Seraphina Prologue and Chapter 1: Forlorn






Prologue:
     By the light of a dying fire, Seraphina replaced the missing coins on her dancing skirt.  Money was hard to come by these days.  She hoped Budapest would yield a better wage.
The camp was resting now, lights in the tents and caravans had gone dim.  But, Seraphina could not sleep, her mind continued to spin on the events of the day.
A kind, but somewhat misguided shopkeep mistook her for a thief.  To avoid the constable, she ran through the crowd to escape.  Now, Seraphina was an innocent woman with a guilty face.  Reaching for her quill and ink, she turned to the next blank page in her journal. 




Chapter 1:
    The next morning she woke to the sound of heavy hooves pounding into camp. Joseph barged into her tent with panicked, wild eyes.  “The bobbies are here for you, they think you killed that shopkeeper!”  Seraphina grabbed her tattered bag, shoving a pair of shoes inside. 
“Go!” Joseph pleaded.
Seraphina kissed the young boy on the forehead and slipped out the back of the tent.  She ran.  She didn’t look back, she didn’t slow down.  When the breath was gone from her lungs, she slowed down and slumped at the base of an old oak.  Her bare feet were cut and bloody.
Slowly, she stood up, gingerly walking over to a trickling stream to dip her feet in the cool water. 
Beyond the edge of the treeline, she spied a small farm.  An old woman was feeding chickens by the barn.  Seraphina pulled on her shoes, wincing at the pain, and walked toward the woman. 
“’allo!” Seraphina called. 
“Hello, dear, can we help you?” the old woman asked.
“I hope so, I’m looking for work, do you need help?” Seraphina inquired.
“Goodness no, dear, we get on pretty well on our own.”
“Oh.”  Seraphina bowed her head and grimaced in pain as she slowly turned to walk away. Noticing, the elderly woman called to her, “Wait...maybe for a short time, my old bones aren’t what they used to be. Come here, love, follow me.”

The woman led Seraphina to a small house at the back of the farm.
“You can stay here, if you’d like. What’s your name dear?”
“Beth.” she lied.
“Well Beth, we milk the cows at dawn. We’ll see you then.”

    Many years later, when the elderly man and woman had long-since died and the farm had fallen into neglect and disrepair, the new owners made the difficult decision to tear down the small, ramshackle cottage at the back of the property, near the edge of the wood. This old tome was found under the floor boards, wrapped in an ancient shawl.  Take much care with this journal, Seraphina’s legacy now rests in your hands.

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