Disclaimer: I own the characters in this story...They are ones I have created and have put a great deal of thought into. (Christian is probably the only one who is similar to any story character. He has been molded from Erik's character.) -So please, no stealing!
-Italicized words are stressed. Italicized sentences are thoughts.-
Dieppe, France 1785
"Oh Rose! I am so terribly sorry about your father... He was a good man." Ms. Grasmere, an old woman of fifty-five, states, her beautiful brown eyes filling with tears.
"Thank you." I breathe as I hug the old woman's neck tightly, "This was a most unexpected birthday surprise."
"Ah yes, I know deary..." she speaks as she pats my shoulder, "There is something he left for you."
As she says this, she reveals a book, old and dust ridden, that has an odd symbol on the cover.
"Oh my..." I breathe as I gently run my fingertips across the book's cover; books are one of my weaknesses, "What does that symbol mean? Those initials... N and C?"
"Patience dear child... In time you shall know I assure you, but right now, those children are waiting for you to tell them a story." She speaks, pointing to a room of teen girls.
"But I have nothing to tell..." I begin but stop as she looks down at the book I clutch in my hands.
"Why not?" She smiles as she sees the intrigued glitter in my purple eyes.
I enter the room, wiping away a tear that was fallin into my wavy sandy brown hair before sitting by the fire and beginning the story.
"Ladies please!" I call to settle the chattering girls, "As you all have heard, my father died early this morning." I begin, "BUT! Class shall go on as is the norm and today I have something I wish to share with you all... Something that my father passed on to me..."
Silence echoed throughout the room as I opened the book and began to read...
Clarissa 1728-1744 London, England
I met my husband, Joseph, in England when I was about eighteen years of age. My father and I were in England on a job offer trip. Ever since my mother died of cancer he had never settled and was always on the move. It was the last time we traveled together for when we came to London, he took the job he had been offered as an architect and bought a small house on a quiet little street. I lived with him for a good while, studying music and how to become closer to God. I was Catholic and the many churches in London made it a haven for girls like me.
One day in early spring, I followed my father to work for he and his crew were remodeling a decrepit church that had been abandoned. As I sat in the shade under one of the beautiful oak trees that were scattered along the church grounds, I saw my husband for the first time. He was a handsome young man of twenty years or so. His hair was golden and his eyes blue as sapphire. His skin was tan from working in the sun and his arms were muscular. He was carrying a sheet of glass for the window that was to be replaced when he noticed my gaze was locked on him. It was truly love at first sight.
He stopped as his eyes met mine and he nearly dropped the sheet of glass he was carrying. I laughed at this as he clumsily regained control of the glistening window pane. He saw my amusement and that's when I first saw his smile. His whole face lit up and a red tint coveted his cheeks.
After work, my father introduced us and about six months after that day, he proposed. My father approved of it highly and very soon, after that wonderful day it seems, I was married. Our wedding was in late September and the cool fall air rustled as we arrived at our new home.
My husband and I bought a two-story home a few streets away from my father's house and have lived there ever since. A few months later, we had enough money saved that we bought a nice plot of land behind our humble abode. Buying plants from our neighbors, I soon transformed that small plot of land into a gorgeous garden. The night I finished it, I came down with a strange illness.
My husband, more concerned than I had ever seen, made an appointment with the local doctor and soon I was in the carriage on my way there. My diagnosis was shocking. I remember clearly what the kind Doctor Debarberack said when he had the results. It was December and the chilly air seeped into the confines of the hospital.
"Mrs. Demira? Mr. Demira? I have good news." He said, a smile creeping across his usually gloomy face.
"Yes?" My husband asked anxiously hugging my waist ever so gently, "What's wrong with my sweet Clary?"
"Nothing..." the doctor replied plainly.
My husband sank back down into the couch we were resting on with a sigh of relief.
"Nothing..." The doctor continued, "That won't go away in about six months."
"What do you mean?" I inquired, puzzled by his statement. My husband sat strait up at this and his eyes were locked on the smiling doctor.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Demira, you are going to have a baby." He replied with a smile.
My husband stared at the doctor in shock as a feeling of utter joy swept over me.
"You mean?" he said looking at me and smiling as he saw the tears of my happiness slowly gliding down my rosy cheeks.
He held me close stroking my hair as the doctor scheduled an appointment for us next month. My husband shook his hand many times before finally leaving; I literally had to pry his hands from the doctor's as we made our way to the carriage.
He helped me into the carriage and held me the entire ride home, gently stroking my stomach and questioning about my health. I had never seen him so caring and so vigilant in my life and I never would again.
Soon six months had passed and my stomach had become very large as I plopped onto the couch in our living room. My husband comes in from work as usual and immediately comes to my side, gently stroking my stomach as he asks how I am.
"Just fine," I reply, hot and exhausted from the summer heat as I lay fanning myself on the sagging couch.
"He'll be born soon. I can feel it. Oh! I felt him kick." My husband exclaimed as I felt our baby kick gently at his hand.
"Him?" I asked, raising my eyebrow and catching his attention with my tone of voice.
"Sure why not?!" he replied. "A boy would be perfect!"
"What if it's a girl?" I inquired sitting up
"It will be a boy." He said stroking my stomach. "I know."
"Really." I said lying back down and forgetting the conversation for a sharp pain was now surging through my legs.
I cried out in agony as my water broke, staining my new couch. My husband cried out for the maids that were dashing about the house. One of them called for the midwife in desperation as they carted me off to my room.
At the stroke of midnight my baby was born. Everyone was silent as my husband walked in.
"Where is my son?" he asked with a smile on his face as he saw the little bundle I was cradling in my arms.
"Joseph, meet you daughter." I said at last. I watched as my husband's smile drastically changed into a puzzled look as he cradled the small bundle.
"Not a son? Well... We can always try again... Later of course." He said as my daughter opened her eyes for the first time.
"Ummmm, Sir? I'm not sure that you will be able too." One of the midwives said hesitantly.
"What do you mean?" My husband said, a troubled looked about him.
"During the delivery, one of the pubic bones almost snapped and if she has another child, I fear that your wife could have complications during birth... She could die." The midwife said solemnly as she cleaned up the room.
My husband's eye glared at me now. "NO SON!" he cried drawing a knife from his pocket; he had been out drinking that night, and I knew he had a temper, but nothing like this...
I exclaimed as he drew his arm back as if he we going to kill my child he held her by one of her fragile arms. She did not cry nor shriek in pain she just stared in horror as the knife came at her. That's when my father walked in. He saw my husband's insane attempt to kill my child and grabbed his arms stopping him as the knife came inches away from my baby.
He punched my husband sending my baby flying across the room. I cried out as I painfully dashed across the room to find my daughter lying in shock on her back. Her blanket unraveled a bit but no harm done.
My father took my husband from the room as I sat on the blood stained bed and cradled my frightened daughter in my arms. I began to cry as I held her close to me, her little heart beating very quickly. After a few moments of silence, she calmed down and I spoke to her gently.
"Nicole... Nicole Rose Demira... That sounds nice doesn't it?" I said softly to my daughter.
She did not smile nor cry at all as my husband threw his fit, but as I looked into her strangely red eyes, I saw that she would never forget this and I know, babies do not remember things from their early years but I knew this would never be forgotten. They shone a peculiar red color in the dim candle light of my bedroom but I soon forgot of this.
No scars were visible, but I saw all the pain and fear that disfigured her soul, lying in her blood red eyes as she shut them and silently drifted off to sleep.