camaraderie, and did not think herself worthy of that yet. Instead, she curtsied, feeling terribly out of place with her simple peasant blouse and pants, which were scrimmaged from a house on her way here. Maxon, in contrast, was smartly decked in a dark grey suit, pressed straight as a pin.

Raising her eyes to meet his, she smiled tentatively. “Nice to meet you,” she said politely. “I’m Sara.”

“Well, well, well!” cried a voice out of the blue. “Who have we here?” Sara jumped violently and snapped her head to the right, putting a hand to her chest.

Smiling pleasantly at her was a lady dressed in fine embroidery, her dark hair carefully coiffed and pinned into a neat bun atop her head. She appeared to be around her mid-thirties, and yet there was a kind of aged wisdom in her eyes that people as youthful as her did not often have. Something about her posture—back straight, head inclined, hands clasped together—seemed to exude strength, power, and elegance.

“Good evening, Countess,” Maxon said, inclining his head slightly.

“Oh, away with the formalities,” laughed the Countess, waving a hand at him. She had a bright, tinkling laugh to match her mellifluous voice. Glancing down at Sara’s Marks, her smile became wider. “And who might you be?”

Sara found herself warming to the Countess very quickly, and soon, she became acquainted with various people and places in the Manor, as the Countess took her by the hand, leading her up staircases and down hallways.

There were the maidservants, two of whom were resting in their Chambers and were happy to meet her—Katie, a young, fresh-faced girl of about nineteen, and Alethea, a middle-aged lady with a jovial demeanor and a mother-like air. Though it was customary for them to be quiet and respectful around their employers, Sara felt that Katie, with her bright and eager eyes, would make a very good friend indeed.

There were the cooks—Morgan and Jeremiah Gridley, who were in their mid-twenties. They were brothers, and very identical ones at that. They had the same burly build, and similar deep, throaty laughs, although Morgan was the more talkative one of the two; immediately showing her around the kitchen and pointing out various pastries he had made, his chest puffing out proudly. Sara couldn’t help but think that he looked like a little boy showing off his collection of toys. Then she’d giggled when she’d realized that his face didn’t quite match that of a toddler—his chiseled, masculine features were anything but childish.