Once I dreamed of being a Princess. It didn’t work out.
My mother passed when I was thirteen. I remember that bed – the smell of lavender over the stench of decay. I wasn’t there when they burned her body. They hoped to spare me from seeing her stand up or flail around.
I see it anyway, when I sleep.
Father tried to marry me to a noble, but I wouldn’t have it. The Church was desperate, any who could afford a horse and armor were knighted on sight. We were the first females sanctified since the Beggar’s Crusade – but certainly not the last.
The sickness that took my mother was spreading. Farms, villages, even cities were lost – or sealed off and burned to keep the Hunger from spreading. Did we even slow it down? I still pray for the living, for the innocent souls we trapped inside.
Those were hard days, full of sweat and ash, death and steel. I take pride in that work. Even as my world crumbled, I did my best to fight the Hunger.
I fight it, still. For my mother, for my father and for the World that I once loved.