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It was a a cold night the night she was born.  Her parents were a poor two, more in love than they could ever say, but more unable to provide for their child than the poorest of church mice.  Still they loved her.  Her father raised her on the books he loved so and her mother taught her the ways of a woman's life, in preparation for the day in which she might find a husband.

Her name was Jacquelyn and she was the gentlest, sweetest thing anywhere in the world.  Her parents always insisted so, and gave her every bit of love they could.

When her mother fell ill with the Fever, however, things began to spiral downward for the family.  Jacquelyn's father became irritable and edgy, always ready to explode at the smallest of things.  He forbade Jacquelyn's presence in his book room and in his and her mother's bedroom.

She was not present during her mother's passing.

Afterwards, while she was weeping in her room, her father all but charged the door, swept her into his arms and began to sob with her, crying incoherent apologies, conveying through actions what words could not say.  Jacquelyn forgave him.

It was five years now since the death of Jacquelyn's mother and her father was getting remarried.  The woman was supposedly a very rich noblewoman who had lost her husband to the war and was looking for a new husband to watch her children while she spent her days in the royal court.  Through connections of his own, Jacquelyn's father had met her and had impressed and charmed her with his intelligence; she in turn had charmed him with her gaiety and beauty.  He had met only one of her two children, though, a reclusive son named Francis.  The other, she informed him, was an invalid named Jacques.

They were engaged to be married not a week later and she was coming to the house to meet Jacquelyn.  Of course, they would not be staying in that house long, for the sickly Jacques could not be moved, the woman had informed Jacquelyn's father.  She had more than enough money to provide for all of them and then some.  Hers had been a handsome dowry in her first marriage.  There was no need for one in this case, however, and no one pressed for one.  All understood that it would be an almost unnecessary marriage, perhaps only to take the rich woman off the market, as it were; for the pestering young Jacks of the court were tiring after a while.

Today was the day of the meeting.  Jacquelyn's father had told her rather animatedly to pack her bags, they were no longer going to live in poverty.

"You will have the life of happiness you have always deserved, my girl!" he laughed joyously, swinging her around in his arms.  Jacquelyn had agreed with him and awaited the arrival of her new mother with excitement.

Anyone who could make her father this happy deserved a chance.

So they arrived, the Lady Helewys and her son, the young Francis.

The coach they arrived in was a splendid one, though the lady insisted they were traveling very modestly.  Apparently four horses and three footmen to a carriage was modest where she came from.

Jacquelyn, in her best outfit, hurried to meet the aristocrat.  In her haste she tripped on one of the cobblestones in the walkway to her father's home and was sent sprawling onto all fours before the lady and her son.  Blushing bright red, she pushed herself up immediately and quickly bent into a somewhat clumsy curtsy.  She heard a chuckle and looked to Francis, the young son.  He watched her with a twinkle in his eye as a smile played at his lips.  His mother sent him a look.

"Be at ease, my girl, I need not this groveling from yet another child," she spoke, ignoring the stinted brow of her son.  Jacquelyn turned red again but straightened.

"You are the Lady Helewys?" she inquired tentatively, knowing no other form of greeting, having not been raised to speak to nobility.  The woman nodded, her eyes flashing this way and that, appraising and casting judgment.

"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered swiftly, her words rolling off her tongue like quicksilver.  Jacquelyn was entranced by her voice.  "And you, I shall presume, will be the young Jacquelyn, daughter of my new husband-to-be."  It was not a question.  Jacquelyn nodded wildly.

"Aye, milady, I be that girl," she answered, trying to mimic the sophisticated silky tone that was in Lady Helewys' voice. "My father is waiting for you inside.  Would you...uhr...that is I can show you inside if you -- if you want."  The woman and her son gave her an odd look and brushed past her without another word.  Jacquelyn released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and clutched at her breast with her hands, attempting to calm her racing heart.  Things were not going so well for her thus far.

By the next hour they were on their way.  It was by no means a tight fit in the carriage, with Jacquelyn and Francis to one side and Lady Helewis and Jacquelyn's father to the other.  There was ample space between the four of them and Jacquelyn couldn't help but notice that Francis was taking full advantage of that space.  So was his mother.  Though she sat immediately to the right of her new husband, she leaned the slightest of bits to her own right, averting her eyes from the sight of him or his lowly born daughter.

Jacquelyn breathed a heavy sigh and was startled by the abrupt glare her new mother sent her.  She could have sworn she heard a snap when Lady Helewys turned her head, it was so fast!

Jacquelyn was beginning to suspect that that particular shade of red was going to be making itself quite at home on her face in the days to come as she ducked her head in silent shame and embarrassment.  Her father sent her a look of sympathy.  She shot him a grateful smile.  Francis watched the display with a scowl on his face.  Lady Helewys was completely silent.

They arrived just around sunset, when the pretty hour of twilight was beginning.  Jacquelyn scrambled eagerly from the carriage, looking like the young and happy child she had once been in earlier years.  Her father watched in proud amusement and exited after her, turning only to help his new wife from the carriage.  She gave him a curt nod and flashed him a white smile before gracefully gliding through the iron wrought gate and up the beautiful stone stairs to the mansion's entrance.  Jacquelyn's father turned and offered his hand with a gentle smile to young Francis who stopped abruptly and blinked, seemingly unsure of how to accept such an offer as was usually given exclusively to the ladies of court.

In answer to the lad's unasked question, Jacquelyn's father said only, "We're family now" and guided Francis from the coach to the ground.  Francis cleared his throat and hastened after his mother, offering no thanks or reproach, one of which Jacquelyn's father had anticipated.

Inside the manse, Jacquelyn was in every kind of awe.  The floors were tiled -- tiled! -- and the stone walls were well finished and covered with portraits of what Jacquelyn assumed were old deceased family members, or perhaps living ones.  The ceilings were far too high for her to reach, even should she stand on tiptoes.  The tops of the walls met the edges of the ceilings (more than one, she noted with amazement!) in intricate designs and protruded towards her in the forms of glaring gargoyles and abstract shapes that commanded her attention.

"Ah..." she breathed. "Beautiful..!"  Tearing her eyes away from the endless expanse of ceiling, the young girl turned her attention instead the perfectly furnished stairway which led up to what amounted to the whole of Jacquelyn's house!  It branched from the second floor down to the first floor, giving one person two possible choices of ascent, depending on which side one liked best; left or right.  Jacquelyn chose the left side and made her way gingerly up the stairs, quite aware that her dirty feet were not the feet that should be making use of these noble steps.  She half expected the thing to say to her in a deep rumbling voice, "What filth is this that contaminates my beautiful red carpet?!  Out damned spot!  Begone!"

She sucked in a breath and continued to tread carefully and respectfully up the stairway, her eyes watching her feet determinedly to avoid mishap.

She was so caught up in her ritual of caution that she did not see the young man above her at the top of the stairs, nor did she hear her new mother and brother enter the house, followed shortly by her father.

"Oof!"

"Ack!"  Jacquelyn ran right into the body at the top of the stairs and fell back a few steps, clutching the banister for support.

"Sorry--"

"Watch where you're going--"

"I didn't see you--"

"Clumsy little kid--"

"Jacquelyn!"

"Jacques!"  Jacquelyn turned to see her father watching her while the Lady Helewys hurried up to her and the boy, reaching them in a flurry of lilac skirts.

"Jacques, what in God's name do you think you're doing?!" she cried, her voice the epitome of motherly worry.  The boy, Jacques apparently, rolled his eyes.

"Mother, I told you, I'm fine," he insisted, his voice youthful and boyish. "I just wanted to go see the new fam--"  He stopped himself and peered around his mother at Jacquelyn, who hadn't moved once since her rather unexpected meeting with Jacques.  He sneered.

"Oh, so it's you, huh?"  Jacquelyn blinked, quite taken aback by the tone of his voice.  She pushed herself away from the banister and straightened, eying him in an appraising way.  He bristled angrily.

"Why do you stare?" he demanded. "Have you never seen one of my kind before?  Never seen an albino before?"  The Lady Helewys gave a dainty gasp and began to usher Jacques away from the stairway.

"Jacques, I told you not to speak of your condition!" she said urgently. "And what are you doing out of bed?  Remember the last time you were out of bed without aid!  Come now, let's get you back to your chambers, my dear."  Jacques grumbled and pouted under her prodding but succumbed and allowed her to lead him away.  Jacquelyn watched in slightly shameful fascination and complete confusion.

Jacques had hit the mark when he had accused her of never having seen another like him before.  What did he call himself?  An albino?  Was that what they called one with frightfully white skin as pale as the snow which fell yearly?  Was that what they called one with eyes as deep a red as the carpet she stood on?

Was this truly the invalid, Jacques, Lady Helewys had told her father of?  If so, then the condition which his mother spoke of must have caused him some ailment enough of the time to render him unable to leave the manse or even his room.

"I apologize on my brother's behalf."  Jacquelyn was startled by the smooth dry voice which reached her ears and turned to see Francis standing at her left elbow, his eyes on the hallway through which Lady Helewys and Jacques made their leave.  She blinked and followed his gaze quickly before shifting her eyes back to him.

"That's fine," she said with a smile. "I guess you could say I'm used to that by now."  Francis chuckled.  It was a cold sound void of any true mirth.

"Oh, I wasn't concerned for you," he explained. "I should hate it if one mistake ruined the reputation of my family, even before a peasant."  Jacquelyn opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself when she realized just what he had said.

"Wha..?" she uttered as he walked calmly down the hallway, pale hands at the small of his back.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Mother, calm down!  I told you, I am perfectly fine!  I wasn't even up for that long!" Jacques protested as his mother instructed several servants to force him to his bed.  She ignored him as she snapped her fingers and sat in an elegant chair by her son's bedside.  A maid brought a basin of water to her and handed her a damp rag.

"Hush, Jacques, you know not what you say, 'tis the illness which compels you to such madness," she said matter-of-factly, her voice like a pin; pointed and completely unmoving.  She laid the rag against his white brow and stared at him with piercing green eyes, gauging the damage his excursion would no doubt have done him.  Jacques quieted and nodded but his brow furrowed and he bit his lip in silent contemplation.

"But, mother, I feel fi--"

"Be silent, child!" she commanded with raised voice, giving him a look of sophisticated exasperation. "You upset yourself further if you continue with this protest."  Jacques opened his mouth again only to receive a light smack to his head.  He looked to his mother indignantly and she returned the look readily.

"I will not say it again, son," she warned. "Be a good child and remain here.  Rest."  With that, she stood and moved to one of the servants.  "See to it that he does not move."  The man nodded and swept her a formal bow before turning and standing at his position by the door, eyes on Jacques, should the sometimes zealous boy attempt another escape.

Jacques watched in silence after his mother until he saw the door shut and heard the click of a lock.

"Bitch," he mumbled.  The servant chuckled.

Description
It was a a cold night the night she was born.  Her parents were a poor two, more in love than they could ever say, but more unable to provide for their child than the poorest of church mice.  Still they loved her.  Her father raised her on the books he loved so and her mother taught her the ways of a woman's life, in preparation for the day in which she might find a husband.

Her name was Jacquelyn and she was the gentlest, sweetest thing anywhere in the world.  Her parents always insisted so, and gave her every bit of love they could.

When her mother fell ill with the Fever, however, things began to spiral downward for the family.  Jacquelyn's father became irritable and edgy, always ready to explode at the smallest of things.  He forbade Jacquelyn's presence in his book room and in his and her mother's bedroom.

She was not present during her mother's passing.

Afterwards, while she was weeping in her room, her father all but charged the door, swept her into his arms and began to sob with her, crying incoherent apologies, conveying through actions what words could not say.  Jacquelyn forgave him.

It was five years now since the death of Jacquelyn's mother and her father was getting remarried.  The woman was supposedly a very rich noblewoman who had lost her husband to the war and was looking for a new husband to watch her children while she spent her days in the royal court.  Through connections of his own, Jacquelyn's father had met her and had impressed and charmed her with his intelligence; she in turn had charmed him with her gaiety and beauty.  He had met only one of her two children, though, a reclusive son named Francis.  The other, she informed him, was an invalid named Jacques.

They were engaged to be married not a week later and she was coming to the house to meet Jacquelyn.  Of course, they would not be staying in that house long, for the sickly Jacques could not be moved, the woman had informed Jacquelyn's father.  She had more than enough money to provide for all of them and then some.  Hers had been a handsome dowry in her first marriage.  There was no need for one in this case, however, and no one pressed for one.  All understood that it would be an almost unnecessary marriage, perhaps only to take the rich woman off the market, as it were; for the pestering young Jacks of the court were tiring after a while.

Today was the day of the meeting.  Jacquelyn's father had told her rather animatedly to pack her bags, they were no longer going to live in poverty.

"You will have the life of happiness you have always deserved, my girl!" he laughed joyously, swinging her around in his arms.  Jacquelyn had agreed with him and awaited the arrival of her new mother with excitement.

Anyone who could make her father this happy deserved a chance.

So they arrived, the Lady Helewys and her son, the young Francis.

The coach they arrived in was a splendid one, though the lady insisted they were traveling very modestly.  Apparently four horses and three footmen to a carriage was modest where she came from.

Jacquelyn, in her best outfit, hurried to meet the aristocrat.  In her haste she tripped on one of the cobblestones in the walkway to her father's home and was sent sprawling onto all fours before the lady and her son.  Blushing bright red, she pushed herself up immediately and quickly bent into a somewhat clumsy curtsy.  She heard a chuckle and looked to Francis, the young son.  He watched her with a twinkle in his eye as a smile played at his lips.  His mother sent him a look.

"Be at ease, my girl, I need not this groveling from yet another child," she spoke, ignoring the stinted brow of her son.  Jacquelyn turned red again but straightened.

"You are the Lady Helewys?" she inquired tentatively, knowing no other form of greeting, having not been raised to speak to nobility.  The woman nodded, her eyes flashing this way and that, appraising and casting judgment.

"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered swiftly, her words rolling off her tongue like quicksilver.  Jacquelyn was entranced by her voice.  "And you, I shall presume, will be the young Jacquelyn, daughter of my new husband-to-be."  It was not a question.  Jacquelyn nodded wildly.

"Aye, milady, I be that girl," she answered, trying to mimic the sophisticated silky tone that was in Lady Helewys' voice. "My father is waiting for you inside.  Would you...uhr...that is I can show you inside if you -- if you want."  The woman and her son gave her an odd look and brushed past her without another word.  Jacquelyn released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and clutched at her breast with her hands, attempting to calm her racing heart.  Things were not going so well for her thus far.

By the next hour they were on their way.  It was by no means a tight fit in the carriage, with Jacquelyn and Francis to one side and Lady Helewis and Jacquelyn's father to the other.  There was ample space between the four of them and Jacquelyn couldn't help but notice that Francis was taking full advantage of that space.  So was his mother.  Though she sat immediately to the right of her new husband, she leaned the slightest of bits to her own right, averting her eyes from the sight of him or his lowly born daughter.

Jacquelyn breathed a heavy sigh and was startled by the abrupt glare her new mother sent her.  She could have sworn she heard a snap when Lady Helewys turned her head, it was so fast!

Jacquelyn was beginning to suspect that that particular shade of red was going to be making itself quite at home on her face in the days to come as she ducked her head in silent shame and embarrassment.  Her father sent her a look of sympathy.  She shot him a grateful smile.  Francis watched the display with a scowl on his face.  Lady Helewys was completely silent.

They arrived just around sunset, when the pretty hour of twilight was beginning.  Jacquelyn scrambled eagerly from the carriage, looking like the young and happy child she had once been in earlier years.  Her father watched in proud amusement and exited after her, turning only to help his new wife from the carriage.  She gave him a curt nod and flashed him a white smile before gracefully gliding through the iron wrought gate and up the beautiful stone stairs to the mansion's entrance.  Jacquelyn's father turned and offered his hand with a gentle smile to young Francis who stopped abruptly and blinked, seemingly unsure of how to accept such an offer as was usually given exclusively to the ladies of court.

In answer to the lad's unasked question, Jacquelyn's father said only, "We're family now" and guided Francis from the coach to the ground.  Francis cleared his throat and hastened after his mother, offering no thanks or reproach, one of which Jacquelyn's father had anticipated.

Inside the manse, Jacquelyn was in every kind of awe.  The floors were tiled -- tiled! -- and the stone walls were well finished and covered with portraits of what Jacquelyn assumed were old deceased family members, or perhaps living ones.  The ceilings were far too high for her to reach, even should she stand on tiptoes.  The tops of the walls met the edges of the ceilings (more than one, she noted with amazement!) in intricate designs and protruded towards her in the forms of glaring gargoyles and abstract shapes that commanded her attention.

"Ah..." she breathed. "Beautiful..!"  Tearing her eyes away from the endless expanse of ceiling, the young girl turned her attention instead the perfectly furnished stairway which led up to what amounted to the whole of Jacquelyn's house!  It branched from the second floor down to the first floor, giving one person two possible choices of ascent, depending on which side one liked best; left or right.  Jacquelyn chose the left side and made her way gingerly up the stairs, quite aware that her dirty feet were not the feet that should be making use of these noble steps.  She half expected the thing to say to her in a deep rumbling voice, "What filth is this that contaminates my beautiful red carpet?!  Out damned spot!  Begone!"

She sucked in a breath and continued to tread carefully and respectfully up the stairway, her eyes watching her feet determinedly to avoid mishap.

She was so caught up in her ritual of caution that she did not see the young man above her at the top of the stairs, nor did she hear her new mother and brother enter the house, followed shortly by her father.

"Oof!"

"Ack!"  Jacquelyn ran right into the body at the top of the stairs and fell back a few steps, clutching the banister for support.

"Sorry--"

"Watch where you're going--"

"I didn't see you--"

"Clumsy little kid--"

"Jacquelyn!"

"Jacques!"  Jacquelyn turned to see her father watching her while the Lady Helewys hurried up to her and the boy, reaching them in a flurry of lilac skirts.

"Jacques, what in God's name do you think you're doing?!" she cried, her voice the epitome of motherly worry.  The boy, Jacques apparently, rolled his eyes.

"Mother, I told you, I'm fine," he insisted, his voice youthful and boyish. "I just wanted to go see the new fam--"  He stopped himself and peered around his mother at Jacquelyn, who hadn't moved once since her rather unexpected meeting with Jacques.  He sneered.

"Oh, so it's you, huh?"  Jacquelyn blinked, quite taken aback by the tone of his voice.  She pushed herself away from the banister and straightened, eying him in an appraising way.  He bristled angrily.

"Why do you stare?" he demanded. "Have you never seen one of my kind before?  Never seen an albino before?"  The Lady Helewys gave a dainty gasp and began to usher Jacques away from the stairway.

"Jacques, I told you not to speak of your condition!" she said urgently. "And what are you doing out of bed?  Remember the last time you were out of bed without aid!  Come now, let's get you back to your chambers, my dear."  Jacques grumbled and pouted under her prodding but succumbed and allowed her to lead him away.  Jacquelyn watched in slightly shameful fascination and complete confusion.

Jacques had hit the mark when he had accused her of never having seen another like him before.  What did he call himself?  An albino?  Was that what they called one with frightfully white skin as pale as the snow which fell yearly?  Was that what they called one with eyes as deep a red as the carpet she stood on?

Was this truly the invalid, Jacques, Lady Helewys had told her father of?  If so, then the condition which his mother spoke of must have caused him some ailment enough of the time to render him unable to leave the manse or even his room.

"I apologize on my brother's behalf."  Jacquelyn was startled by the smooth dry voice which reached her ears and turned to see Francis standing at her left elbow, his eyes on the hallway through which Lady Helewys and Jacques made their leave.  She blinked and followed his gaze quickly before shifting her eyes back to him.

"That's fine," she said with a smile. "I guess you could say I'm used to that by now."  Francis chuckled.  It was a cold sound void of any true mirth.

"Oh, I wasn't concerned for you," he explained. "I should hate it if one mistake ruined the reputation of my family, even before a peasant."  Jacquelyn opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself when she realized just what he had said.

"Wha..?" she uttered as he walked calmly down the hallway, pale hands at the small of his back.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Mother, calm down!  I told you, I am perfectly fine!  I wasn't even up for that long!" Jacques protested as his mother instructed several servants to force him to his bed.  She ignored him as she snapped her fingers and sat in an elegant chair by her son's bedside.  A maid brought a basin of water to her and handed her a damp rag.

"Hush, Jacques, you know not what you say, 'tis the illness which compels you to such madness," she said matter-of-factly, her voice like a pin; pointed and completely unmoving.  She laid the rag against his white brow and stared at him with piercing green eyes, gauging the damage his excursion would no doubt have done him.  Jacques quieted and nodded but his brow furrowed and he bit his lip in silent contemplation.

"But, mother, I feel fi--"

"Be silent, child!" she commanded with raised voice, giving him a look of sophisticated exasperation. "You upset yourself further if you continue with this protest."  Jacques opened his mouth again only to receive a light smack to his head.  He looked to his mother indignantly and she returned the look readily.

"I will not say it again, son," she warned. "Be a good child and remain here.  Rest."  With that, she stood and moved to one of the servants.  "See to it that he does not move."  The man nodded and swept her a formal bow before turning and standing at his position by the door, eyes on Jacques, should the sometimes zealous boy attempt another escape.

Jacques watched in silence after his mother until he saw the door shut and heard the click of a lock.

"Bitch," he mumbled.  The servant chuckled.