For the Sake of the Song // Open
Oct 25, 2012 11:56:32 GMT -6
Post by Maeva Cecily Rosamund on Oct 25, 2012 11:56:32 GMT -6
Maeva curled her shawl closer around her shoulders as she wandered the streets. It was late, but how else was she to sneak out of the house without her father’s knowing? She wasn’t supposed to be outside at this time of night, especially alone, but she wasn’t someone who could stay inside, doing her needlepoint or learning her songs or doing whatever else pleased him best. She knew she had to, else he would be angry with her, but his displeasure was the reason for these nighttime jaunts. What she couldn’t do in the day, she snuck out at night to do.
Earlier when one of the servants had returned from the market, Maeva had overheard them say that a band of troubadours had been passing through the town. She prayed that it was not too late to still see them. Traveling minstrels like that always made her think of her mother and brothers. She often wondered how they were doing. She hadn’t seen them in so long, eight years if she had counted correctly. It had been eight years since she’d run away from the caravan.
She missed the gypsy life. Missed being out under the stars, singing and dancing around the fires. Her caravan had been very close, and what was left after the attack on her mother’s caravan which had led to her birth had banded together even closer. It was a tight knit group that she had been cast out of because of the accident of her birth. She knew she wasn’t wanted, by either her mother or her father, yet she continued to exist. And to do so, she knew she had to please her father. But just because you have to do something doesn’t mean that you can forget everything else about you.
She came to a crossing of roads and looked down each side, hoping to find some evidence that she was heading in the right direction, or even that they had moved on, but she couldn’t see a thing and she sighed heavily. She didn’t want to head back to the manor just yet. She wanted her taste of freedom a little longer. With the quiet swish of skirts, she sat down on a crate near one of the shops that had closed for the night.
“Well what do I do now?” she asked, to no one in particular.
Earlier when one of the servants had returned from the market, Maeva had overheard them say that a band of troubadours had been passing through the town. She prayed that it was not too late to still see them. Traveling minstrels like that always made her think of her mother and brothers. She often wondered how they were doing. She hadn’t seen them in so long, eight years if she had counted correctly. It had been eight years since she’d run away from the caravan.
She missed the gypsy life. Missed being out under the stars, singing and dancing around the fires. Her caravan had been very close, and what was left after the attack on her mother’s caravan which had led to her birth had banded together even closer. It was a tight knit group that she had been cast out of because of the accident of her birth. She knew she wasn’t wanted, by either her mother or her father, yet she continued to exist. And to do so, she knew she had to please her father. But just because you have to do something doesn’t mean that you can forget everything else about you.
She came to a crossing of roads and looked down each side, hoping to find some evidence that she was heading in the right direction, or even that they had moved on, but she couldn’t see a thing and she sighed heavily. She didn’t want to head back to the manor just yet. She wanted her taste of freedom a little longer. With the quiet swish of skirts, she sat down on a crate near one of the shops that had closed for the night.
“Well what do I do now?” she asked, to no one in particular.