The farmer's daughter.

"I don't remember exactly when I fell in love with him. It was a delicate dance of disdain and obsession. One more man there to make me the proper socialite. I was taken from my family, from our farm, from all I knew and was expected to find security and be fulfilled with the life of a Duchess. I suppose a lesser woman would have found it a blessing, but I hated that life. And now yet another man was telling me how to live it." Franka walked to the bar she and Tybalt kept fully stocked. She poured herself a glass of a few shots of jack infused with blood. This retelling of her early life with the Duke was taking a toll on her, but Tybalt felt they needed their stories to be documented. So much time, so many adventures locked away in their minds needed to be recited and bound on paper.

The young author Tybalt had chosen sat patiently. He had no desire to ruin this opportunity by rushing the Duchess. He was well aware of Franka's shortening patience. Her tirades were legend among the staff. He was told she could be a very kind and gracious employer, but she held strong to the traditions, both of her kind and those of polite society. To cross her was to chance torture unimaginable in the feeble mind of a mortal. He was not a stupid man, so he sat patiently waiting for the lady to gather her thoughts.

He made note of the home she shared with Tybalt. It was large, but filled in every possible space with their collections. Reminders of their travels, their adventures, their lives long lost. The furnishing was a mix of modern convenience and old world history. He knew the table they sat at would easily pay his mortgage for at the next few months. And the 'dust collectors' as Tybalt had referred to them, Franka's little trinkets, would fetch him quite the king's ransom on the right market. But again, he was not a stupid man. He knew who he was dealing with and was being taken care of very well for his services, he had no intention of messing that up.

Ever poised and ready for a social call, Franka was dressed in a dark gown. He couldn't quite decide on its color, the candle light Franka preferred to use in place of electricity played on the shading. She was adorned in jewels of a matching tone and her hair was pulled up high on her crown, showing off the hints of olive skin that was once her mortal tone. There was no doubt to him that she was a woman who paid attention to detail.

"He was there to teach me of art" she began again, noticing the authors gaze trailing over her, as if she were a piece of the art she worked with. She drew her dark painted lips back in a rare smile and continued. "At the time I had little care for it. Knowing the hard life of a farmer I had little need for trivial things my husband and his friends surrounded themselves with. I would walk the halls of our estate and imagine that my entire village could be housed there. I tried several times to bring my family to live with us, but my father was proud of his home and I had been sold to the Duke to secure that he always would have his land to work. But I am drifting, I apologize. Adriano had been brought to the estate to educate me. He was also to become a confidant and friend. My husband had little desire to entertain me. I was as is it is called now, arm candy. Adriano opened my world to appreciation for something I had once hated. He taught me to paint, to sculpt, to feel the emotion pouring out of a piece of wood before it was carved. He often told me that the medium would speak to me when I was ready. It would tell me what it wanted to become. I'd laughed at him the first time. Told him he had been touched by an enchantment. Little did I know."

"As we grew closer he began taking me out. We saw Operas and plays, always having the best seats and several servants scurrying around to be sure we had all we desired. Adriano loved it, the physical art of the stage, almost as much as he loved his own creations. I began regarding him in a new light. My husband's ignorance drawing on my needs to learn and grow, only further pushed Adriano and I together. Art was not his only area of expertise. He began to teach me how to run the estate. To take pride in being the mistress of the home. The balls I once detested attending were suddenly something I took great pleasure in. I began making my own political contacts. Began hosting my own dinner parties, inviting the highest members of the areas society. Adriano knew his place and would back out quietly, allowing my husband to be at my side. It became a game to us."

"I was innocent the first time he took me. My husband never once tried to consummate our marriage. Adriano was teaching me to weave, reaching over me, taking my hand to guide the thin threads. Maybe that was it, maybe that was the magical time that I fell in love. That I learned what it was to love another outside of the familial realm. It was a beautiful night. I felt like I had been snapped awake from a dream. Here was the man I should be with. This was what a relationship should be, not the business contract that was my marriage. " She paused again, sipping her drink."I think that will be all for tonight, the next chapter will bring you more enlightenment to my rise of power, but also one of my greatest losses. I'm not ready to go to that place quite yet."

"I understand my lady, thank you for your time. I will gather my things and see my way out." The author was disappointed. He'd been hoping to at least get to the time of her embrace on this night. But he knew there was some darkness lurking in those specific memories and he knew better than to push her. They'd get there eventually and he had nothing but time. The salary Tybalt was providing him allowed him to quit his job at the local paper and still live much above the means he'd become accustomed to. The longer it took dear Franka to retell her history, the more he benefited. He gathered his papers and pens, as nothing was allowed to be digitally recorded and went to the hall where Renard was always waiting at the end of a session.

"Another good bit of work done I presume?" Renard asked as the author handed over the supplies.

"Slow, yet detailed as always, I am sure our employer will be satisfied. I'll return at the assigned time next week. Have a lovely evening Renard." The author took his coat out of the butler's other hand and saw his way to his car. He was still amazed at the opportunity given to him, but also very aware of the lengths both Tybalt and Franka would go to to keep their secrets. He kept nothing of his work on his person, it was turned over to Renard to look after, he was allowed to speak to no one and could not even turn down the long entrance to the estate if anyone were on the street or another car was passing him. Very strict rules and security for a book that would never leave their personal library, but again, he was not a stupid man and he was greatly enjoying the gifts his employer bestowed him.

He Calls Her Duchess

C'est La Mort
Long ago, long before the memories of memories, he called her Duchess for the first time. Neither of them remember when it started. They know it was his way to get at her. To knock holes in her polished exterior. She was a Duchess. In her mortal time. She was one of the only women of the time to hold her husbands land and run his affairs (both in and out of the bedroom). She had been sold to the position. Her father needed the Dukes money to keep their family farm out of the hands of the growing Italian Mafia. The Duke had the means to provide such security, given that the mob worked for him. It was a different Mafia than those of today know or hear stories of. Remember this was before the memories of memories. This was a time only told in fable and lore. A time few can even fathom having ever existed.

Yet they knew it existed. They were a part of it. Tybalt had little care for titles. In his younger times he had little care for anything. But Franka held her title with esteem. She had earned it and she intended on continuing to do the title justice, even though it no longer served her. But when Franka-Rita Vincini was introduced to Tybalt, he saw pomp. He saw protocol and a society he missed yet rebelled against. Franka was everything he had grown to dislike. She wielded a power he had not even begun to understand. And while he despised the title, he was mesmerized by the woman.

What began as a way to break her down became a term of love and endearment. She was no longer annoyed with the tone he used. She looked forward to hearing it. When they were apart she would long to hear his voice say that one word. She had long since proven herself to him, and he to her. Their lives intertwined like the fine weaving of the tapestry that hung in their home. The man who she was once forced to have beside her, was now the only one she wanted to take up arms beside. The only one who call her Duchess and survive.

Cold Nights

Born in Winter

Drops slid down racing each other to to the edge of the window. She sat in an old rocker that was slowly creaking out a rhythm that was only in her head. On cold, wet nights she could almost always be found there by the fire. She clutches an old rag doll, tears rolling over her cheeks as the fire light pays on the dark wall. The cold rain of autumn was hypnotizing. After 500 years she still wept for her. She would lose herself back to that time without even realizing it.

Tybalt knew that to leave his love alone as requested would only lead to more thoughts, more tears, more sorrow. He slowly opened the door, the cold damp air played on the hinges and he didn't want to frighten her. He knelt before her on one of the soft woven rugs Mohegan had given them on their last trip out west. Placing his head in her lap, his strong calloused hand found hers. "Duchess it's time to eat. Don't continue to torture yourself this way." He rubbed his thumb over the softness of her skin. He loved the contrast. Her callouses were on the inside helping the scars to hold her together. "It's time my love. Torturing your soul is not good for either of you. Let her rest."

Light flashed across her face, quickly followed by the crack and rumble of the storm. He saw the tears as they slid over her jaw and onto her lap. The lightening mixed with the red of her tears made the droplets on her dress almost appear purple. "Franka! You're ruining your gown! Come hunt with me my love. We have so much fun hunting in the rain."

She finally smiled. Her first recognition that he was even in the room. Her porcelain skin tinted by the tears made her look like a painted doll. She patted his hand then kissed it. "I'm sorry darling, it just gets harder and harder to shake off. Sometimes the ache of losing her becomes an obsession. Let me cleanup and we will go. I request a club. I am sick of looking for passer byes. I long for the pulsing bass and strobing lights and the energy of fools to blind to know what's right around the shadows."

Tybalt stood taking her hand with him, pulling her out of the chair. "Alright my love. Ladies choice tonight." He bowed and took his leave to go and change. It was rare for Franka to make such a request, so he was more than willing to appease her. Once upon a time they had owned several nightclubs and she had tired of those it attracted. He hoped this was what she needed to bring her out of her own thoughts.

Franka delicately put the little doll down. It was a small child's toy that anyone else would have long since sold or given to a collector. But to Franka it was all she had left of her little girl. The one she left behind on a night so similar 500 years before.