i'm a princess
cut from marble, smoother than a storm
you were always a lover of stories. even in your youth, trailing at your father's heels like a shadow, you listened to him speak. and he told you all sorts of fanciful tales, of dragons and unicorns and princesses and knights, sometimes making them up as he went to fill all of your desires. and while he was more than happy to regale you with those that semed far too beautiful for the world that you lived in, above all, he made sure you knew your own story.
you were a decendant of the worthington-howes of virginia, who had come over from virginia so many years ago. they bred some of the finest horses alive, with bloodlines so pure they could be traced back for generations. their bloodlines had sired the gray stallion blueskin who was the primary mount of president george washington during the american revolution.
your mother was said to be a decendant of the house of valois, a cousin to the last true king of france. despite how sickly and frail she was now, she had been rumored to be one of the most beautiful women in this new world, and your father had to fight off a hundred suitors to ask for her hand. you were of royalty in the horse world, and in a long forgotten and destroyed dynasty. you were special.
and though in childhood, you had much preferred the stories of dragons and princesses and ghosts and giants, now, you are glad for those stories. because you know who you are, you know where you come from, and it is your connection to your past.
you were born as the second child just as the fall leaves began to change, with your elder brother randall being six years your senior. from the beginning you was given all you could have: private tutors graced your home every day to teach you a myriad of languages and instruments, as well as a personal governess that attended to you every whim. you proved, even quite young, to be extremely intelligent, learning very quickly and absorbing as much information as she could as fast as she could.
you and randall were very close. he was like a second father to you, and often was your protector in every sense of the word. in your youth, you were often underfoot of your elder brother, behaving as a boy and earning you fair share of scars before much could be said otherwise. your mother, as ill as she was, spent most of her time in bed and, though she tried her best, was absent. this left you to be raised by your father and brothers and a house full of servants and governesses.
and the scars
that line my body, they're silver and gold
you looked like a doll when you were a child. with your golden hair and pale skin and big 'grown up' eyes. you were always so serious, always so thoughtful, always so observant.
your father made sure that anything that you wanted, you received very quickly. he wanted only the best for his little girl, and you soaked it all in. the finest of dresses, the best of parties, the prettiest of ponies and horses. you were rarely denied anything, and you became accustomed to that lifestyle.
and, soon enough, you came to expect it. when you were old enough, you learned very quickly that you could run the entire house with a well placed tantrum. one of your tirades could even bring your soldier father to his knees. to this day, it is still very obvious who runs the household behind the scenes.
my blood is
a flood of rubies precious stones
you were eight when your mother died. despite how fragile she had been for the little time you had known her, she had been a good mother to you. a soft voice, a gentle touch when you needed it most. you mourned her for the better part of a year, going through spurts of not eating for several days at a time despite your father's best attempts to care for you.
it left you with a gaunt appearance, hollow cheekbones and nearly translucent skin. you had no purpose in life, and you hated your father and brother for continuing to live their lives now that your mother was gone. and you had no qualms with telling them such, you reminded them frequently of your hatred for them.
and when you were eleven, they left you. for war, of all things. in your childhood, you did not understand it. you had screamed to your father that you hated him, that you hoped he and randall never came home. how dare they leave you when you still were not recovered from losing your mother? and to all of that, they sent you to london to school, to a place you did know, all alone.
you know now that your memories of that place were not good. you were mocked, laughed at, for your american roots, for your deep southern drawl. and though you floruished under the education, you were miserable.
the man who oversaw the stables, leander, ended up being the closest thing you had ever known to a friend. and he tried his best to mentor you, to guide you, to be the father that you now lacked. you were a tyrant at best, with a sharp tongue and a quick temper, prone to fits of rage. but you found solitude in the stables, among the horses. you enjoyed their quiet dignity, the comfort that they offered. and leander saw an opportunity.
on your thirteenth birthday, he presented you with the best gift you ever could have been given. constantine, your beloved beast, was barely a yearling when he was brought to you. his eyes were wide and afraid, he shied at everything, he hated everyone. at first, you were not quite sure what use you could make of an unbroken, wild stallion. and you told leander such, looking up at the stallion with the same wild eyes. and he smiled and patted you on the back. and though he presented him as new blood to add to your father's breeding stock, you knew what it was he was really supposed to be. a friend.
it keeps my veins
hot, the fire's found a home in me
so you worked with constantine for a year, meandering your way along with no idea of what to do or how to do it. you did not want someone else to do it for you. you wanted his respect and his love, and did not want his spirit broken by some cowboy who thought the best way to repair was to destroy. it was a difficult process, teaching him to trust you, to love you, but as time passed, constantine came to be your closest and only companion. you had a purpose in life, something to live for again.
by the time you finally offered him a saddle, he did not shy away from you, did not balk at the bit in his mouth, but joined with you as if they had been with each other their whole lives. time had brought them closer together, taught them trust. constantine had turned into a beautiful animal, a fine mount that many would envy, that worthy of the royalty you had been told you were.
the war ended in the states by the time you were fifteen, but you were not allowed to return home yet. the world you knew was gone, the lush estates and garden parties of your georgia home a memory of the past. it was still not safe for you to come home just yet. so you were kept in london until you were eighteen. but that time in london proved invaluable to creating the woman you are today.
but you watched your peers go through the courting process and you were sickened by it. the things that women did to gain a man's attention and affections only to give up her freedoms and desires to pop out babies and keep a house made your skin crawl. you made the decision very young to devote yourself to being of some use to the family upon your return in hopes that you would never be forced to leave. you had no especial desire to have children of your own, therefore the prospect of becoming a spinster did not bother you. you always had a knack for organization, a natural talent with numbers, and an ease with focusing on tasks for long amounts of time, and you cultured that in your free time.
by the time your were returned to your georgia home, constantine was not the only one who had grown.
though you would never be as your mother was, conventionally beautiful, you were striking in your own way. you now had a hardness, an edge, less of a living doll and more of a woman grown. time had given you a woman's figure, your father's growling voice, your mother's sly smile. combined with your sun kissed golden skin and mounds of golden hair, and those signature eyes of yours, you were a striking. someone that had to be looked at twice.
at first, your father barely recognized you. and at first, you barely recognized randall.
i'm coming in
hot, this is the start of how it all ends
he was not the brother you had known. war had changed him. the glint in his eye now was dangerous, and it scared you. you tried on occasion to mention it to your father, who simply told you that war could change people. he did not see what you saw, despite your best attempts to tell him so.
you tried your best to make the best of a bad situation. the south as you knew it was rebuilt, at least in appearance. and you had some clout now, a woman grown, fresh back from london, and had plenty of suitors your age and older come calling. you had come to be a bit more familiar with flirtation while in london, and you used it as well as your intelligence and your beauty to sway those around you to your needs. but you were fickle at best, and had a tendency to become bored of one when he could no longer benefit you and move on to the next.
but despite your best attempt at pretend, you weren't happy. it was all a facade, the airs that people put on. the garden parties, the lavish estates, they were an attempt to convince all those who had known savannah in all it's glory that it was the same as it was before.
and with expansion out west moving foward, your father took advantage of the opportunity, to leave the old world behind for something new. but randall refused to leave, and wanted to keep the plantation in georgia, pretend nothing had changed. so your father agreed.
leaving some of the breeding stock in georgia, he packed you up, with some of your finer stallions, constantine included, and your better mares, and you headed west. and though you were not exactly keen to leave your home either, you knew that you were not being left there with only randall.
you finally settled in texas, on the border with mexico in a slowly growing town called northwind basin. and you set up shop, beginning your business anew, with only your reputation in what was now the old world to bring in customers. and despite the fact that you are enjoying the change of scenery far more than you had thought you would, you are still a perceptive creature by nature. and something is off about this place. you haven't quite put your finger on it yet...but something just isn't right.
they used to
shout my name now they whisper it