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Signor Alessandro Von Einzeberneg

Child of the Dark Morn

5:00 AM. Riza woke to the cry of the rooster as first light cleaved the dark sky. The dismal, moldered ceiling staring down at her with its rotted wood. In all prim and proper mannerism, she stood and made her worn-out bed. The cold chill of morn pervaded the atmosphere with its savage ferocity, goosebumps erupting around Riza's bare arms. Finished with her task, she walked towards the dark brown table, its surface scratched, burned and old from fierce use. The mirror on top of it reflected a pale and thin young woman, her golden hair in disarray, dark bags under her eyes and chapped lips. Her faded blue kirtle, smudged with dirt and grease and tatty from extreme use. It was the only dress Riza had. And as she looked around her room, all reality erupted. She was poor, she had no home, she had no better clothes, no better shoes. She had never played with dolls, nor had she ever worn any jewelry. The blue dress was the only dress she had, along with the shoes sitting by the side of her bed, made out of leather and canvas.

She had no family, no friends, not even pets.

Grabbing her shoes, Riza slipped them on and proceeded to straighten her dirty and rumpled hair. As she fought an enduring curl, the inky black sky began to disappear as the fervent yellow light of the sun swathed through it. The wood below her made creaky noises as she went out of her quarters and into the courtyard that lay beyond it. The green grass shimmered like emeralds and the cool wind blew at her hair as she made her way to the large manor where she worked. As she passed by the granite fountain, a young bird bathed in its effervescing water. Oh how she longed to be as free as that young bird! Facing her reality, Riza hurried her pace and was met by two large mahogany doors with ornate carvings and gold knobs. Two leviathan statues flanked the door. On her right was a beautiful lady, her head high and her back straight, gown flowing down. The statue looked as if it was facing a myriad of enemies and none could subdue her. To the left was a regal young man, his head high like the other statue but instead of the defiant form of the other, his was of royal superiority. The statue's hands held a sword pointed to the ground and the man was draped in a long cloak, boots to his knees and an armor of some type combed his torso. The statue on the left had one of his hands pointed towards the long corridor beside it, the other statue its hand pointing to the dark forest that was yonder.

Riza marveled at their elegance when sounds from inside woke her from her reveries. Hand on one knob, she entered the manor and was met by the chamberlain. As usual, the chamberlain sat on one of the velvet chairs, his feet sprawled on the carpeted floor. A plate, full of food, sat on his thighs as he continued to devour it. All the while, he proceeded to shout orders and unreasonable commands. Having spotted her, the chamberlain excluded no one.

"Oi! Riza, you lump! Get in here and do some work, you filth! We don't need some lazy bitch around here! Get in here, you filthy animal!" His words had lost their painful sting, with Riza accustomed to it for most of her life. Knowing she was just a servant and powerless to object, she had became resigned. Heeding her master's orders, Riza scurried past the bloated man and began cleaning after him. Without losing her step, Riza hurried into the kitchen to get the plates washed and help prepare the breakfast of the noble family. For twenty-nine years, Riza had served the Mustang family without complaint, even when the chamberlain falsely accused the staff with the many household problems of the manor. Being a maid, Riza had never seen any of the Mustang family. Only the chamberlain and the cleaning staff was allowed to leave the kitchens and enter the rest of the manor.

Commoners were not worthy enough to be graced with the presence of nobility, especially the Mustang family, as was the belief of the staff and servants. They were the rulers of Tuscany, Italy. Jewelers from Paris, clergymen from the Vatican, aristocrats from St. Petersburg all come to the rich land to marvel at the splendor and elegance at which the House of Mustang ruled. Florence was the Mt. Olympus of Art, the Heaven of Paintings, the Palace of Beauty. People from around the world flock together to examine the marvelous ambrosia of Donatello, Boticelli, Sanzio, Da Vinci and Michelangelo. Oh how beautiful Florence was! If only Riza was as fortunate as those who walk royally into the many art galleries of Florence. She would never have to work again! Alas, 'tis but a dream so unreachable.

Riza entered the kitchens and saw the head cook prepare a delicious Italian cuisine, with its savoringly alluring bellpeppers, black peppers, spices, tomatoes and other additives. There were several pieces of half-baked dough, waiting for the luscious coriander to be poured over and soon be baked by the roaring fire by the wall. Bread, toasted to a perfect golden brown and sprinkled with pepper, was set next to the bowl full of scrumptious grapes, strawberries and apples. Riza's stomach growled in hunger. She hadn't eaten breakfast yet. With all due haste, Riza tied an apron around her waist, grabbed a piece of bread and proceeded to help Signora Gracia.

Signora Gracia was probably the only female person in the staff that she can consider an 'acquaintance'. Acquaintance, since Riza always kept to herself and never got involved with other people. Acquaintance, since Riza never allowed herself to get attached, to be close to other people, to socialize. Signora Gracia and her relationship would be what to others as 'civil harmony'. A kind of relationship that only encompasses business and work. Obviously, since Riza was illiterate, never knowing how to read and write, the kind of 'business' she may have is actually just menial tasks.

Without further ado, Riza swept past the pans, pots, food and the strainers and into the baking room where Signora Gracia was kneading dough and making them into dainty, and well-crafted pies. The woman's back was turned to Riza, unbeknownst to her arrival. On the counter were the kneaded doughs and other utensils. A wide, russet colored pan was filled with coriander mixed with peppers and cheese. To the side was a large armoire, its handles gold, jewels embedded on it. Two statues decorated the room. On on side, parallel to where Riza stood, was a statue of a knight, all armor, sword by the hand, helmet visor pushed down, cloak draped over his shoulders. The other statue stood to Riza's right, next to the armoire. It was a woman, her veil flowing, robes billowing. Her arms were spread apart, hands open as if beckoning to come to her. Her head was tilted to the side a bit, face soft and kind. Behind the statue was a soaring window, glazed windowpanes pouring the morning light into the room. The statue of the lady almost looked ethereal, almost ghostlike, almost divine. From the whispers, the talks she had heard in the past when she worked in the kitchens, Riza knew this statue was the Most Holy Virgin.

The idea of a venerated being who was impeccably perfect and pure, who gave birth to the Saviour, who was to reign at the side of her son on the world was stunning. Riza always heard the whispered prayers of the people when she passed the many cathedrals and churches on her way to the market. For Riza, this act of veneration was quite ludicrous. If there was some omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent Lord who was so merciful that He died for the souls of men, then He was probably drunk. Because, there was no way that any god would inflict this kind of horror unto his people, Riza thought bitterly. Ignoring the pain that mentally stabbed her heart, Riza straightened her face and made a formal greeting.

"Buongiorno, signora." The lady almost jumped in shock at Riza's flat voice. Signora Gracia turned around, her hand on her chest, the other holding a kitchen knife for self-defense. Dark blond hair cupped her face, plump and soft; riveting jade green eyes stared at her with shock and fear mixed. When the Signora recognized Riza, she sighed loudly and lowered her hands. A faint trace of dough clung to the frills of her walnut dress. Signora Gracia smiled softly at her.

"Elizabeth, come help me prepare breakfast." She beckoned to the food on the table. Riza nodded and hastily helped the Signora with the coriander and the baking of the pies. After a while, Riza noticed that the food was more than the amount of a usual morning meal. Nonplussed, Riza turned to the Signora, who was also occupied with the red wine for the pies. Several bottles were on the table and the Signora was busy choosing which was more delectable and would go well with the pies.

"Signora, scusami, why is the breakfast for the Royal family more larger today? It is most unusual." Riza questioned. Signora Gracia looked up, set the wine glass down and smiled at the confusion written all over the face of a woman who was usually cool and composed.

"Have you not heard, Elizabeth?" The Signora raised a brow. Riza, more confused than ever, shook her head. "What?"

"Lord Mustang of the House of Mustang, the heir apparent to the Grand Duchy of Tuscany is arriving this morning from Paris. Do you not remember the Duke of Florence?" Riza suddenly recalled a faraway place, with time frozen. She saw vivid green fields and towering mountains. Saw a calm, ultramarine blue sea and heard the sounds of the wind against the tall stalks of grass. She saw a strong, tall and majestic white horse. Its saddle was amethyst, with a very familiar crest. A man sat on the horse, back straight and chin raised. Midnight black hair swayed with the wind, blue-black eyes surveyed the scene. A top hat, Victorian-styled, with a crimson red feather attached, held most of his head. A blood red cloak was draped all over his shoulders, covering the black waistcoat in which the man wore. Slightly tanned hands held the reins of the horse tightly, his left wearing a golden ring with a large emerald that shined in the light of the sun.

Unconsciously, Riza replied, "Yes, I remember.