A Few Valient Women, Prequel Part 2

Not wanting to wake anyone in the house I crept into the mansion through the cook’s quarters. My shoulder throbbed and clear liquid oozed down my skin. However, I had not examined the wound yet and I did not want to. I did not want to have to see the tangible evidence of my stupidity.

     Slightly, I slithered up the marble stairs, wincing at every move my body made. I reached my room at the end of the corridor; gently I pulled the oak door open and walked inside.

     When I finally felt safe I ventured toward my mirror to examine the wound. The burn was worse than I could have ever imagined. The skin was charred black having a leathery texture in some areas and blistering in others. Yet, the wound’s appearance and throbbing pain was not the part that made me want to be sick. This wound was not any ordinary branding mark comprised of letters and symbols. Even through the blistering and blackened skin I could tell my attacker had been successful. There on my shoulder was a charred, but unmistakable image of a hissing snake wrapped around an apple. I wanted to cry out in frustration and pain, but the footsteps coming up the corridor prevent my tears. My mother would be waking soon and requesting to see me; I could not let her see the mark. I could only imagine her reaction to the blackened skin, a mark on the ivory skin of her only, perfect daughter. She would be furious.

     One handed and with all remaining fortitude I had left, I tore the petticoat off my body and stashed it underneath my bed. The wound continued to hurt, the pain made me dizzy. Somehow I managed to put another nightgown on. The soft fabric against my skin made my branding hurt worse. Sweat dripped off my forehead as I climbed into bed. Every movement required so much effort. All I wanted was sleep, but a knock at my door prevented me from obtaining the very thing I needed most.

     “Come in,” I said feebly. My mother entered clutching the brown eyed sad creature from the night previous. The girl had been bathed and dressed, but the vacant stare remained.

     “Felicity,” my mother started in her usual demanding way as she thrust the girl forward toward my bed, “I want you to meet your cousin Isabella, she will be living with us from now on.”