❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
Living in the Basilwether estate was certainly an experience. The estate was cold despite the warm sunshine that penetrated the gargantuan panes of glass lined with pearl and gold accents. The most softly padded footfalls would have been heard from across the mile-long corridors, as loud as the banging of pots and pans in the kitchens before a feast.
Tall pillars of ivory held up the magnanimously decorated with living murals and frescos. Rooms that could fit her whole village population, all their livestock, and then some.
Yet, despite the space that was provided, the only source of warmth throughout the whole cold and dreary estate came from the family that lived there, specifically the father and the son.
The marquess, even with his many socialite gatherings and such, always brought the feeling of comfort and home to any room, dignified, but caring.
She would be forever grateful to the man for letting her stay and live such a lavish life. When she had reached the estate, she was grateful that he had let her pick out the clothes from the tailor herself, and of course, didn't mind that she had proficiently refused to the get the clothes to be tailor-fit.
While sleeping in the quarters for the butlers and the footmen, she had clutched tightly to the soft fabric that she was provided. It felt softer than a babe's skin, finer than a dove's feather.
All her life, she was dressed in the scraps of clothes that weighed over her back like curtains, clumsy and heavy. These new clothes felt like freedom and laughter, as silly as it made it seem.
Her life had changed overnight, just like the fantastical stories from travellers, of a princess found from the streets, rescued from poverty. What she used to think was unreachable was now in her grasp.
Every morning lesson Tewkesbury took, each varying in subject, she was allowed to partake in. Managing the estate, business, law, politics, economy, arithmetics, and so much more about the world than she had dreamed off. Every drop of knowledge, she absorbed, although the tutors paid her no attention, nor did she make a peep or squeak.
Tewkesbury became more studious as a result of someone to compete with, even if she, as his attendant, made sure not to overdo him, the person she attended to.
By 2 weeks time, she had already mastered common words, and most of the alphabet. But even so, she never really spoke, for the shame and humiliation from their first encounter was enough to scar and silence her.
It didn't give her any bother, however, as her role as an attendant wasn't much to do with speaking, but rather aiding her master.
At noon, the children would split off into their different activities.
The young lord would go over to his father's side to survey the estate, or talk about plants and such. If not, he would be with his grandmother, the dowager, and his mother, having tea and learning mannerisms.
Cyril, on the other hand, would take lessons on how to be a better aide to support the heir of the estate, or she would help out in the kitchen or the gardens, wherever she may be needed.
She was currently working in the kitchens, peeling potatoes with a small knife that fit right in the palm of her hand. Peeling potatoes was really the only job she could do at that moment, not very advanced in necessary kitchen skills.
The cook, instead of risking food poisoning to the masters above, assigned her to the job in hopes that the child would be able to learn more difficult tasks in the near future.
Her body was changing quite quickly over the course of her stay, one of which was the developing calluses on her hands from the 2 weeks of hard work. Her previously frail and brittle figure was now being replaced with lean muscle and toughened skin. Her slender shoulders, she couldn't do much about, but seeing as she was still but a child, it was acceptable and passable as a presumed "young lad".
Her hair was growing out of its rusty brown colour and into a pale, almost white sheen of gold at the roots. It was almost unnoticeable, and she would rather it be kept that way.
She had already taken certain measures, nicking brown shoe polish from the maids last week, and her stationary set that her room provided already included a pair of scissors, so one of these days, she would have to cut her hair.
Suddenly, a pair of shiny, light brown shoes popped into the top of her eyesight, causing her to look up. Her face broke into a small smile in greeting to the sunny boy that was rocking on the heel of his foot.
Tewkesbury pulled her up by her arm, causing her to drop the potato and knife.
"C'mon! It's already 3 o'clock! Let's go build the treehouse!"
Every time the clock struck the little 3 on its face with the short hand, the little bubbly boy would go and find his friend, and they would venture out for adventures in the small woods, collecting flowers and plants, playing tag and other sorts of games, and building their grand treehouse on the branches of a great old oaken tree.
Clumsily, she followed along, his enthusiasm and brightness pulling her in, like a moth drawn to a flame.
Yet, she didn't know that like the moth, she too would face a dire consequence of chasing the light.
