I'm lying in bed, watching the moon, shrouded by stars in the night sky. I dread what tomorrow will bring, or more importantly, what it will end. And as I lie on the faded blankets, I remember my past.
I was cursed from the moment I was born. The midwife came to our little cottage in the village of Ludlow and said to my mother, "This is the thirteenth child I have delivered, which means she is unlucky." The number thirteen is considered very unlucky. I am one of three children ( two girls and one boy). My brother, Milo, is three years older than me. My sister, Thora, is one year younger. My name is Cassandra.
My father was a farmer for the Lord of the Manor and my mother a seamstress. However, I can't so much as milk a cow and sewing is definitely not something that comes naturally to me. My talents lie undiscovered, waiting to be found. At the age of five, I was helping my mother in the cottage and looking after Thora, whilst Milo helped father on the farm. The only time we ever really saw one another was at dinner, discussing what we had done that day and what we were hoping to do the following day.
When I had free time, my mother would let me go out and play with my friends. There was Emma, Tristan and Caspar. We would run through the woods, playing games that emerged from our imagination. Whatever we found had a part to play in whatever story we created; from magical sticks to enchanted trees. We would laugh and play until the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, when we would return home for dinner. Everything was an adventure, nothing was as it seemed. Life was simple when I was just a little girl and I yearn for the memories to become real, for me to be able to relive the endless Summer days of a small child.