Melissa Marcheford16 years old
3rd child and dutiful daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Marcheford
As the third child and only daughter of her family, Melissa has known a considerable amount of indulgence, as well as considerable expectations. Namely, to marry into a wealthy family (hopefully nobility). She could not hope to take over the family business (already well taken care of by her brothers) and what place did a polite young lady have in such an occupation anyway?
No. Melissa knew her place, and while never really enthusiastic about her future occupation as housewife, she's prepared to try and find contentment nevertheless. She's been well-trained for it. She can embroider, knows enough arithmetic to keep the household books in order, regularly assists her family's cook in the kitchen, and she plays a fine flute. The latter is one of the few activities she truly enjoys.
One of the few topics on which her family and Melissa never agreed was the adherence to the Old Ways. Growing up, Melissa learned to respect the spirits, and would often leave small offerings for them whenever she could. This was considered foolishness on her part. Since the offerings never hurt anyone, and there were still well-respected individuals in society that also adhered to the Old Ways, her family indulged her habits.
This portion of her life ended abruptly one afternoon whilst she was out riding with one Mr. Beaufort.
Quote:
“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Beaufort. I must seem an awfully drab little wren compared to the beautiful birds you’ve seen in the city. I’m afraid I haven’t been allowed to stray very far from our estate.” Melissa Marcheford said, wishing she was back in the privacy of her room, as her delicate mare picked its way around a rabbit hole. Mr. Beaufort sat his horse with an air of bored nonchalance, clearly unimpressed by the misty green expanse of the Marcheford grounds and with his present company. Oh, why had her Father insisted the young man visit? Business, he said, but of course nothing would do except that Melissa would dress in her finest riding dress and show Mr. Beaufort the family estate. Well, if her Father had hopes of marrying her to the young man, it seemed they’d not be realized. But Melissa kept her responsibilities to her family in mind, and summoned as light-hearted a smile as she could.
Well, here they were, she thought as the two horses drew up at the very edge of the estate. A low stone wall ran the length of the border, stretching far away to the right and left. There was little to be seen. Green and mist, and far in the distance, a green smear that was the Wardwood. As it was the only thing to look at, Melissa peered out at the Wood, indulging in a brief fantasy of riding through soaring trees and dappled shadows instead of flat nothing. Beside her, Mr. Beaufort stifled a yawn, and turned his horse back in the direction they’d come. Melissa wrested herself from the dream, and turned her mare.
“Well, Miss Marcheford. I must thank yo- Miss Marcheford?” he said, giving her a queer look. Melissa realized she’d managed to turn her mare the wrong way, and quickly adjusted her course to run alongside Mr. Beaufort.
“Oh, I- I do apologize.” She stammered, embarrassed.
“Think nothing of it. As I was saying, Mi- … Miss Marcheford, I do hope you aren’t playing some trick on me.”
Melissa’s eyes widened as she realized she’d begun to turn her poor confused mare around again. Just what was wrong with her? She turned the mare back towards home, once again, stammering apologies. Except, not two minutes later, she’d wheeled the mare around and began trotting towards the low wall.
“Miss Marcheford!” Mr. Beaufort was a fading cry behind her.
“I- I have to go!” she called back.
“Where!?”
Melissa spurred the little mare to a gallop, and the animal gathered its limbs beneath her and leaped the wall. She couldn’t take her eyes of it, pulled by something stronger than familial duty towards that distant smear of green.
“The Wardwood.” She whispered in reply.
Well, here they were, she thought as the two horses drew up at the very edge of the estate. A low stone wall ran the length of the border, stretching far away to the right and left. There was little to be seen. Green and mist, and far in the distance, a green smear that was the Wardwood. As it was the only thing to look at, Melissa peered out at the Wood, indulging in a brief fantasy of riding through soaring trees and dappled shadows instead of flat nothing. Beside her, Mr. Beaufort stifled a yawn, and turned his horse back in the direction they’d come. Melissa wrested herself from the dream, and turned her mare.
“Well, Miss Marcheford. I must thank yo- Miss Marcheford?” he said, giving her a queer look. Melissa realized she’d managed to turn her mare the wrong way, and quickly adjusted her course to run alongside Mr. Beaufort.
“Oh, I- I do apologize.” She stammered, embarrassed.
“Think nothing of it. As I was saying, Mi- … Miss Marcheford, I do hope you aren’t playing some trick on me.”
Melissa’s eyes widened as she realized she’d begun to turn her poor confused mare around again. Just what was wrong with her? She turned the mare back towards home, once again, stammering apologies. Except, not two minutes later, she’d wheeled the mare around and began trotting towards the low wall.
“Miss Marcheford!” Mr. Beaufort was a fading cry behind her.
“I- I have to go!” she called back.
“Where!?”
Melissa spurred the little mare to a gallop, and the animal gathered its limbs beneath her and leaped the wall. She couldn’t take her eyes of it, pulled by something stronger than familial duty towards that distant smear of green.
“The Wardwood.” She whispered in reply.
Miss Marcheford returned three days later, feet bleeding and clothes completely ruined, clutching a small totem. Her family didn't know whether to congratulate her or scold her, and tensions ran high in the Marcheford household in the ensuing weeks.
