The Deception The night of her birth had been dark and stormy. A fierce wind howled and lightening shattered the night sky. It was an omen of things to come. Had the night been calm, the woman’s decision would have remained the same. The violent storm only lent it self to assuaging the guilt she would carry with her the remainder of her life. The labor had been remarkably easy, the babe had come early, she was smaller than average and instead of crying had regarded the midwife with the most remarkable violet eyes. But the mother would never know this, for she refused to look upon the child she would abandon. Swaddled tightly in soft linens and bundled against the elements, a trusted maid was given the child. The plan had been set in motion a fortnight back, a plan that would take the child from the safety of the castle walls to the village that lay in its shadow. It wasn’t that the woman was being callous. It had to be this way. There was only one who could raise this babe, only one who would be able to keep her safe; Cora Porter. But as fate would have it, Cora had disappeared only two nights earlier. The treacherous journey through the stormy night and into the village took all the maid could muster in terms of bravery. When she arrived on the doorstep of the Porter’s small home and discovered that Cora Porter had gone missing, the maid uttered a lie that would change the life of the innocent babe, forever. It was to Cora’s parents, that the maid wove a tale of how Cora had hidden her own pregnancy, and that this tiny babe she held was indeed their grandchild. The maid didn’t care what Cora said once she returned, if she returned. She only knew that the babe was to be entrusted to Cora Porter, but no matter what happened, no one would dare return the babe to the castle. Cora’s mother, Teresa, had always held a soft spot for babies, and this one, she believed, was the child of her own dear Cora. When the maid returned to the castle, assuring the babe’s biological mother that everything had been carried out as planned, it mattered little to her that she had not carried out her mission, exactly as planned. When Cora failed to return, Teresa and Rufus made a decision as well, one that again would effect the life of the innocent babe, forever. They decided to keep Cora from being tainted, and despite Teresa’s advanced age of 37, Cora’s parents claimed the babe as their own. A year later, Teresa died, and the child was left to be raised by Rufus Porter, a drunk, surly man who had no business being responsible for anything, let alone the raising of a child. Fiona Porter knew none of this. The Unraveling But there were chinks in her story that had her questioning a good many things; the most obvious were her looks. She was petite, barely over five feet, and slender as a reed, though womanly curves were beginning to swell giving her a delicate allure. Her hair was thick and luxurious, a mane the color of summer; golden and soft, curling tendrils that beckoned the eye and hand. Perhaps though, it was her eyes that were most remarkable, violet hues that shimmered and changed depending on her mood. Most often they seemed like liquid pools of lavender and only on the rarest of occasions did they darken and shift to a fathomless abyss, a shimmering shade of black tinged with amethyst. Her eyes were indeed unusual; there were no others in the village with eyes like hers. No matter what her mood though, no matter how her eyes changed, they were always tinged in some shade of purple. What she was not though, was squat and broad of girth, her hair was not coarse and black, nor were her eyes black as coal. Her hands slender and delicate bore no resemblance to the hands of Rufus, or of his dead wife. In fact, there was absolutely no common trait between Fiona and the other Porters. She knew this because she had asked when the other villagers had pointed this out to her and she had studied him when he was passed out from the effects of the mead he drank ceaselessly. There were other things too, things that fed the hope she harbored deep in her soul, the hope that she had not been spawned from the loins of Rufus, but that perhaps, she had been a love child of some fair maiden and some valiant knight. It was this fantasy that she cherished most. At night, on her cot in the small hovel that she strove to keep clean, she would imagine that a terrible sorceress had stolen her from her loving parents but that someday, good would triumph and bring them all together again. And then, then she would know the love of her parents. It was one evening, when Rufus was well into his cups that she discovered the largest chink into her past. He had called her Cora, like he often did, but that night was to be different. That night, the drunken ramblings of the man who had raised her since birth confirmed what she had long since hoped. It wasn’t enough that she could completely piece together her past, but she knew she had to find Cora. Cora was somehow the missing link, the link that would unravel her past completely. Slowly, over the months to follow, she had made inquiries about Cora, and the inquiries had given birth to a greater hope and a stronger determination to learn the truth. The Strange One It wasn’t just that she was so different from the Porters. Other things made her stand out. She was unremarkable in that she kept to herself, never causing problems, never making waves, going quietly about her work. At an early age though, Fiona had discovered that she excelled in mimicry. An unusual and seemingly useless talent, Fiona could mimic any voice she had heard, including various birdcalls. At one moment she could mimic the guttural, uncultivated speech of the most common villager and then in the next breath speak in the high, lilting tones of one raised with a silver spoon. Often when she was doing chores, she would entertain herself by mimicking others. Unless someone saw her, no one would have believed one girl was behind all the different voices. It wasn’t that she just had the gift of mimicry; she also possessed the ability to communicate with animals. When she was younger, she believed everyone could hear the animals, but it had been one summer morning when she sat in a clearing just outside the village conversing with a deer that she had discovered most humans were grossly out of touch with the furrier beings. From that point on, Fiona slipped into the forest as often as possible to converse with her animal friends. If you are looking to find her, the forest is as good a place to begin as any. Fiona has always been a bit of an outcast with those strange purple eyes, her penchant for talking to herself and the way she seemed to choose spending time with animals over their human counterparts. Her elusive past and unknown parentage would have set her ever further apart from the villagers, but of that, no one seemed suspect, no one but Fiona, though the truth would have surprised even the girl prone to dreaming. The Hope Sometimes those violet hues held a sense of wistfulness, a dreamy faraway gaze. It wasn’t so much that she hoped not to be related to Rufus Porter, for she didn’t wish ill to anyone. It was that she hoped for love. She hoped for different parents, parents who had loved and wanted her. Because even to her naïve soul, she knew Rufus neither loved her nor wanted her. She didn’t hope for much, she was mostly content, though her keen mind could not turn aside the nagging questions that loomed. She merely hoped for a family, for a home, for love. Simple things really. But somewhere out there, there were others who hoped for much different things for the violet-eyed young maiden.