Stars Fade Blue
Prologue
Outside the unmarked sky shone of endless blue, the purest blue that did not waver in shade or beauty. The neatly kept lawns were radiantly green in the glow of the beaming sun, and the gardens’ pallet of colors bloomed equally for the Heavens above.
The lofty manor house fit pleasantly with the yards. It’s agreeably worn stone exterior gave it character, aging the carefully constructed structure well. This particular house was distinct from all nearby simply because of its size, grace, and inhabitants. No other was built quite like it, and certainly no other housed people quite like those residing in this specific place.
For very few generations had the manor been in the possession of the Piccolet family. Merely a century before the current, Abraham Piccolet had been a beggar, a worthless street-rat that scavenged for crumbs and rotten bits of meat on bones. Yes, indeed, the Piccolet name was of humble origins, a name that rose from the sodden alleys to one of the highest political positions available to a man in this world.
How quickly man forgets, though, since the modesty of an earned wealth was lacking in the Piccolet house. A passerby would have no inkling of their less-than-dynastic family. There were no roots of royalty, or distant noble relatives, only thieving, starving, lucky great-great-great-great-grandfathers.
In this time, however, Abramson Piccolet was the governor of the quaint---yet inadvertently boisterous---town of Lenore. Many wealthy citizens of the country found themselves owning second or third manors there, all claiming the charming scenery and quality of company drew them in. No man had ever denied the appeal of the fairly sized community, but measured on the scale of the entire country, Lenore was barely a fleck of dust.
Nothing exciting ever happened in the town; barely any gossip spread due to lack of miscommunications anywhere. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew each other’s secrets and sins. Very few things could be kept cloaked from the public, so it was only natural that everyone inevitably knew everything.
The mention of a name could spark an entire conversation, for everyone knew all of the details of everyone. With a casual reference to a person, waves of somewhat useless information would crash out and about, rippling through the streams of people until trickling to an always short-lived end.
An example of this effect comes from the brief declaration of one Miss Farrah Piccolet’s return from finishing school by Miss Susan Chambers. Upon the sight of seeing the familiar ornate Governor’s Coach pass by her on her way home, Miss Chambers immediately divulged to her mother that their somewhat-distanced-neighbor was returned at last the moment she stepped into the house.
Her announcement started an entire tête-à-tête on Miss Piccolet, repeating well-known facts about the young lady that was common knowledge to practically all but she who was in mention. Mother and daughter giggled and snickered over the rather unfortunate life of the youngest Piccolet as they evidently relished in knowing they were morally and personally better-off than she.
Farrah Piccolet was the youngest daughter of Governor Abramson and Lady Camellia. She was, quite frankly, unwanted. After having her last child before Farrah, Camellia was informed she could no longer bear children and that, if by some miracle she did, carrying a child would most likely kill her. It was coming to terms with these two facts that left both Abramson and Camellia satisfied with their family and disapproving of any more.
When Camellia discovered she was pregnant once again, she was horrified. To have another child would be dangerous, and would expose the unnecessary intimacy she shared with her husband. Everyone knew she was allegedly unable to have more children, so there was no need to try to have children, but being pregnant proved to all of Lenore that the governor and his wife shared a bed for more than sleeping.
Needless to say, Farrah was a symbol of everything the Piccolets were ashamed and fearful of. It was their shame that sent her from them. Their lack of desire to share moments with her raised her coldly by housemaids and books. At the age of six Farrah was sent away to the country’s best and finest finishing school. It was not her parents’ yearning to spend money on her that placed her there, but their reputation. The governor’s daughter could most certainly not be sent away to a second-rate school; that would reflect badly upon them all.
So off she went and spent ten months of ten years in the same small room that she shared with no one. All by herself she spent, collectively, over eight years of her life reading and learning, and following orders. All of her efforts were in vain hopes to win over her family; hoping that maybe her success would bring her love, but she was rewarded with nothing.
Top of her class, Farrah left school with nothing to show for it. What did she have? Etiquette? Manners? Knowledge? Nothing. But where were friends? Companions? Suitors? Nowhere. Perhaps she had gained all a lady could from a school that caliber, but it was still those who were prettiest and friendliest that won the affections of everyone. Although she wanted desperately to be like them, it was not possible. Seclusion left her devoid of almost all social skills, there was no way to erase that scar upon her soul.
On this beauteous blue day, Farrah sat at her room’s window, watching the stationary world that she could never, ever be a part of. In silence, daylight passed and the blue turned to black, leaving he young woman enveloped in darkness. She did not attend supper, nor did a housemaid come to light her room’s candles.
They have probably forgotten about me already, she thought to herself. She was right.
Comments are greatly appreciated.
The lofty manor house fit pleasantly with the yards. It’s agreeably worn stone exterior gave it character, aging the carefully constructed structure well. This particular house was distinct from all nearby simply because of its size, grace, and inhabitants. No other was built quite like it, and certainly no other housed people quite like those residing in this specific place.
For very few generations had the manor been in the possession of the Piccolet family. Merely a century before the current, Abraham Piccolet had been a beggar, a worthless street-rat that scavenged for crumbs and rotten bits of meat on bones. Yes, indeed, the Piccolet name was of humble origins, a name that rose from the sodden alleys to one of the highest political positions available to a man in this world.
How quickly man forgets, though, since the modesty of an earned wealth was lacking in the Piccolet house. A passerby would have no inkling of their less-than-dynastic family. There were no roots of royalty, or distant noble relatives, only thieving, starving, lucky great-great-great-great-grandfathers.
In this time, however, Abramson Piccolet was the governor of the quaint---yet inadvertently boisterous---town of Lenore. Many wealthy citizens of the country found themselves owning second or third manors there, all claiming the charming scenery and quality of company drew them in. No man had ever denied the appeal of the fairly sized community, but measured on the scale of the entire country, Lenore was barely a fleck of dust.
Nothing exciting ever happened in the town; barely any gossip spread due to lack of miscommunications anywhere. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew each other’s secrets and sins. Very few things could be kept cloaked from the public, so it was only natural that everyone inevitably knew everything.
The mention of a name could spark an entire conversation, for everyone knew all of the details of everyone. With a casual reference to a person, waves of somewhat useless information would crash out and about, rippling through the streams of people until trickling to an always short-lived end.
An example of this effect comes from the brief declaration of one Miss Farrah Piccolet’s return from finishing school by Miss Susan Chambers. Upon the sight of seeing the familiar ornate Governor’s Coach pass by her on her way home, Miss Chambers immediately divulged to her mother that their somewhat-distanced-neighbor was returned at last the moment she stepped into the house.
Her announcement started an entire tête-à-tête on Miss Piccolet, repeating well-known facts about the young lady that was common knowledge to practically all but she who was in mention. Mother and daughter giggled and snickered over the rather unfortunate life of the youngest Piccolet as they evidently relished in knowing they were morally and personally better-off than she.
Farrah Piccolet was the youngest daughter of Governor Abramson and Lady Camellia. She was, quite frankly, unwanted. After having her last child before Farrah, Camellia was informed she could no longer bear children and that, if by some miracle she did, carrying a child would most likely kill her. It was coming to terms with these two facts that left both Abramson and Camellia satisfied with their family and disapproving of any more.
When Camellia discovered she was pregnant once again, she was horrified. To have another child would be dangerous, and would expose the unnecessary intimacy she shared with her husband. Everyone knew she was allegedly unable to have more children, so there was no need to try to have children, but being pregnant proved to all of Lenore that the governor and his wife shared a bed for more than sleeping.
Needless to say, Farrah was a symbol of everything the Piccolets were ashamed and fearful of. It was their shame that sent her from them. Their lack of desire to share moments with her raised her coldly by housemaids and books. At the age of six Farrah was sent away to the country’s best and finest finishing school. It was not her parents’ yearning to spend money on her that placed her there, but their reputation. The governor’s daughter could most certainly not be sent away to a second-rate school; that would reflect badly upon them all.
So off she went and spent ten months of ten years in the same small room that she shared with no one. All by herself she spent, collectively, over eight years of her life reading and learning, and following orders. All of her efforts were in vain hopes to win over her family; hoping that maybe her success would bring her love, but she was rewarded with nothing.
Top of her class, Farrah left school with nothing to show for it. What did she have? Etiquette? Manners? Knowledge? Nothing. But where were friends? Companions? Suitors? Nowhere. Perhaps she had gained all a lady could from a school that caliber, but it was still those who were prettiest and friendliest that won the affections of everyone. Although she wanted desperately to be like them, it was not possible. Seclusion left her devoid of almost all social skills, there was no way to erase that scar upon her soul.
On this beauteous blue day, Farrah sat at her room’s window, watching the stationary world that she could never, ever be a part of. In silence, daylight passed and the blue turned to black, leaving he young woman enveloped in darkness. She did not attend supper, nor did a housemaid come to light her room’s candles.
They have probably forgotten about me already, she thought to herself. She was right.
Comments are greatly appreciated.