Prologue: Family Introduction
This is a tale about a girl who found her way out.
Whose bravery and cunningness prevailed.
Who wanted an escape from her previous life.
Who truly wanted more!
“Hey, Mom! I’m back.”
“Welcome home, Phoenix. How was today’s lesson?” my mother asked me in the kitchen as I sat my belongings on the floor out of the way. “Today was so good! Mr. Lancemen says I’m one of his more phenomenal students! I even bested John Samuels from Lord Samuel’s estate. Haha, I’m amazing, aren’t I?” I replied to my mother. I have high expectations of myself when it comes to my fencing and sword fighting. I aim my beautiful, glistening épée* towards the green, fermented plant on my right by the door embellishing my poised refinement to my mother as she intriguingly watches me maneuver in her peripheral vision. “Oh, I see. I suppose even the clumsiest and bluntest of things have some kind elegance,” she says with a knowing smile.
“You know, if I was the young girl I once was, I would’ve put up a hissy fit for the record books. BUT,” I added with emphasis, “I, mother dearest, am a sophisticated young adult who has her eyes set on a certain prize.” “And what might that be, Miss Young Adult?” she pushed on. “Why, I aim to be the best-est swordsman in the land!” I proudly proclaim, “Those before me, the women who came before me, all wanting to learn, practice, and excel at the art, were ridiculed and ultimately disowned by their families simply because they followed their own fiery passion- the passion that rocked them to their core and beckoned from them greatness. I aim to prove that I am as good as any other male in swordsmanship and then some.” When I finished my profoundly evident declaration, I looked to see my mother staring at me with something that looked like heartwarming fulfillment at her daughter’s words, almost teary-eyed.
“Oh gracious, here we go again! Every time I come home after a long day from the Women’s College here you are saying something bonkers about sword fighting. Leave that senselessness behind, and take up more womanly duties like learning to cook, clean, teach, or providing a for man’s needs. Something! Phoenix, my darling sister, you would look much more beautiful and would make a wonderful bride for any man of status if you would just lose the boyish ambiance. Look, how about you come with me for a tour of the Women’s College next week? Surely, we can work to find something you’ll like, sister.” says Vanessa as she appears seemingly out of thin air.
Vanessa, age twenty, is my oldest sister- “the crown jewel” of the family-house and supposedly the entire kingdom. She takes after our mother, Amelia. Our mother, age forty-two, is a gorgeous woman with caramel skin, a soothing voice, long healthy dark hair kept neatly in a bun, keen deep green cat-like eyes, a keener mind- almost unmatched, while also superbly intelligent- everything my father said he dreamed to marry one day. Regarding Vanessa and as far as I’ve seen, men of various ages lust and flock after her, and women hate her because they want to be her. She is, of course, beautiful with no doubt. With her soft caramel skin, deep green eyes, and long, cascading, dark brunette hair, not to mention a very proportionate physique, it’s not hard to see why people look at her fondly.
However, to me, Vanessa is just Vanessa, my big sister who wants me to be a prissy princess, follow in her footsteps, and abandon my burning passion to become to the ultimate swordsman. I look to my mother for help, but she simply chuckles to herself and watches the scene unfold. “Mother, don’t you agree with me?” Vanessa imposes to mother. “Phoenix is such a lovely girl! I mean, look at her- beautiful grey eyes like father’s, medium skin complexion, curly and fair shoulder-length hair (though a good brushing couldn’t hurt, she thought to herself), a soothing voice only so few women get, a brilliant mind, and a strong, yet delicate budding figure. Now if you could at least act feminine, maybe you’d get more suitors,” Vanessa pointed out. “Why? So I can have various, grotesque men after me trying to hike up my skirt to see a little something like you?” I retorted. “No thank you, dear sister.”
“Hahaha, serves you right, Nessi,” laughed Ariel coming down the stairs after hearing all the commotion, “Good job, little sister. I see I’ve trained you well.” Vanessa, becoming a raging red, turned to our mother for assistance, “Mother! Say something!” “Phoenix, whether true or not, don’t degrade your sister in such a manner. I understand you’re close enough to speak about each other in that way, but at least mind your words around me. Understood?” orders my mother from her spot in the kitchen. “Yes, mother,” I say kindly as Ariel and I move to the living room. “But you know, it is true that when she isn’t looking, the men do such things,” says Ariel quietly while she snickers low enough so our mother can’t hear. Vanessa, still kind of red, fumed off upstairs to start on her school work. “Love you, Nessi,” Ariel yelled behind her as she continued trek upward. “Whatever,” she said coldly as she disappeared into her room.
True and as noticeably as it is, Ariel, age 17, is my favorite sister. She is awesome to be around and always has me laughing. She is incredibly pretty and has this sort of edge to her. Ariel, age nineteen, is a mixture between girly girl and tomboy-ish. She normally wears thigh-length skirts, knee-high socks, wide heel boots, button-down shirts, and big jackets with some kind of symbol and designs on them. Ariel now sports a short chin-length bob dyed a ruby red that highlights her darker caramel skin and fits her squarish face perfectly, glasses that accent her hazel green eyes, and a slim figure that helps her triumph as a “prima ballerina” and a soccer player. She’s very funny and likes to be active, sleep, and listen to music while having mini dance parties in her bedroom. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I absolutely love her. “Mooommm, I’m home,” yells Erica coming through the front door. “I’m in the kitchen, dear” mother announces. “Hello, Erica,” Ariel and I say in unison with small, yet warm smiles. “Hi, hi,” she says sweetly as she walks over to hug us.
Erica, age 14, is the baby of us all. She’s a bright-minded girl of many talents such as archery, singing, soccer, painting, and dabbles in a few literary extracurriculars. Erica is an almost perfect blend of our parents- smooth, light skin with a tad bit of tan from being outside in the sun too long, sandy brown hair with soft, loose curls, our Mother’s cat-like eyes, but father’s eye color of winter grey, and the appropriate proportioned body of an athlete- a slim figure full of lean muscle and a small handful of assets to help lessen certain interferences. As almost always, her hair is in a long and fashionably messy fishtail braid swept forward over her left shoulder with vivid baby pink strands embellishing her still developing and creative fashion sense. Normally she wears jeans, hoodies, tennis shoes, and occasional fur boots, but today Erica just wears sweats and joggers. Though the entire family has perfect vision, she wears glasses to look even smarter than she already is. I mean, she’s made all As and only three Bs out of her entire academic career. Why can’t I be that lucky?
“How was Archery?” asks Ariel. “How was Choir practice?” I ask. “Archery was really fun. My aim is getting better and better, and choir practice was fun, too. I got a solo.” Erica proudly states. “That’s wonderful, darling.” Mother says as she comes into the living room, “Come on, I made snacks.” “Ooh, I want snacks too,” Ariel says as her stomach growls and follows them into the kitchen. I alert my attention to the creaking door when I notice my father coming in. “Amelia, girls, where are my hugs?” “Father!” I say glee as I embrace him. “Daddy!” reply Ariel and Vanessa as they come into the living room for their hugs. “Hello, my beautiful darlings! How’ve you been this fine day?” We smile warmly in response. He goes into the kitchen to find Mother and kisses her passionately. The two have no quarrels about showing public displays of affection towards each other, especially in front of their own children. “Amelia, dearest, I’ve missed you, chérie.” “And I you, my love,” Mother says enchantingly.
Our father, Rodrick Mores, is by far (at least in my opinion) the best man in the kingdom. He is the hard-working advisor to King Winser, a loving father, and a great neighbor to anyone, even the pitifullest of thieves. Roderick Mores is a man of tall stature, has almond winter grey eyes, a head full of soft fair curls, chiseled features, incredible wits, and a love of competitive sports. We love Father. He is the heartbeat of this family. Without him, it would never be the same.
AUTHOR’S SIDE NOTE: *épée: a sharp, pointed dueling sword with a blunt end, typically used in fencing.
- This is my first writing EVER, so any critic, positive or negative, is well-received.
- REMINDER: This is the prologue, or background information. (Pre-storyline.)
- Thanks for giving my story a read. It means a lot to me that you didn’t turn away from it. ????
- Chapter 1 is underway and suggestions will be taken/noted and considered after posting Chapter 1.
- If any questions at all, please ask; don’t hesitate. Everyone is welcomed and entitled to their own opinion(s). Here, everyone is accepted as they are.
- AND ABSOLUTELY- AT ALL TIMES: Correct me on Grammar, pLeASe aNd tHAnK yOu!
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