“And Cecil the Swordmaster sank to his knees. He had spent hours fighting the Madfall Fawr and he could barely lift his blade. He listened hard; his blind eyes open to face the setting sun. Did his final blow slay the monster? Or would the Madfall Fawr finally take its revenge?”

Nia counted to 5 in her head, watching her audience lean forward in anticipation. It was a mixed crowd today, three older siblings bringing their four younger siblings to listen. The older kids pretended indifference, but she saw Harri leaning forward despite himself.

“Thump. Thump… WHOMP”

Nia raised her arms with the last word, startling her audience. Some of the younger kids cried out in outrage that their hero had fallen. Well, the two that had not heard the tale before. Nia smiled. This was her element. She loved the feel of a spellbound audience, waiting on her every word.

“The sound was the Madfall Fawr falling. It spilt its blood across the forest floor. And with that, Cecil the Swordmaster ended the Age of Heroes. The heroes lived on, but their task was complete. Never again would a monster threaten the people of Caelwyn.”

The younger kids cheered. Nia waited for them to finish, leaning back against the sturdy oak. Its branches waved in a serene counterpart to the excitement of the children.

“You can still see echoes of the Age of Heroes around us today. The very park we are sitting in was part of the original Village of Cysgod. This is where the village kids would come to play, safe from the monsters lurking beyond the walls.”

Her small audience clapped, and then fell quiet. For a moment, all was quiet in the shade of the oak. Then Harri’s younger brother jumped to his feet.

“Patches! Patches! Can you tell us Peter Pan again?”

Nia suppressed a smile. She had long outgrown her little dress with the patches poorly sewn on. Still, that was what they called her.

“All was quiet in the Darling house. Mrs. Darling tucked in her children- Wendy Darling, John Darling, and Michael Darling. Their hound Nanna was resting by their beds, ready to guard them from any harm. But a powerful stranger was waiting nearby, ready to steal them away-“

“I have a story for you!”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Nia’s blood ran cold. Owen’s voice was insufferably smug. His intrusion into the sanctity of Nia’s storytime was like finding a live scorpion in her bed. She peered around the trunk to see Owen approaching with a pair of guards. She recognized Bryn, doing his best to look tough and intimidating. Judging by the reaction of Nia’s audience, he was succeeding.

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl.”

Owen strode up to them on his short legs. He was dressed in a rich blue overcoat that contrasted sharply to the rest of the clothing in the park. Nia and her audience were dressed in tan and brown clothing, with some dark green accents on Harri’s and his brother’s hems. Owen’s clothes made him stand out as if he were the only real person in front of an audience of background characters.

“Her slut of a mommy slept with somebody powerful, so the little girl got to live in a fancy house.”

Nia flinched back, her cheeks burning. Owen made a sharp gesture, and Bryn strode up to Nia. He gently shooed her from her spot. His gaze was full of pity and just a hint of apology, but Nia did not want his pity. She did not want his apology. She wanted this to not be happening.

“She thought that made her important. Made her somebody, the main character of a story!

Owen sat down in Nia’s usual spot, heedless of the dust getting on his rich blue trousers. Nia backed up, glancing at her former audience through the burn of tears. The younger children mostly seemed confused, but the older three were apprehensive. Owen was the son of Lord Lewys, and clearly wanted to put on a cruel show here. Harri held his brother close.

“She stole some scraps of fancy fabric from her masters and stuck them on her rags.”

Owen sneered at Nia. She crossed her arms over her chest. She was suddenly conscious of her ratty dress. It was a nice enough dress for a scullery maid, but next to his splendour it might as well have been the rags he described. Nia looked away, determined not to show him her tears.

“She took her patches to the park and found children to impress with her tales. To have them hanging on her every word so she could feel important.”

Nia felt the tears spill over the dam of her self-control and she swiped at them angrily. She knew if she yelled back at him, he would only get worse. Her only option was to run.

She ran.

She made it about two steps before Bryn caught her. He was not trying to hurt her, but she ran into his chainmailed arm with a ringing impact that drove the breath from her. Harri’s brother cried out in alarm but was held back silent by Harri.

“So she could pretend, for a few minutes, that she wasn’t completely insignificant. That she wasn’t a scullery maid and a bastard.”

Nia struggled and ignored the tears streaming down her face. She could not believe that he would be this cruel. What had she ever- She asked him, more a sob than a question.

“What did I do to you?”

His smirk grew a little, and that was his only response. He continued his violation, his mockery of her storyteller tableau in the park.

“No prospects, so she will die alone in a gutter. And absolutely no-one will care.”

Bryn finally released her, and Nia fled. Owen’s laughter dogged at her heels.