THE ROYALS

Queen DeeDee Werefox

Her history is not like most peoples.  Most remember the story of their life like a blanket they can wrap around themselves, comforted in its familiarity and its flow of memory.  For her, it is more like a pile of tattered pieces of cloth she can sift through when the mood strikes her, which it often does. 

Her first memories are happy ones, ones full of light and love - the gentle sound of her mother‘s laugh, the warmth of her arms around her, the safety of a village full of people who watched out and cared for her.  She had no father that she knew of, but did not feel the loss - the village was her earth and her mother, her sun and moon.  She was a beautiful, happy child - long, supple limbs topped with pale, flawless skin and long, flowing, auburn hair.  Hers was the life of fantasies - days spent in play, full of laughter, love, safety, and community. 

The fabric of her life changed drastically the day of her tenth birthday.  That was the day the raiders arrived and her world turned dark at the death of the sun.  The tattered pieces flash through her memory - the dust choking the village as the hoard of riders invaded the town, the screams of terror as they laid waste to the tiny hamlet, the smell of burning homes and burning flesh clogging her nose and throat making breathing hard and swallowing nay on impossible, the rough feel of their hands on her as they pushed her to her knees in a group along with the other children and young adults.  The memory she feeds on most often, the tattered cloth she most often runs through the fingertips of her mind, is the one that most changed her, shattering her world and crushing her mind.  She knelt and watched her world die - her mother lying in front of her, men taking her violently over and over again, her screams erupting in the air, the girl’s hands curled up tight, nails digging into her palms, blood pouring down her hands to seep into the ground at her knees as her tears ran in torrents down her face, mixing with the blood and the dust to coat her legs and arms, her mind splintering with only one coherent thought coming through - she was helpless to protect the woman who was her world as she watched the light fade from her eyes.  She vowed at that moment that she would never allow herself to be helpless again. 

Life again in scattered pieces after that event, each flashing rapidly through her mind, the texture of each rough and painful to the touch.  The taste of the dust on the endless walk behind the horses of the raiders, the never-ending carnage as village after village fell to them, the line of children and young adults growing longer and longer, the sounds of screams and crying the only constant sounds running through her mind, filling her both during her waking and sleeping.  The hell only changing when they finally came to the end of their journey, arriving at the homeland of the raiders.

Here she began the life of a slave.  Watching those around her, she listened and learned, her bright eyes taking in all that happened around her, keeping her head down and her ears open. It was here that the beautiful child grew to a breathtaking woman - long limbs now curved and luscious, skin still pale and unmarked as a noble woman, her hair shiny and flowing - a crowning glory that drew the eyes of those around her.  And as she grew, she understood the power her beauty gave her and she used it.  On the eve of her thirteenth birthday, she was introduced to the pleasures of the flesh, and she saw that as her stock in trade, using her body and intellect to control her environment, learning ways to please even the most twisted soul, becoming expert in skills moral women could not even comprehend.  Her sex finally giving her back some of that power she craved.  In this role, she thrived and developed - the sweet face of an angel and the body of a goddess all enveloping the dark and wickedly creative mind of a seasoned courtesan.

She walked this tenuous tightrope until the time she turned 16.  That was the year her life took yet another turn, a change in fortune and in fate.  She remembers the day as if it was only yesterday.  The arrival of the beautiful company of horses,  each dressed more lovely than she had ever been, leading an ornate carriage the likes of which she had never laid eyes on, the men searching the town looking for something, each one looking like a prince in his finery, shiny bright and clean as they walked about the village.  When she closes her eyes, she remembers the exact moment, her mind rubbing that tattered cloth almost through - the hand on her shoulder, her turning to look into beautiful blue eyes, smiling and warm, the voice deep and gentle as he asked “Girl, what is your name and the names of your parents?”, her answer being, “my name is DeeDee, I do not know the name of my village, daughter of Mary Lee, no father that I know of” said with a raise of her chin attempting to disguise her fear and insecurity.   “You have a father, DeeDee.  It is I," he whispered softly.

And so yet again, she found her world turned upside down.  She felt herself quickly gathered into the man’s arms, the story unfolding, as he sobbed and held her.  He told of his love of her mother. but his marriage to another - marriage to a woman her mother served as a lesser noble servant; their forbidden love that resulted in her conception; her mother's midnight escape to the village of a distant relative; his subsequent endless search for her after the death of his wife, culminating in this day of their reunion.  The fabric squares flutter through her fingers - the trip to the home of her father, the first sight of his castle taking her breath away, her induction into the life of a noble,  her father's pride as he watched her introduced to the court.  But with these colorful tatters, there were also the dark ones - the whispers in the court about her history, the jealously of the women when their men turned to watch her walk into the room, the spiteful atrocities dealt her by the relatives of her dead step mother, and the men - always the men, looking and lusting, angling to be near her and to see if the stories where true of her history and her skills.  But she took it all and molded it to fit her needs, rising above the pain of the women’s rejection, taking solace in the love of her father, using the skills she had honed to flirt and play, wrapping noble after noble around her finger, growing strong and powerful in the face of the jealousy.  Yet it was always tempered with a sadness, a desire to be one of the group, to laugh and giggle with a bevy of friends, to have the women smile when she entered the room, beckoning her to them to share the secret of the day. 

This was the life she led until the day the sun again shined in her life.  That day glowing like a giant piece of cloth in the fabric of her life, not tattered as the others, but shiny and smooth in its perfection.  Her father calling her to him in order to introduce her to an old friend; her rushing into the room, flushed and breathless, to spy the man who was to become her life - tall and strong, bald and dark, a shiny black ponytail hanging down his straight back.  He turned, their eyes met, and the world grew bright, as it had not been since that day the sun died so long ago.  “DeeDee, this is my dear friend, the Baron Soho Spiritweaver……“ and so it began….and so it continues.