Something about France always made you return to it, or just never leave it in the first place. I have long await a day I could leave, I could take everything in my possession and walk out the front doors of the castle I served at. But that would be too easy, for a person of my place. I am the keeper of words for this castle, I record all the happens within the walls. I have seen it all first hand and to leave would be like leaving my eyes in here and growing new ones for the world in front of me.

Which is why the story I will be proceeding to tell will seem a very odd one indeed. You will look over the words and think to yourself 'this is naught but fiction' and in all honesty it should seem as that. I promise with you, my hand laid upon the bible, that every word I have recorded stands as fact of my life. So take regard of my words and do not follow in the examples some would lead in this tale, for it was their actions that created my story of fantasy and romance.

I was brought to the castle as a young boy with nothing but paper in quill in my hands. My father was a noble man in the village to the south and had something to take up with the king. I followed him like the loyal son I was and stayed quiet while in the court. I did not listen to a word passed that day, nor did I ignore the conversation entirely. I merely stood my ground as a child should, without ears nor mouth. Until the time came for my usefulness

My father was murder in front of me. All I can recall was things coming out of hand and a man throwing fire to my father's tunic. I did not scream, but modestly watched him burn. He called for me to send word to mother, to tell her of his love. So I did just that, my letter read. "Dearest Mother, Father is burning in the court of the king and sends his deepest love to you." The king was so impressed with my writing he asked I stay with him. With complaint that I must return to my mother, he said that she was not of my concern any longer.

The last record keeping in the palace was a very old man who had no name. I was given to his care to learn his trade. He taught me schooling for a year. I learned all I would need to know through that great man, for he taught me the alphabet and how to construct words and sentences. Then, as soon as I passed the last test, he died as though he had been waiting for that day all his life. I seemed to grow very quickly in those years, from a young boy to a man in a year.

And as I grew, so did the king's son, Prince Philip. He was a handsome boy with brown hair and dark eyes. I have always envied his eyes, for mine were a very light blue and I despised them. Unlike many of the other royal, Prince Philip grew very accustom to the servants inside attending to his every request. I, myself, was among those who did as they were told, though I was scarcely told to actually do something. The most the Prince had asked of me was to write the name of all available women inside the french boundaries, he was in need of a bride. But the Prince never looked at the list, for in the days to come he would not be in condition to find a bride.