Stars Fade Blue
Boots to Wear
It had been two months. Two brutal months.
Farrah and her parents had returned to their home, hoping it would offer shelter and peace from the chaos brought about by the declaration of war. They were wrong.
All of the Piccolets were trapped in the governor’s house. Over the weeks they had been forced to close off their windows and doors and congregate in the large ballroom. They slept on their mattresses that they had drug down from their rooms and ate cold food. They had been safe, but their health and wits had slowly declined.
Outside, Lenore had been overtaken by agents of the country’s military. The sky was grey with smoke and the wind carried voices of soldiers. Lenore was the most structured place close to the western border. The governor had cried over the destruction of his beautiful town, but remained friendly toward the men.
Six soldiers patrolled outside the governor’s manor per his request. He bargained that if they were to take his town, he should be protected. So inside the governor sat, surrounded by all of his family, but soaked in silence. All of them felt fear and terror churning in their guts; all of them heard the shouts and orders being given by the army men. There was a slight chance that no one would come, but an attack would not be a surprise.
A knock startled all of the Piccolets from their thoughts. As they turned their heads to the noise they saw a tall soldier walking toward them. He wore his plain royal blue uniform, lack of gold piping and stripes revealed his ordinary status. His face was emotionless as he came to a halt and searched the room for a face he did not know.
“I have a letter for Miss Farrah Piccolet,” he announced, producing a folded piece of parchment from behind his back. Everyone looked to Farrah, expectant that she should rise and receive her letter.
Gulping, she stood and stepped toward the soldier. Her hands were sweaty and her heart racing. Once she had the letter in her hand, the soldier returned to his post outside, but Farrah remained motionless, unable to grasp the idea that he had actually written to her. Shyness overcame her and she softly asked permission to be excused from the room to read her letter in private. Her request was granted, however reluctantly.
Alone, she sat in her bedroom at the seat of her vanity. The discolored parchment felt like silk beneath her fingers, for it was so precious and delicate to her. With shaking hands, she ran her fingertips across the paper and messy wax seal. It was evident he was in a hurry to send the letter off because the dark blue wax was dripped and smeared all over, his crest barely recognizable from the way it was not pressed down straight.
Carefully, she cracked it open and unfolded the rather large piece of parchment. His handwriting was clearly hurried, but still elegant and readable. She traced it, images of his face coming into her head. If only the war had not happened, she thought regretfully. Farrah wanted nothing more than for this violent event to be over. War was unkind and heartless, merciless and daunting to those who could only stand idly by and hope their soldiers survived and their country won.
I firstly must apologize for my abrupt and unfortunate exit. Second, I must apologize for my awful script, for it is hard to concentrate here and I’ve only just finished a long letter to my family. Third, I must apologize for my improper and possibly offensive use of your name; I simply cannot bear to write out Miss Piccolet every time I wish to mention you…
The first few sentences had caused a smile to erupt from deep within her. She was already planning her response to him, eager to tell him she did not mind his use of her first name. Despite her excitement in responding to him, she was impatient to continue in her reading.
The trouble with being in my position is that I cannot escape it. Everyone depends on me and I cannot let them down. My duty is to my king, his country and its people. I would like very much to also make you, Farrah, my duty when and if I return. For now we are all safe, the Triranians are plotting and will not move for some time. They are slow, but strong.
It would be best, I think, for you and your family to move as far East as you can. Although the men stationed in Lenore are well trained, their obligation will fall to fighting if ever the enemy shall pass so far. Keep yourselves safe.
I will be here for as long as it takes before they attack with their full force. I would very much enjoy letters from you, if you would be inclined write so. The men will know where I am and carry your letters to me. However, if you move I will not know where to send mine.
Please remember to keep safe and remain hidden from the possibility of attack. I will continue to think of you as you were the last time I saw you. Perhaps you may do the same for me.
---MGV Emmerich V.R. Yves-Leventhorpe
Her heart swelled and fluttered at the thought of him wishing to marry her, and a blush consumed her cheeks when she read that he thought of her. His name was written much more carefully than anything else, as if he had taken the time to impress her. This excited her more as she realized how much she actually liked him. Their time together had been so brief, but she knew that there was something beautiful about the way she felt for him.
As thrilling as it was to think of a future with him, Farrah understood that he would have to make it out alive in order for anything to happen. This war was bound to ruin everything, and if she lost him she would not only feel depressed, but she would have to return to her old life and be subjected to a marriage to an unsightly and terrible man. Of course, this was the truth. The governor and his wife were likely to blame their daughter for any possible death of the viscount and they would punish her.
Ideally, Emmerich would return home safely and whisk her away from the horrors of being a part of her family. She wanted so badly for the war to end soon and for him to burst through her door and ask her right then and there to be his wife. It wasn’t childish to desire that kind of thing, for it was expected to happen; however, with war jumbling everything, things became complicated.
Surely, though, he would survive. She had faith he would, but then the worry began to gnaw at her from the inside out. Fear that he might die and leave her to suffer made her scared. The fright of being forced to live so unhappily had finally gotten to her. She was realizing that she didn’t deserve to live the way she did. She didn’t deserve to have to be unhappy the rest of her life. She was tasting the light of joy and she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t.
I have to do something,she thought. There must be something I can do…
So she thought, his letter pressed against her chest, of what she could do. Most of her thoughts were feeble and useless, like hemming uniforms or packaging food. Of course, all of them would require her to leave the house at some point, but her best idea entailed leaving straight away and defying Emmerich’s wishes. The plan she was most fond of involved her leaving her family and heading straight toward the front lines, toward danger. Farrah felt guilty for thinking thus, but she would have felt much worse knowing she had done nothing. There was the possibility of her death, but there was also the possibility of his. For her, she had no other prospects but him, but he had the world at his fingertips. She was replaceable, he was not.
Excitement bubbling from deep within her, she searched her room for her cleanest dress. She settled for a single petticoat underneath, for the weather was getting hotter and hotter, but she pulled on her light housecoat to keep her warm in the falling night. The letter was refolded and tucked into a pocket beneath her pale eggplant colored gown. With a smile, she scampered to her brother’s room and found an old pair of his boots to wear, stuffing her feet into thick socks and stepping into a pair of his old pants that clung to her flesh and were barely visible beneath her feminine ensemble before sliding into the black footwear.
The boots clacked on the wooden floors as she jogged through the halls and down the stairs. Her breath was labored when she took a minute to fix her hair and prepare herself for telling the governor and his wife where she had planned on going. She was confident that they couldn’t stop her. Even if they tried, she would not listen. Nothing was going to stop her.
Calmly, she walked into the room where her family had anxiously awaited her return. They wanted to know what the letter said; they wanted to make sure they had to wait for him to come back after the war in order to marry her off. She made them suspicious when they all noticed her change of clothes and awkwardness. Her heart beat faster and faster when it came time to tell them what she intended to.
With a dry mouth, she stared at them all and grabbed at the side of her dress. She made eye contact with her mother and took a deep breath.
“I’m leaving,” she said simply. It was a moment before anyone responded.
“You can’t,” her mother answered forcefully, anger erupting behind her cold eyes.
“Yes, I can; I am,” Farrah replied, void of emotion or care. Without another word, she turned and left, striding out the front door. Her mother came calling after her, but Farrah ignored her. The only thing they wanted to protect was their reputation and the fortune they would have if she were to marry Emmerich. She ignored it all and ambled to the barn, finding their best stallion and dressing him. If finishing school had taught her one questionably inappropriate thing, it was how to ride a horse the womanly way and the basics of how men did. And she applied that skill when she swung her leg over top of the beast and sat like a man. Never had she ridden this way, but she was sure it could be done; and she had no intentions of wearing a dress for too much longer.
*Gasp*
Oh no!
Well, I'll be sure to clear up a lot of the details of the war and all that once I get back to Emmerich. Comments are always welcome because they make me feel so loved, and, I have a bit of special news.
This story has been added to the Good Fiction List on Project Fiction. So thank you to whoever nominated it and thank you to all of the wonderful people at Project Fiction for noticing me and making me so ridiculously elated.
Again, thanks. =]
Farrah and her parents had returned to their home, hoping it would offer shelter and peace from the chaos brought about by the declaration of war. They were wrong.
All of the Piccolets were trapped in the governor’s house. Over the weeks they had been forced to close off their windows and doors and congregate in the large ballroom. They slept on their mattresses that they had drug down from their rooms and ate cold food. They had been safe, but their health and wits had slowly declined.
Outside, Lenore had been overtaken by agents of the country’s military. The sky was grey with smoke and the wind carried voices of soldiers. Lenore was the most structured place close to the western border. The governor had cried over the destruction of his beautiful town, but remained friendly toward the men.
Six soldiers patrolled outside the governor’s manor per his request. He bargained that if they were to take his town, he should be protected. So inside the governor sat, surrounded by all of his family, but soaked in silence. All of them felt fear and terror churning in their guts; all of them heard the shouts and orders being given by the army men. There was a slight chance that no one would come, but an attack would not be a surprise.
A knock startled all of the Piccolets from their thoughts. As they turned their heads to the noise they saw a tall soldier walking toward them. He wore his plain royal blue uniform, lack of gold piping and stripes revealed his ordinary status. His face was emotionless as he came to a halt and searched the room for a face he did not know.
“I have a letter for Miss Farrah Piccolet,” he announced, producing a folded piece of parchment from behind his back. Everyone looked to Farrah, expectant that she should rise and receive her letter.
Gulping, she stood and stepped toward the soldier. Her hands were sweaty and her heart racing. Once she had the letter in her hand, the soldier returned to his post outside, but Farrah remained motionless, unable to grasp the idea that he had actually written to her. Shyness overcame her and she softly asked permission to be excused from the room to read her letter in private. Her request was granted, however reluctantly.
Alone, she sat in her bedroom at the seat of her vanity. The discolored parchment felt like silk beneath her fingers, for it was so precious and delicate to her. With shaking hands, she ran her fingertips across the paper and messy wax seal. It was evident he was in a hurry to send the letter off because the dark blue wax was dripped and smeared all over, his crest barely recognizable from the way it was not pressed down straight.
Carefully, she cracked it open and unfolded the rather large piece of parchment. His handwriting was clearly hurried, but still elegant and readable. She traced it, images of his face coming into her head. If only the war had not happened, she thought regretfully. Farrah wanted nothing more than for this violent event to be over. War was unkind and heartless, merciless and daunting to those who could only stand idly by and hope their soldiers survived and their country won.
I firstly must apologize for my abrupt and unfortunate exit. Second, I must apologize for my awful script, for it is hard to concentrate here and I’ve only just finished a long letter to my family. Third, I must apologize for my improper and possibly offensive use of your name; I simply cannot bear to write out Miss Piccolet every time I wish to mention you…
The first few sentences had caused a smile to erupt from deep within her. She was already planning her response to him, eager to tell him she did not mind his use of her first name. Despite her excitement in responding to him, she was impatient to continue in her reading.
The trouble with being in my position is that I cannot escape it. Everyone depends on me and I cannot let them down. My duty is to my king, his country and its people. I would like very much to also make you, Farrah, my duty when and if I return. For now we are all safe, the Triranians are plotting and will not move for some time. They are slow, but strong.
It would be best, I think, for you and your family to move as far East as you can. Although the men stationed in Lenore are well trained, their obligation will fall to fighting if ever the enemy shall pass so far. Keep yourselves safe.
I will be here for as long as it takes before they attack with their full force. I would very much enjoy letters from you, if you would be inclined write so. The men will know where I am and carry your letters to me. However, if you move I will not know where to send mine.
Please remember to keep safe and remain hidden from the possibility of attack. I will continue to think of you as you were the last time I saw you. Perhaps you may do the same for me.
---MGV Emmerich V.R. Yves-Leventhorpe
Her heart swelled and fluttered at the thought of him wishing to marry her, and a blush consumed her cheeks when she read that he thought of her. His name was written much more carefully than anything else, as if he had taken the time to impress her. This excited her more as she realized how much she actually liked him. Their time together had been so brief, but she knew that there was something beautiful about the way she felt for him.
As thrilling as it was to think of a future with him, Farrah understood that he would have to make it out alive in order for anything to happen. This war was bound to ruin everything, and if she lost him she would not only feel depressed, but she would have to return to her old life and be subjected to a marriage to an unsightly and terrible man. Of course, this was the truth. The governor and his wife were likely to blame their daughter for any possible death of the viscount and they would punish her.
Ideally, Emmerich would return home safely and whisk her away from the horrors of being a part of her family. She wanted so badly for the war to end soon and for him to burst through her door and ask her right then and there to be his wife. It wasn’t childish to desire that kind of thing, for it was expected to happen; however, with war jumbling everything, things became complicated.
Surely, though, he would survive. She had faith he would, but then the worry began to gnaw at her from the inside out. Fear that he might die and leave her to suffer made her scared. The fright of being forced to live so unhappily had finally gotten to her. She was realizing that she didn’t deserve to live the way she did. She didn’t deserve to have to be unhappy the rest of her life. She was tasting the light of joy and she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t.
I have to do something,she thought. There must be something I can do…
So she thought, his letter pressed against her chest, of what she could do. Most of her thoughts were feeble and useless, like hemming uniforms or packaging food. Of course, all of them would require her to leave the house at some point, but her best idea entailed leaving straight away and defying Emmerich’s wishes. The plan she was most fond of involved her leaving her family and heading straight toward the front lines, toward danger. Farrah felt guilty for thinking thus, but she would have felt much worse knowing she had done nothing. There was the possibility of her death, but there was also the possibility of his. For her, she had no other prospects but him, but he had the world at his fingertips. She was replaceable, he was not.
Excitement bubbling from deep within her, she searched her room for her cleanest dress. She settled for a single petticoat underneath, for the weather was getting hotter and hotter, but she pulled on her light housecoat to keep her warm in the falling night. The letter was refolded and tucked into a pocket beneath her pale eggplant colored gown. With a smile, she scampered to her brother’s room and found an old pair of his boots to wear, stuffing her feet into thick socks and stepping into a pair of his old pants that clung to her flesh and were barely visible beneath her feminine ensemble before sliding into the black footwear.
The boots clacked on the wooden floors as she jogged through the halls and down the stairs. Her breath was labored when she took a minute to fix her hair and prepare herself for telling the governor and his wife where she had planned on going. She was confident that they couldn’t stop her. Even if they tried, she would not listen. Nothing was going to stop her.
Calmly, she walked into the room where her family had anxiously awaited her return. They wanted to know what the letter said; they wanted to make sure they had to wait for him to come back after the war in order to marry her off. She made them suspicious when they all noticed her change of clothes and awkwardness. Her heart beat faster and faster when it came time to tell them what she intended to.
With a dry mouth, she stared at them all and grabbed at the side of her dress. She made eye contact with her mother and took a deep breath.
“I’m leaving,” she said simply. It was a moment before anyone responded.
“You can’t,” her mother answered forcefully, anger erupting behind her cold eyes.
“Yes, I can; I am,” Farrah replied, void of emotion or care. Without another word, she turned and left, striding out the front door. Her mother came calling after her, but Farrah ignored her. The only thing they wanted to protect was their reputation and the fortune they would have if she were to marry Emmerich. She ignored it all and ambled to the barn, finding their best stallion and dressing him. If finishing school had taught her one questionably inappropriate thing, it was how to ride a horse the womanly way and the basics of how men did. And she applied that skill when she swung her leg over top of the beast and sat like a man. Never had she ridden this way, but she was sure it could be done; and she had no intentions of wearing a dress for too much longer.
*Gasp*
Oh no!
Well, I'll be sure to clear up a lot of the details of the war and all that once I get back to Emmerich. Comments are always welcome because they make me feel so loved, and, I have a bit of special news.
This story has been added to the Good Fiction List on Project Fiction. So thank you to whoever nominated it and thank you to all of the wonderful people at Project Fiction for noticing me and making me so ridiculously elated.
Again, thanks. =]