mimwrites

[mimwrites]

Shift // Prologue

pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader (f)

word count: 1K

tags: dragon au, medieval au, fluff/angst, mystery, fantasy, just an idea that I had whilst trying to get so sleep so why the hell not

warnings: character death

[ a/n this is just the prologue so sorry if it’s a bit slow but next chapter will start introducing more of a storyline (and our boy). anyways, enjoy! ]

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You had known the Reinsworth family for almost as long as you could remember. There were faint memories of you at your mother's side, as she wandered from doorway to doorway with you clutching at her skirt as not to lose her in the crowds of people. Begging for food, shelter, anything to help her and her little girl.

They were the first ones to show you both kindness, to let you into their home despite the disapproving glances of the other noble families. They had given you both a room to share. It was small but to you, it was the first room you had ever had and therefore the best. It was also warm, with no wind or rain or snow. And your mother no longer cried with you in her arms, when she thought you had fallen asleep. The biggest bonus.

They made your mother a kitchen hand first, helping out with the simple tasks of cutting vegetables and feeding the simple livestock like the chickens and pigs. You helped out when you could, small fists grabbing handfuls of grain to throw in delight at the awaiting hens. Giggling and running back behind your mother as they raced forward to peck at the ground.

When you were old enough to finally think for yourself, you joined your mother in helping in the kitchen as well. By this time, she had earned her way in the household and taken over the kitchen when the head cook had stepped down. 14 years in a household kitchen, helping to prepare meals and serve extravagant banquets, had given even your once-homeless mother the experience needed to be on par with any other household chef. Not to mention her jam tarts had tided over even the master of the house, Mrs Reinsworth herself. It had been a natural transition for your mother to take over, and you couldn’t be prouder.

Eventually, you made it out of the kitchen to become first a maid for the general household, then a nanny (and a friend) for the Reinsworth girls, before becoming their top maid in waiting. You still saw your mother every night as you shared the same room, chatting over jam tarts about the day's happenings. But your days themselves were filled with accompanying the girls to private lessons, assisting in arranging parties and banquets (Lisa absolutely hated doing it, and Ruby was still too young to quite organise anything well enough), as well as joining them on horseback rides at both theirs, and Mrs Reinsworth’s, insistence.

Truly, the noble family was unlike any you had ever met before. You, and your mother, owed them everything you had and not only did you feel indebted to them, their everyday kindness and generosity made it feel like an honour to serve them and be part of the Reinsworth household. But as always, good things can never last for too long.

It began with a small cough, your mother turning over her shoulder to cough discretely before going back to baking the evening pie. A cough, which within a few weeks, turned into wracking shakes and coughing fits that ended up with blood on her sleeve and a ringing in her head. At Mrs Reinsworth’s insistence, she finally took a step back from working in the kitchen for the sake of her depleting health. Physicians and doctors came and went from your little room after that, an endless stream of medicine after medicine passing through your doors with little to no effect. Your mother tried to wave them off, fussing over the expenses being spent on her behalf, but Mrs Reinsworth would have none of it. They had become dear friends after all the years, and seeing your mother in so much unexplainable pain hurt your Lady as much as it hurt you.

The doctors finally concluded that it must have been due to all the years on the cold and unforgiving streets, that had been lying dormant until recently. All they knew was that whatever it was, it wasn’t contagious. A poor conclusion to your ears, but you were just as stumped over your mother’s illness as they were so not much could be said in contradiction. The coughing fits grew worse and worse as the passing weeks went on, your mother growing frailer with them. The Reinsworth girls insisted you take time off to care for her as her health deteriorated, insisting that they would be able to handle themselves for as long as you needed. Everyone knew what was happening, as much as they tried to avoid saying it.

Your mother died in March. In her final days, her face held a peacefulness that sat at ends with her frail body. The coughs were fewer in between but just as powerful, and you helped her to feel comfortable as much as you could. And then you talked. You told her about your earliest memories, your happiness when you both were taken in, how you loved to see your mother happy and warm and safe whilst working in the kitchen. About throwing the seed to the chickens, and the soft way she stroked your hair as you hid in her skirts away from the pigs. About her smile, and her hugs, and warm jam tarts. About how much you loved her.

Your mother smiled along with you, her hand resting like a fragile bird in yours. She whispered of her life before you, of stories you had never heard before of far off lands where beasts still roamed beyond your wildest imagination. Of how she came to have you, her dearest daughter and the brightest star in her life. Of how proud she was of the strong woman you had become. Of how much she loved you.

Your mother died in March, and with her, a piece of your heart.

Her ashes were buried under her favourite oak tree in the yard, one that she watched from the kitchen window and sat beneath when her days off allowed. It had reminded her of her birthplace.

After that, you threw yourself into your work. As a distraction, a way to be so physically tired that you would instantly fall asleep when you went back to your now cold and lonely room that you wouldn’t miss the warmth of another person. At least, not as much.

You helped the girls with their literature and poetry, having joined in on enough lessons when growing up that you had become an adequate reader and writer yourself. You galloped for hours with them, across the paddocks and the glen, helping them to sit both side-saddle and like the men of the household did. And on your days off, you threw yourself into your own studies of anything you could grab your hands on. Medicinal books, herbal healing guides, astronomy descriptions, even the occasional novel. At your insistence, you even began to take up fencing and defence lessons with Master Phaedrus. The Reinsworths has been hesitant at first, unsure why a maid in waiting would wish to take up such sports. But once you had explained that it would make you feel better when accompanying the girls, that if you had some knowledge on how to both defend yourself and attack others, you felt that you would better be able to protect the girls, they agreed to your request.

And so you trained, and read, and rode, and distracted yourself as much as possible to avoid looking too directly at the hole that grew in your heart. And the empty bed that lay beside you every night.