The Dragon's Mark--A Twisted Fairy Tale

Part 2: The Maid With The Scales

Southern Italy, 1925

The dew had only just fallen, and the city of Kadros, a municipality in the Calabria region of Italy, lay blanketed still in the thin fog that would soon evaporate under the sun that had not yet risen.

At the back of a stately, rust-colored villa, a young woman in a faded blue dress pulled a frayed shawl closer around her shoulders as she stepped, barefooted, down to the flagstone path that led to the tiny well tucked among the trees at the back of the yard. Deep in the shadows, she arrived at the wide hole, covered with a wooden lid and surrounded with extra water jugs. Rubbing her hands and blowing on them to restore circulation, she reached down and hefted the solid-wood cover off with one hand. With the other, she grabbed the rope that held the bucket and began pulling. Her palms stung, but she ignored them. Her skin would be red and raw for a while, but it always faded back into the uneven, leathery surface it had been for as long as she could remember.

The bucket arrived, brimming with water. She filled two jugs of several gallons each, closed the well again, and dragged them back to the house. Behind her, the sun had just peeked over the horizon.She poured some of the water into a pot and set it boiling for porridge. From the cold cellar, she brought out a basket of fruit and began preparing them for eating. All too soon, she realized that the sun was up, and a moment later, the bells began ringing, and high-pitched voices commenced their squealing.

"STELLA! WHERE IS MY COFFEE?"

"WHY ISN'T MY BATHWATER RUNNING?"

"WE HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY, YOU KNOW!"

Frantically, the young brunette fluttered around, grabbing the hot coffeepot from among the coals with her bare hand and pouring the beverage into cups, which she arranged neatly on a tray, along with the day's mail in one pile, and a gaudy periodical for the other. Sweat beaded along her hairline, but she forced her hands to steady as she carried the tray up the long kitchen stairs to the main floor of the villa.

Her first stop was the smaller of the two rooms, on the left. Still, it was plenty large enough for the massive four-poster bed, a long couch, an armchair, and a wide vanity with a large mirror. Upon the bed reclined a young woman with waves of dark, curly hair, flipping petulantly through yesterday's periodical.
"About time you got up here," she grumbled at the maid.
"I'm sorry, Miss Agatha—" Stella began, but the girl in the bed snatched the coffee cup away from her and took a long sip with her eyes shut.
"Ugh, Stella!" she groaned. "We talked about this. Don't ever address me first thing in the morning, because when you say something, I'm obliged to look at you, and when I look at you..." She left the statement hanging to curl her lip in disgust, and give a shudder, just enough to clank the coffee cup against its saucer. "Your cheeks are doing that flaking thing again," she muttered.
Stella swallowed back another apology and hung her head.

Agatha waved her away. "Just leave my new periodical on the bed and go see to Mother."

Stella obeyed and turned her back on the woman before replying, "Yes ma'am."

Out in the hallway, she rubbed a hand across her jawline. Sure enough, a small piece of translucent, dead skin sloughed off in her fingertips. She studied the scale-like texture of it; for some reason, certain parts of the year seemed to yield these things more frequently, and her skin would scar over worse than ever—but why?

As she approached the gilded doors that led to the master suite, she paused to collect her thoughts. Sometimes she felt like Lady Jacintha could read her mind, or if she couldn't, she very much wanted to."Come in!" The harsh command reached her through the door, before she'd even touched the handle.Stella inched into the room. Lady Jacintha stood before the grand fireplace commissioned for her by her late husband, Lord Farfalle. She was a tall, graceful woman, hair neatly wrapped in a silk scarf, the soft folds of a satin dressing gown draped over her shapely figure. She didn't lift her eyes from the mantel.
"Just set the tray on the table and go about your business, Stella," Lady Jacintha murmured. "The bathwater won't warm itself, you know."
"Yes, ma'am," Stella murmured, and hurried to do her mistress' bidding. When the tub was filled to Her Ladyship's liking, Stella hurried out to inform her.
Lady Jacintha reclined on the velvet lounge, sipping daintily at her coffee while reading over a letter. The envelope with its broken seal caught Stella's eye: A lithe dragon, clutching an embossed letter D—the seal of the Drakistos family, who governed the affairs of Kadros very closely.
"Stella?"
She froze and looked up suddenly, meeting the gaze of Jacintha, who had ceased reading and caught her staring. The older woman squinted ever so slightly, pinching her lips into a frown."Are you snooping among things that have nothing to do with you, child?" Jacintha's words carried a deadly, warning edge.
Stella knew what her answer should be. "No, Lady Jacintha." She dropped her gaze. Horrors! The hot bathwater had caused the skin on the back of her hands to flake up, making more of the dry "scales" on her skin! She clasped them behind her back and bowed. "It is none of my business."
Jacintha's face relaxed and she sat up, setting aside the letter face-down so Stella wouldn't be tempted to read it. "Remember, I am the one connected to the Drakistos Family, by my late husband, who served as a lieutenant alongside Sir Sigmund's cousins in the Great War. I took you in as an unwanted babe, deformed and wretched as you were; I gave you a home, I provided for you—and I alone vouch for you in the presence of the Family, so don't be getting ideas in that scaly little head of yours, because you can just as easily wander the streets among men who would kill you or worse as soon as look at your ugly little face!" Jacintha leaned in close, so close that Stella might have almost felt the dressing gown brush against her fingertips, if they hadn't already hardened into oblivion. Her voice was as cutting and warm as a flame as she whispered, "You are nothing, Stella. You serve my daughter and me, and we serve The Family. That is all."
Stella felt as if her face had turned to stone, it was so heavy and immobile. She bowed again and turned away to finally escape the woman's presence.
"Stella." Jacintha's voice curled around her like a whip, halting her in her tracks. "What do you say to me?"
Stella bit down hard on her tongue, but her teeth barely left a mark. Jacintha went through this exchange every morning, constantly reminding Stella who truly owned her life, as though Stella may have forgotten over the course of her daily duties. And every time, Jacintha demanded the same thing of her.
"Thank you, Lady Jacintha."
The regal woman swept toward her bathroom, unfastening the tie of her dressing gown as she did. "That's better. Now see that breakfast is ready in the sunroom. Agatha and I have a full day of social calls ahead of us."
Stella bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression neutral. Social calls... That was what Jacintha called it when she and her daughter wandered from house to house amid the elite of Kadros, exchanging gossip in an attempt to ingratiate herself to one or another of the Drakistos' extended connections, as if to remind herself that she was still "part of the family" now that Giorgio—the only actual "blood connection" she had—was gone.