I wake with a yawn, blinking my eyes open slowly. Glancing to my left and right, I frown when I find the straw pallet empty beside me. Why do I always seem to wake last? I don't understand.

With a sigh, I push myself up into a sitting position and peer out from the sleeping alcove into the main area of the cramped hovel. There I see Aislin standing by the hearth, a contemplative look on her careworn features as she speaks with that drunken lout Oisin.

Aislin places a few eggs and some bread onto Oisin's wooden trencher. He grunts, the sound like a rutting boar, and immediately digs into the simple fare with his typical gluttonous lack of manners. As he's shoveling the food into his gaping maw, Oisin's gaze falls upon me and he pauses, swallowing thickly.

"Felicis natalis, Lile," he rumbles in a gruff tone, the Latin words making me blink in surprise.

I murmur under my breath, so low that only I can hear, "Latin, huh? The fucker knows Latin?"

Aislin must have caught my whispered aside, for she rolls her eyes heavenward as if asking the Lord for patience to deal with me. Oisin, oblivious as ever, simply returns to devouring his paltry breakfast like a starving mongrel.

When he's licked the last crumb from the trencher, Oisin leans over and plants a wet, sloppy kiss on Aislin's cheek. She flinches but remains still as he hauls himself up and lumbers toward the door, doubtless eager to escape this wretched hovel and seek out the bottom of an ale tankard somewhere.

As the door bangs shut behind Oisin's hulking form, I slowly make my way over to where Aislin is standing. She turns to face me, and to my surprise, begins singing a lilting tune in Latin - some sort of birthday greeting, if my limited knowledge serves.

I can't help but giggle at her earnest, if slightly off-key, rendition. Reaching up on tiptoe, I plant a kiss on Aislin's weathered cheek in gratitude. She may be a broken, downtrodden wretch of a woman, but she's the only real mother I've ever known in this bleak existence.

Pulling back, I glance over my shoulder at the door Oisin departed through. "Where's Papa going during winter?" I ask in my best imitation of a child's curious tones.

Aislin's brow furrows briefly before she replies, "He's gone to the tavern, lamb. To purchase that slave girl he spoke of recently."

I nod slowly, feigning understanding despite the sinking feeling in my gut. So the bastard really means to bring another poor wretch under his foul dominion, does he? As if tormenting Aislin and me weren't enough for his sadistic appetites.

"Come now, poppet," Aislin says, her voice breaking through my dark reverie. "You must eat and drink something, to keep your strength up for the day ahead."

I blink up at her. "What do you have planned for today, Mama?"

A small smile curves Aislin's thin lips. "Why, I intend to take you visiting another family for a bit of talk and cheer, my little lamb."

Despite myself, I can't help but perk up at the prospect, a warm glow suffusing my chest. A chance to escape this cramped, filthy hovel, even for a short while? To experience some small slice of normalcy amidst the relentless drudgery and torment that plagues our existence?

Aislin seems to read my reaction easily enough, for she reaches out to pat my shorn curls fondly. "Aye, I knew my bonny lass would love the idea of an outing," she murmurs.

Impulsively, I blurt out, "Can we visit Saoirse? She's my friend!"

But Aislin is already shaking her head, her smile fading somewhat. "Nay poppet, the Walshes quit the village just this past week gone. They've moved on, seeking better fortunes elsewhere."

I frown, crestfallen. "Why did they leave?"

Aislin simply shrugs, either ignorant of their reasons or unwilling to share the details. Turning away, she busies herself preparing another meager meal, placing a few eggs and some bread onto a fresh wooden trencher before setting it on the rough-hewn table. She fills a battered mug with water from the bucket and places that beside the trencher as well.

"Come child, let's have you fed before we depart," Aislin calls, gesturing for me to join her at the bench.

Obediently, I clamber up onto the hard wooden seat, my legs dangling a good foot from the dirt floor. Aislin settles in beside me, reaching out to tear off a chunk of the stale bread. She places it in my hand, closing my tiny fingers around the morsel.

"There now, you take some bites of that while I peel these eggs for you, aye?" she murmurs, already working the shell free from one of the hard-boiled spheres.

I nod agreeably enough, lifting the bread to my lips and taking a small bite. It's coarse and bland, the very definition of peasant fare.

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Aislin carefully feeding me bite-sized pieces of egg while I wash it all down with sips from the mug of tepid water. When the last crumb has been polished off, I pat my flat belly contentedly.

"All done, Mama," I announce, putting on my best childish airs. "But now I need to do my...needs."

Aislin's brow furrows briefly before she gives a slow nod of understanding. "Of course, lamb. But from now on, you'll do those needs in this bucket here, you hear?" She points to the battered wooden pail sitting in the corner, normally used for collecting rainwater. "You're a big girl these days, not a wee babe to be squatting in the cold outdoors."

I open my mouth to protest, but Aislin holds up a hand, continuing in a teasing tone. "Unless you want that sweet little arse and quim of yours to freeze right up, that is?"

Cheeks flushing hotly, I quickly shake my head. "N-No Mama, I don't want that!"

Aislin chuckles at my flustered reaction, giving my curls an affectionate ruffle. "Well then, off you go and make use of the bucket like a good lass. That ritual tattoo the vampiress inscribed should keep you hale and safe for now, aye?"

Nodding meekly, I slide off the bench and make my way over to the bucket, frowning down at its weathered wooden slats. Lovely, just lovely - forced to shit and piss like some ill-trained mongrel right here in the middle of our cramped living quarters. But I suppose it's better than freezing my dainty bits off outdoors.

Resigning myself to the indignity, I hitch up my skirts and squat over the bucket's wide rim, doing my utmost to avoid soiling my fine silk stockings and lacy undergarments. A few grunts and straining later, and I've successfully evacuated my meager waste into the rapidly filling pail.

"Here now, take this linen and clean yourself up proper," Aislin calls out, holding up a scrap of coarse cloth.

I reach for it gratefully, only to find myself teetering precariously on the bucket's edge. Before I can topple over, Aislin's calloused hands are there, gripping me firmly under the armpits and lifting me free of the noisome pail.

"Easy does it, lamb," she murmurs, setting me on my feet. Aislin kneels before me, gently lifting my skirts to wipe at my nether regions with the damp linen, cleaning away any lingering streaks. I flush hotly but remain still, allowing her to fuss over me like a babe once more.

When she's satisfied with her work, Aislin helps me smooth my undergarments back into place before leaning in to plant a tender kiss on my brow. "There now, all fresh and clean for your special day, aye?"

I nod, unable to meet her eyes for some reason. Clearing my throat, I decide to change the subject by asking, "Mama, won't you go visit Erik at his cottage? To...have fun with him and try making me a new brother or sister?"

Aislin's eyes widen comically at my innocent query. Then, to my surprise, she throws back her head with a rich peal of laughter.

"Oh lass, you do have a way with words sometimes!" she chuckles, shaking her head in amusement. "But nay, I cannot make you a new sibling quite yet, I'm afraid. It will be another week or two before my courses flow again and I'm fertile to accept Erik's seed."

I can't help giggling at her candid words, so at odds with the pious, prudish attitudes of this primitive era. Impulsively, I launch myself at Aislin, wrapping my arms around her slender waist and hugging her leg tightly.

"I love you, Mama," I murmur fervently. For all her flaws and weaknesses, this woman is the sole bright spot in my bleak, nightmarish existence.

Aislin's calloused hand comes to rest atop my head, stroking my shorn curls tenderly. "And I you, my precious little lamb," she replies, her voice thick with maternal affection.

Aislin's voice breaks through my musings. "Now listen here, lamb. We're to visit the Dohertys this morn, so ye best get spiritually ready."

I tilt my head up at her curiously. "The Dohertys? Who're they, mama?"

A small smile curves Aislin's thin lips. "Why, they're good folk who've helped me in the past. Cathal is the husband, a kind man despite his gruff ways. And Muireann is the wife - a rare beauty with a gentle soul."

My eyes widen at the prospect of new people to meet beyond this wretched hovel. "Do they have kids I can play with?" I ask eagerly.

Aislin nods. "Aye, they've a daughter named Ciara who's seven summers old. And young Cormac is but four."

Ooh, other children! This could prove an interesting opportunity to observe my peers up close. I purse my lips thoughtfully. "What're they like, these Doherty brats?"

"Mind yer tongue, poppet," Aislin chides gently. "They're good Christian youngsters, naught like that dour, mean-spirited father of yers."

I can't help the words that tumble out next. "I wanna meet new people, not just grumpy old Oisin!"

Aislin's eyes go wide with alarm and she quickly glances around, as if fearful the very walls have ears. "Hush now, ye must never say such things out loud again!" she hisses urgently. "If yer father overheard..."

Properly chastised, I duck my head and stick a finger in my mouth, peering up at Aislin through my lashes. "I won't, mama. Promise."

She lets out a soft sigh, reaching down to smooth my curls. "That's me good lass. For if Oisin had been sneaking about to eavesdrop, I'd have had to beat ye meself to spare ye his strap."

I shudder at the thought, giving a solemn nod. "I understand."

"Good girl." Aislin's expression softens once more. "Oh, and one more thing - whilst we're visitin', ye must refer to Erik as Colm, ye hear? Can't be havin' the villagers knowin' his true name."

"Okay, mama," I reply obediently.

Seemingly satisfied, Aislin turns and pulls open the battered wooden door, cold winter air rushing in to sting my cheeks. "Out ye go then, ye wee rascal!" she chuckles.

As I scamper outside, I can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the prospect of new experiences beyond this cramped, dreary existence. Who knows what revelations await amongst these mysterious Dohertys? I lick my lips in anticipation.

Ooh, this could be fun! A chance to stretch my intellectual legs and indulge my insatiable curiosity, all while playing the part of the sweet, innocent peasant child. I do so love a good performance.

As I skip along the dirt path behind Aislin, my little boots kicking up puffs of dust, I can't help wondering what fresh miseries this day has in store. Probably some delightful new trauma to add to my growing collection, like finding out Oisin's new slave girl is actually Aislin's long-lost sister! Because why the hell not, right? In this backwater mudhole, the more messed up a situation can get, the better!

I pause to twirl around, my sapphire dress fanning out as I spin. Hmm, maybe this little outing will give me a chance to do some prime-time people watching though. Ooh, I could be like one of those snooty anthropologists studying the bizarre mating rituals of rural peasant families! I'll get to see all the other serf brats running around, bickering and flinging mud pies at each other's dumb faces. You know, the usual wholesome childhood shenanigans.

I snort at the thought. As if I ever got to experience that kind of innocent playtime with my old friend Saoirse. Nope, our "fun" always devolved into her whining about her stupid dolls or me having to pretend I couldn't already read and write at a collegiate level. BoringCity, population: us!

Still, Saoirse's mom seemed like a decent sort at least. Probably one of the few peasant women in this cesspit who didn't get the absolute life beaten out of her before hitting double digits, am I right? I mean, her husband didn't seem like an utter troglodyte either from my brief encounters. He actually brought home food for his family instead of guzzling it all down at the tavern. What a novel concept!

I shake my head, tutting softly. But enough about the Walshes and their charmed little existence. Time to take in some fresh new examples of prime serf misery, straight from the source! I rub my hands together gleefully at the prospect. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to witness an old-fashioned peasant wife-beating if I'm really lucky. Those are always a riot!

Snapping out of my reverie, I quickly glance down to ensure my tattoos are concealed beneath my luxurious cloak and dress. Wouldn't want the village folk to glimpse the arcane markings and start screaming about me being possessed by demons or some shite. These backwards bumpkins can barely handle regular bathing, let alone comprehending the concept of magical healing tattoos. They'd probably try burning me at the stake or whatever other delightful medieval "remedies" they subscribe to for dealing with the unfamiliar.

I shudder dramatically. Yeah, better keep these babies under wraps for sure. No need to go getting myself exorcised before I can fully unravel the mysteries of this crapsack realm!

Aislin and I arrive at the front gate of another nondescript hovel, identical to all the others dotting this dreary village. She cups her hands around her mouth and hollers, "Muireann! Are you home, dear friend?"

Moments later, the rickety wooden door creaks open to reveal a woman with long, flowing tresses the vibrant shade of new spring grass. Her eyes are two glittering emerald orbs that seem to sparkle with an inner light. I blink slowly, unsurprised by her striking appearance after witnessing the equally unusual colorations of Mary and Eilis.

The verdant-haired woman smiles warmly, beckoning us over. "Come in, come in!" she calls out, her voice rich and melodious.

Muireann unlatches the gate, allowing Aislin and I to enter the small garden area in front of her humble abode. She approaches, bending down to pat my shorn curls affectionately.

"Well now, and who's this fine young lad?" she asks with an indulgent chuckle, eyeing my luxurious sapphire dress and crimson boots. "Wherever did you find the coin to dress a boy in such finery, Aislin?"

I can't help but giggle at her mistake, delighted by the prospect of some harmless mischief. Aislin laughs as well, shaking her head in amusement.

"Why, this is no lad at all, Muireann! This here's my own little Lile, bless her heart."

Muireann's eyes widen comically. "Your Lile? But...she looks just like a boy with her hair all shorn!"

"Aye, that she does," Aislin agrees with a warm smile. "I took the lass to Colm's cottage to have her deloused, you see. The kind man cut her hair to be rid of the nits and lice, leaving her looking quite the ragamuffin!"

Muireann nods in understanding, then turns to me with a conspiratorial wink. "Well then, little Lile, how'd you like to come play with my own youngsters for a spell? Cormac's only four, but Ciara's a big girl of seven - I'm sure she'd love a new friend to romp with!"

No sooner have the words left her mouth than two small figures come barreling out of the open doorway behind Muireann. The first is a tiny boy with a mop of shaggy green locks and large, soulful amber eyes. He immediately darts behind his mother's skirts, peering at me with a mixture of shyness and curiosity.

But it's the second child who truly captures my attention. She's a few years older, with long emerald tresses cascading in gentle waves past her shoulders. One eye is the same rich amber as her brother's, while the other is a striking jade hue - I've never seen such a striking case of heterochromia in my life! Her porcelain features are utterly bewitching, from the delicate sweep of her nose to the gentle rosebud pout of her lips.

The girl pauses a few feet away, regarding me with open interest. "Hello," she says in a lilting, musical voice. "I'm Ciara. What's your name?"

I blink rapidly, struggling to find my voice in the face of such ethereal beauty. "Um...I-I'm Lile," I finally stammer out, feeling oddly flustered.

Huh, what's this now? Am I...blushing at the sight of this girl? How peculiar. I've never experienced such a visceral reaction to feminine beauty before, at least not in this childish form. Could it be some lingering vestige of my adult psyche appreciating the finer things in life? Or is my body simply beginning its long journey towards pubescence, my hormones slowly awakening to the allure of the opposite sex?

Either way, I must take care to temper any untoward reactions. Wouldn't want to give poor Aislin a fright by drooling over her friend's daughter like some lecherous deviant! No, best to play the sweet, innocent little girl for now and avoid arousing suspicion. I'll have plenty of time for...other pursuits once I've reclaimed my rightful adult form.[...]