author's note: ok, this takes place in like a medieval kind of land called Milyn, i don't hink i make that clear enough in the story. another of my original stories, Gale: The Beginnings also takes place in this fictious land. plus this stuff is all my own, at least, i hope it is.
Chapter one: The Squire in the Marketplace
Christine Norwell stepped out of the small theatre were she lived and worked on Griffin Street in Baeton, the capital city of Milyn. She on the stoop of the side entrance to the theatre and breathed in deeply. She could smell spring. It was almost hidden beneath the odors of the city, but spring was still there.
The warm sun shone onto Christine's breathy blonde ringlets, those not covered by her white kerchief. She wore a light lavender cotton dress with her white shift peeping out the neckline. Around her neck she wore a black cord that disappeared beneath her shift. On it was strung an emblem ring, hidden from sight. She had once been accused of stealing it when she wore it around her finger, so now she wore safe and out of sight beneath her shift.
The ring was Christine's most prized possession. It was a silver band that molded into a small disk embedded with the symbol of Gemini, the twins on it. Christine didn't know what it meant, but she knew it was some part of her past and who she really was, or rather, had been.
Christine was an orphan, or at least thats what her foster parents, the Norwells thought. They had found her wandering Baeton, dirty in rags, and bruised and battered with a large bump on her forehead. All the little Christine could tell them was her first name and age. Since then Christine could remember nothing before that. The Norwells took her in, care for her and searched for her family, but found none. So, having no children of their own, they happily kept Christine and taught her the ways of the theatre. The acting players became her family and she grew up in the happy atmosphere of the Griffin Street theatre.
The theatre put on two different shows. One, in the afternoon, was geared towards a younger audience; a fairy tale of Snow White, Rose Red in which she played Rose Red. She had a wonderful voice and could act, but she never really had the passion to persue a career in the theatre, just wasn't one of her priorities. In the evening show, The Lilac Inn, Christine played an understudy to the main female parts, but never really went on as either. She usually just played an extra or some background part.
Christine stood on the stoop for a moment longer, savoring the fragrance of the long awaited spring. Then with a determined air she set out for the marketplace her grocery sac and list in tow.
The midmorning marketplace was thriving with customers. Peddlers shouted their wares. The odors of food wafted through the air. Christine looked at her list: flour, eggs, carrots, beef. She scanned the list to the bottom the last item being a knife. She inwardly winced. It was very rare that she ever had to but knives, let alone buy herself. Christine had taken over the shopping for Mrs. Norwell, ever since she had been able to do so, but Mrs. Norwell usually went with to buy such important things as knives.
Out of all the peddlers in the marketplace the knife peddler was the one Christine disliked the most. He was convinced that woman's only jobs on earth was to cook, clean, care for children, and of course, shop. He unbearably patronized his female customers and he was one of the very few people Christine could not stand. She rarely lost her temper, but if she ever did it was probably because of Mr. Chandler. She warily headed towards the knife stand.
The knife peddler was speaking to a squire from the Palace as Christine approached. He directed the squire to a table in his booth a looked up to see Christine coming towards his booth.
"Ah, my dear Christine! We have not spoken in a time! How have you been doing?" Mr. Chandler asked.
"Very fine, Mr. Chandler," Christine told him politely, " And you?"
"Same old, Same old," he took a step back to look at her, "My how you've grown! How old are you now 12? 13?"
Christine had been 14 the last time Mr. Chandler asked, he only said it so she would retort back and she certainly didn't look to be 12 or 13! This greatly annoyed her. "I'm 15 Mr. Chandler," she said calmly.
"Ah marrying age! When will you give up the theatre and settle down with a husband?" Christine might have known he'd mention marriage! She lost her calmness.
" Not anytime soon, Mr. Chandler, but believe me when I am to be married you will be the first to know!" she retorted. Someone guffawed, but when Christine looked over at the squire he was leaning over closely inspecting the hilt of a particular dagger.
Mr. Chandler chuckled, "Ah, Christine, still the same pistol you always were! You need a husband to tame that wit!"
"Mr. Chandler please." Christine said, her quick temper under control.
"all right, all right," he said holding up his hands as a sign of peace, "Just trying to push you along. Now, what brings you here today?"
"I've to look for a butcher knife."
"A BUTCHER KNIFE!" cried Mr. Chandler, "Does not Silva come for the butcher knives? A young girl like you shouldn't be handling such things as butcher knives!"
"Mrs. Norwell was busy," Christine told him," and besides I'm perfectly able to handle a butcher knife"
Mr. Chandler clicked his tongue. "The butcher knives are over there," he pointed to a table and the right side of the stall.
Christine gladly went over to the table, happy not to have to talk with Mr. Chandler anymore.
Sorry it upruptly ends. I've been meaning to finish typing this part for a long time now, but well I have an attention span of a goldfish.
Chapter one: The Squire in the Marketplace
Christine Norwell stepped out of the small theatre were she lived and worked on Griffin Street in Baeton, the capital city of Milyn. She on the stoop of the side entrance to the theatre and breathed in deeply. She could smell spring. It was almost hidden beneath the odors of the city, but spring was still there.
The warm sun shone onto Christine's breathy blonde ringlets, those not covered by her white kerchief. She wore a light lavender cotton dress with her white shift peeping out the neckline. Around her neck she wore a black cord that disappeared beneath her shift. On it was strung an emblem ring, hidden from sight. She had once been accused of stealing it when she wore it around her finger, so now she wore safe and out of sight beneath her shift.
The ring was Christine's most prized possession. It was a silver band that molded into a small disk embedded with the symbol of Gemini, the twins on it. Christine didn't know what it meant, but she knew it was some part of her past and who she really was, or rather, had been.
Christine was an orphan, or at least thats what her foster parents, the Norwells thought. They had found her wandering Baeton, dirty in rags, and bruised and battered with a large bump on her forehead. All the little Christine could tell them was her first name and age. Since then Christine could remember nothing before that. The Norwells took her in, care for her and searched for her family, but found none. So, having no children of their own, they happily kept Christine and taught her the ways of the theatre. The acting players became her family and she grew up in the happy atmosphere of the Griffin Street theatre.
The theatre put on two different shows. One, in the afternoon, was geared towards a younger audience; a fairy tale of Snow White, Rose Red in which she played Rose Red. She had a wonderful voice and could act, but she never really had the passion to persue a career in the theatre, just wasn't one of her priorities. In the evening show, The Lilac Inn, Christine played an understudy to the main female parts, but never really went on as either. She usually just played an extra or some background part.
Christine stood on the stoop for a moment longer, savoring the fragrance of the long awaited spring. Then with a determined air she set out for the marketplace her grocery sac and list in tow.
The midmorning marketplace was thriving with customers. Peddlers shouted their wares. The odors of food wafted through the air. Christine looked at her list: flour, eggs, carrots, beef. She scanned the list to the bottom the last item being a knife. She inwardly winced. It was very rare that she ever had to but knives, let alone buy herself. Christine had taken over the shopping for Mrs. Norwell, ever since she had been able to do so, but Mrs. Norwell usually went with to buy such important things as knives.
Out of all the peddlers in the marketplace the knife peddler was the one Christine disliked the most. He was convinced that woman's only jobs on earth was to cook, clean, care for children, and of course, shop. He unbearably patronized his female customers and he was one of the very few people Christine could not stand. She rarely lost her temper, but if she ever did it was probably because of Mr. Chandler. She warily headed towards the knife stand.
The knife peddler was speaking to a squire from the Palace as Christine approached. He directed the squire to a table in his booth a looked up to see Christine coming towards his booth.
"Ah, my dear Christine! We have not spoken in a time! How have you been doing?" Mr. Chandler asked.
"Very fine, Mr. Chandler," Christine told him politely, " And you?"
"Same old, Same old," he took a step back to look at her, "My how you've grown! How old are you now 12? 13?"
Christine had been 14 the last time Mr. Chandler asked, he only said it so she would retort back and she certainly didn't look to be 12 or 13! This greatly annoyed her. "I'm 15 Mr. Chandler," she said calmly.
"Ah marrying age! When will you give up the theatre and settle down with a husband?" Christine might have known he'd mention marriage! She lost her calmness.
" Not anytime soon, Mr. Chandler, but believe me when I am to be married you will be the first to know!" she retorted. Someone guffawed, but when Christine looked over at the squire he was leaning over closely inspecting the hilt of a particular dagger.
Mr. Chandler chuckled, "Ah, Christine, still the same pistol you always were! You need a husband to tame that wit!"
"Mr. Chandler please." Christine said, her quick temper under control.
"all right, all right," he said holding up his hands as a sign of peace, "Just trying to push you along. Now, what brings you here today?"
"I've to look for a butcher knife."
"A BUTCHER KNIFE!" cried Mr. Chandler, "Does not Silva come for the butcher knives? A young girl like you shouldn't be handling such things as butcher knives!"
"Mrs. Norwell was busy," Christine told him," and besides I'm perfectly able to handle a butcher knife"
Mr. Chandler clicked his tongue. "The butcher knives are over there," he pointed to a table and the right side of the stall.
Christine gladly went over to the table, happy not to have to talk with Mr. Chandler anymore.
Sorry it upruptly ends. I've been meaning to finish typing this part for a long time now, but well I have an attention span of a goldfish.