Prologue

The little girl looked up at the old man with her innocent doe eyes. She had asked him how she came to be at his manor. The man cast his attention dismissively away from the question. But she asked it again, with this he sneered. He began to speak in a slow monotone voice, as you would speak to an idiot. He often spoke in this manner, to make sure that every word was heard and not a question could be asked. If you asked a question you were stupid.

“It was the worst storm of the year. The night was dark and cold it was well past midnight. I was in my study reading, for not even a demon of hell itself could sleep on a night like that. The rain pounded the ground in sheets; the wind in turned whipped it about so hard that it left welts on any and all bare skin. Thunder rolled overhead as if this world were coming to an end. And you’re lucky that through all this I heard your cries. You’re luckier yet that I even bothered to go and see what it was, for I hate crying. I opened the door and there was what I thought was nothing but a basket of rags. Until you let out a squeal to make a banshee run. I took you inside and undid the rags; you were as nude as the day you were born. Not a blanket to keep you warm, or a dipper covered you. The only other thing in the basket was a piece of paper reading,

‘Megan the Brighid, born February 29.’

Yes, Megan the Brighid, I took it who ever wrote the note didn’t have any sense of grammar. I cleaned, dried, fed, and clothed you. Then lay you to sleep back in your basket in front of the fire in my study. The next day I called the police, the incompetent fools they are couldn’t even find a birth record for you. After no reports came in I adopted you. I took you in when your own parents didn’t want you. They in their weakness left you on my doorstep. I have raised you as my own granddaughter, to know strength and power, you lack both and that damned weakness lingers in you like some terminal disease.”