It’s another day in the Mendoza household. Nicomaine is presently
bringing down the laundry of her stepsisters and stepmother. She has yet to prepare
breakfast and sweep the cinders near the hearth. So many things to do and yet she’s
the only one who has to do them all.
Ever since her father passed away last year on her 20th summer, her
stepmother dismissed the servants one by one claiming that they do not have enough
funds to support their household and letting her do some of the chores. Next
thing she knew, she was waiting on them hand and foot. She did not mind at
first as she promised her father that she will take care of his family on his
deathbed. Little did she know that she
took on more than she could handle. There are days though that she wonders if
it would be better for her to leave everything and make her way to the world.
But she can’t bear to leave the house where she grew up in and her meadow which
carried a lot of memories.
“NICOMAINE!” she heard her stepmother scream from the second
floor. “Where is my breakfast tea?! You were supposed to bring it up 5 minutes
ago!”
One of her stepsisters echoed a demand, “Bring up the dress
that I asked you to iron last night. Were you able to repair the ribbon? I’m
going out today and I need something decent to wear!”
“Oh no you don’t! That was my dress that I told Nicomaine to
iron! You tore yours the other day when we went walking at the park!” She heard
the other stepsister argue back.
Tuning out the raised voices, she quickly prepared the
breakfast tray with her stepmother’s tea. She scooped up the dresses that her
stepsisters asked her to fix and with her heavy load, gingerly climbed her way
to the rooms of her stepfamily.
After serving her stepmother’s tea and preventing another quarrel
between her stepsisters by repairing both their dresses. She quickly slipped
out of the house and ran towards her meadow--the place where she spent her
childhood chasing butterflies and being carefree. She just wanted to be alone
away from the raised voices and berating screams.
Nicomaine ran to the edge of the meadow where a spring brook
gurgled merrily. She sat down beside the water and dipped her feet in the cool
stream. She sat back on her hands and raised her face to the warm sun. For
awhile, she forgot her stepmother, her stepsisters and the chores that would no
doubt be piling up. Right now, she is Nicomaine Mendoza, the free spirit, the young
lighthearted lady that played in the meadow. She is Nicomaine Mendoza, a two
decade old young girl who has yet to discover her womanhood.
She would hear her stepsisters sometimes gossip over the men
that they “meet” during their walks at the park. She can’t help but wonder what kind of meetings
these are that would result to torn gowns and missing ribbons which she has to
always repair. Judging from their high pitched voices and whispered giggles, it
must be something good. Nicomaine wonders when she will have her own chance.
Just when she was about to doze off, she heard a horse neigh
nearby. She scrambled to her feet taking it as sign that she should get back to
the main house but she stopped short when she saw the visitor astride the black
destrier. It was his legs that she
noticed first. Clothed in dark breeches, they were muscular enough that they snugly
hugged the sides of his horse; his large feet encased in simple boots. Drawing
her gaze upward, she noticed his chest dressed in simple huntsman garb with the
shirt stretched taut across his strapping chest; his corded hands holding the
reins of the horse loosely. She then settled her gaze on his face which caused
her to lose her breath. It was the most beautiful face she had ever seen. His
brown eyes are so piercing that she could feel it cut through her clothes, causing
her to clench inside. His face is so pale and smooth that it rivaled her own
complexion. And his lips…his lips. Nicomaine touched her own lips as she stared
at the stranger, her tongue snaking out to lick her dry lips even touching her
finger. She suddenly wanted to know how
his lips will feel against hers.
“Good tidings,” the stranger called out. His voice was husky
and she felt it reverberate inside her body making her sex moist. “Who are you,
my lady?”
Nicomaine drew her eyes away from the stranger’s mesmerizing
gaze and stared at the ground. “I am not allowed to talk to strangers, my lord.
I..I.. should go…” she breaks off preparing to leave but the man blocks her way
with his horse.
“Don’t go, please don’t. Please. I won’t hurt you. Stay.” He
pleaded, his dark gaze probing and begging. “You are so beautiful. I would want
the honor of getting your name, my lady.”
The young Mendoza girl looked at her old dress and her reddened
hands, hiding them behind her back. “Surely, Sir, you must be mistaken. I am
nothing but ordinary.”
She then met his gaze, “But if it interests you that much,
my name is Nicomaine.”
She then turned around and fled.
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