Prologue
This is a story that takes place in a nearly forgotton age. An age that began more than a thousand years ago and lasted for a thousand years. A thousand men or so perished thousands of years ago to the entity we call, "Chaos." It is Chaos that challenges and rivals Order, and Chaos that balances the way of life. For thousands of years, the forces of Order and Chaos have fought against eachother for the possession of the world. It is Order that leads to Peace. It is Chaos that leads to Destruction.
This is a story, about the battle between these forces, as well as the battle between good and evil...the battle between Hope and Destruction. This is a story of a remarkable girl who fought for what she believed in, for the good of everything as well as the good of herself. This is the story of the Legendary Fighter Girl Goddess.
It all started a few years after the failed attack of the Shadow Forces, somewhere nearby a small capital...
Alexander Thornwood cursed balefully under his breath. It was exactly five minutes before midnight and he should be sleeping by now! Not star-gazing under the midnight sky in full armor! But no matter how hard he tried, every attempt he did to walk back into the mansion resulted in a strange force suddenly changing his mind about going to sleep and leaving him stuck outside.
He cursed again, obviously frustrated. Gods help me if a bandit wanders by, he thought irritably. He started back into the mansion, but something made him freeze, turn around, and walk a few metres away from the door. Once again, he was stuck there with no idea why he'd decided to continue star-gazing. It was as if he was being controlled by an unknown force, something so unatural and so powerful. Why, he hardly had to struggle out of his craze before he realized that he was walking away from his mansion.
Well, if I can't get inside, I may as well wait for some gods-cursed omen, he thought, deeply exasperated. Maybe he should wake up his butler...but then again, his room was on the second floor. Cursing again, he finally decided to take a midnight stroll in the Meadows.
As he walked, he stared into the sky(a good thing that there were no trees). The moonlit sky was bright, the night, serene. The brilliant, pale glow of the moon illuminated the cerulean sky like a luminescent pearl of light. The spring sky was pure of clouds, lit by silvery, crystalline stars that glowed like candles of silver flame. An unexpected breeze lifted upwards, swirling about in the Meadows and rustling the tall, thick grass, making them sigh.
Alexander thought about his last battle, his battle against Lucifon, Prince of Darkness. He wondered if defeating him really was the right thing to do. After all, it was the Lord's will for the Demon Army to plunder against the capital because of its self-indulgence and laziness. Maybe the gods were angry with him for meddling with their affairs. Maybe they were cursing him right now...maybe he'll be cursed to walk and walk farther and farther away from his mansion until the day he died...
Or maybe he was just plain insane...
Suddenly, a jewel-bright star, glowing brighter than the rest, jolted out of the sky. Down it fell, streaking through the sky and leaving a prominant trail of brilliant white light. Down it streaked, gaining intesity as it plummeted downwards towards the horizon. It came to rest at a small hill, where a great flash of light flared out, flashing brilliantly, its intense brilliance surrounding the hill.
"What on Earth? ..." Alexander wondered aloud as he ran towards it. For once, he'd been thankful for years of endless, nonstop, brutal training-he wouldn't have managed a single step with his heavy plate mail without the training!
He reached the hill with untiring ease. Hovering above the hill was a pillar of brilliant white light that glowed brightly and intensely. The pillar stretched upwards into the moonlight sky, as if the pillar of light had been cast by the moon itself. Then, Alexander noticed something.
There, surrounded by the warm brilliance of the heavenly pillar, bathed in the intense light, was a small girl. A girl in a pillar of light. How strange...
~Alexander....~
Alexander levitated a few inches upward, and whirled around in search of the voice's owner. When he saw no one, he stared upwards, but all he saw was the blinding pillar of light.
~Alexander...~ the voice called out again. It was an unnatural voice, none like any voice Alexander had ever heard before. It was deafeaning, deep, and commanding, as if a thousand voices were speaking out at once, deep and soft, high and low. It sounded as though a hurricane was roaring in Alexander's ears, yet it reminded him of the raging, wrathful ocean accopanied by a deadly tempest of firestorms. It was so unearthly, so empowering that Alexander felt completely as if he was succumbing to its inhumane echo.
It took a while for Alexander to realize that the voice was female.
~Alexander...can you hear my voice?~
"Yes," Alexander called out, feeling uncomfortable vulnerable. "I hear you. Please, let me hear what you have to say."
~I am the Supreme Goddess-Queen of the Fighting Arts, Protector of Spirit, Guardian of Dedication. Speak, do you see the girl in front of you?~
"Y-yes..."
~She is a soul from the stars, a soul with a heart purer than gold, a spirit stronger than stone, and a such a willful mind that can hardly be compared. She is the daughter from the Guardian Dieties. Alas, she is destined for better things, yet she knows nothing about the life she will lead, the changes she will bring to the world and fate...she knows nothing about who she is, and the destiny that was foretold for her.
~All I ask of you is this. Care for her as you would if she was your own daughter. Your choices will make a difference between her survival and the world's demise. Your abilities and actions will determine whether or not she will be ready for the destiny she is about to face, when she encounters it. Her life is in your hands, and the fate of this world's future lies in her's. Whether or not she will be prepared for the Encounter is up to you. Because, when Chaos awakens, she will be ready. As long as she survives, Peace will prevail. Her destiny lies with you. The destiny of every single living thing in this world will depend on her survival. It is all up to you. That is all I ask of you...~
Chapter 1
Olive
The following year whisked by all too quickly like the crisp, ocean breeze on a hot summer beach, as if all of its events and memories had all occurred in just a few seconds. Now, it was the near dawn of the second day of April, in the year of 1210. The morning robin roused to the approaching dawn, chirping sweetly to welcome the rising sun. The fresh damp ground let off a strange aura that signaled something important-winter was finally ending at last, and spring was awakening.
The brilliant, orange light of the ascending sun was just flaring over the horizon, the warm brilliance of its rays illuminating the sky with an intense, orange light. Within a few seconds the crisp air was filled by the strong, rapid beating that came from the hammering wingbeats of snowy-white pigeons. Synchronizing eachother's movements, the flock of pigeons soared over the wooden cottages, swooping in smooth, curvy waves until they came to rest on the roof of a small mansion.
The gentle rays of the sun shone softly through a crystal clear window of the mansion, where they came to rest upon the mahogany furniture and the green-covered bed. Olive Thornwood opened her soft eyelids, awakening to the beautiful morning. With a sleepy sigh, she settled herself upright, eyes still half-closed. Gazing at the ceiling, she stretched her arms towards it as far as they would allow her to. Sliding out of bed, she slipped her feet into her slippers, blue to match with her sky blue pajamas. Now wide awake, Olive looked into her wardrobe and pulled out her everyday dress. Actually, it was only one of her many everyday dresses. This particular variation had full-length, puffed up sleeves, and its skirts flowed about six inches below her knees.
After changing into it, slipping on her belt, and washing herself, she strolled outside and dashed down the stairs, where she almost collided head-on with her butler, Cube.
"Can't you ever watch where you're going, Cube?" Olive asked him irritably, frowning.
"And a good morning to you, Mistress," Cube replied pleasantly, completely ignoring Olive's ironic snort. "It's about time you finally woke up, because you'll be studying Protocol first thing this morning."
"What?" Olive asked him incredulously. "But I've just turned ten!"
"Yes, you've definetely have, and ten is the age you start learning manners. Now, Mistress, if you'll please excuse me..." He ignored her irritated scowl as he passed her. Oh, how I wish he didn't know me so well, she thought as she darted down the stairs to sort out a bit of confusion with her father. When she found him, Alexander Thornwood(her father) was reading a novel in the dining room.
"Good morning, Olive," he told her, never looking up from his book at her presence.
"Speak for yourself," Olive retorted, obviously disgruntled with something. "Cube tells me that I've a protocol class coming up this morning."
"That's right, grouch," Alexander replied, as if a morning without Olive's grumpiness meant something strange. "And mind your manners, Olive, or Protocol tutorial seminars will take all of next month. And yes, Olive, I do have enough money for thirty-one days of Protocol tutorial seminars. You've had your free-time last week, it's not like you can have two whole weeks of rest every time."
"But Father, that's not the point! Dad, I've promised Anita Cassandra and Horst Heimelman that I'd come over to help sort out the weapons, armors, and shields at the armory!" she told him in a voice of anguish. "It's only a few more days until the next shipment arrives from the blacksmith's, and I'm the only one besides Wendy who can tell a normal sword from a specially enhanced sword improved by sorcery. I'm the only one who can help, because Wendy has magic tutorial seminars to go to! If I bail out, Anita, and Horst will be lost without me, plus it'll take forever to sort out everything if I don't help out today." This time, her father managed to tear his gaze from the book and look at Olive straight into the eyes. Olive stared back defiantly. Her father only gave her an apologetic look.
"What about...your other friends, Marthia and Patricia?" he asked. Olive snorted and replied, "Both can't even tell a sword and a boulder apart (excuse me, she added silently), and even if they did, Patricia also has protocol seminars to go to and Marthia is working part-time at Balbon's again. Look, all I need is a day or two from protocol, that's it." Her father stared at her for a brief moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and sighed apologetically.
"Well, you should have helped Cube and I arrange the schedule instead of telling me this at the very last minute. We could've had worked things out with that Cassandra girl and Heimelman boy, as well as with the Elder. I'm sorry, Olive, but we can't change the entire schedule at the very last second. I suggest that you might as well make another choice from here."
"As if I have a choice," Olive muttered darkly.
"None of that," her father told her sternly. "And yes, you do have a choice, unlike many other people. Now, you're being let off lightly today, because Protocol class hours have changed for today, and today only. Because of certain troubles with the Spring Gathering preparations, today's class hours begin one hour past midday. Ask Cube if you don't believe me. You can only stay at the armory for about five hours or so, and after that, you must leave. It's the usual if you're late-three pieces of gold lost from your pocket money for every ten minutes lost.
"Or, you can just go straight to the academy without going to the armory, but that will mean disloyalty to your friends. But if you just abandon today's class, that will be four days lost from your week of free-time, that I do not recommend. I know you're being loyal to your friends, but you know that these seminars cost money. My salary isn't enough for the three of us each year.
"Alright, before I keep you away from your friends any longer...you may leave now."
"Sure...see you, Dad," Olive murmured quietly as she strolled towards the door, where Cube was waiting, holding her cloak. After she took her textbooks from the counter, Olive thanked him as she took it.
"You know the punishment if you're caught avoiding classes, Mistress," Cube whispered in her ear. Olive nodded silently and replied, "Double the time lost from my being late, and that will make how much time I'll spend in detention." She slipped the red cloak over her shoulders and fastened it with a silver fastener below her neckline.
"That's right," Cube replied, opening. "I'll be seeing you, then, Mistress."
"And I'll be seeing you, Cube," Olive replied as she stepped outside the doorway into the brilliant sunshine. The door closed behind her, and Olive skipped down the steps of her mansion, ran across the stone path that led past the iron fence, and bounded down the dusty road that led to to the capital.
The air was still chilly, but the sun was flaring brightly. The air had a thick, musky scent of damp dirt and overgrown glass and weeds. Looking to her right as she skipped along the path, she saw the vast forest, with its bare, towering trees bordering it. The forest had been given the name, the Endless Forest, because of its vastness. The trees were so tall and so wide, Olive couldn't be sure if even five of her could form a ring around the tree, holding hands. Towered at such a breath-taking height, the shortest tree in the forest would dwarf even the Royal Palace itself. And speaking of which...
Olive whirled around, and gazed past her mansion to the magnificent castle far away in the distance. Its smooth, elegant walls were made out of a crystalline, bluish-silvery stone, outlined with blazing gold stripes that flared brilliantly in the blinding sunlight. Its roofs and turrets were made out of a dark aquamarine stone that matched the palace in every way. The walls were so glassy, they reflected the sun's blaze like snowy, milky crystal. It was a majestic sight.
It's hard to imagine what it's like to be a princess, she thought, gazing silently at the castle, completely transfixed to its beauty. Or better yet, a prince... Realizing what she'd been thinking, her spirits once again plummeted. Trudging slowly and half-heartedly along the road, she felt her heart fill with regret about something that she couldn't even help.
She stopped abruptly, suddenly vexed with herself.
"Stop it, Olive, you idiot," she muttered angrilly to herself. "Self-pity won't change the way you are, not your nature, not your reality. Self-pity will just fill your heart with pain and regret, and I'll have no time with that." But even though those words brought hope to her heart, it did nothing to heal the hate in her heart, the hate for herself...the hate for her, being a girl...
People considered her as sweet. People considered her as soft. People considered her as silly, naive, petty, sensitive, playful, and...adorable. The memory of middle-aged women pointing at her and commenting that she was the sweet, soft little thing of their dreams filled Olives heart with disgust. It irritated her because she knew she wasn't sweet, silly, sensitive, adorable, or even soft. She knew that deep in her heart, she was defiant, tough, sharp-tonged, tomboyish, and energetic. Everyone expected less from her, just because they thought...they thought that she...was only a girl...a commoner girl...
They thought she was babyish and petty, only because she was a girl, and she hated it. She hated being a girl and being babied and pampered by people she didn't even know. She wished that she'd grown up a boy instead of a girl. She wished that she could change into a boy, and forget about being a girl. But deep down inside, she knew...she knew that things like that could not be changed...not by her, not by anyone else.
She couldn't change the fact, and she hated herself for that.
* * *
"What in the name of the gods kept you away?!" Anita Cassandra snapped at her at the door of the armory, shaking violently her by the shoulders. "Do you have ANY IDEA how long we've been waiting?! Or maybe how many CUSTOMERS we've had?! You'd better have a VERY GOOD EXPLANATION FOR THIS, young lady!!" Olive gave her a look of mock indignance, obviously unfazed.
"I do," she said calmly, an eyebrow raised in a cocky expression. "Must you place the blame, place all of it on father and Cube. Geez, how long have you been chopping wood and building brawn at the same time? My brains are probably damaged by now, thanks to you."
"Who said you had a brain?" Anita growled darkly as she steered her friend inside. "And unless you've forgotton, I'm not old enough to work as a part-time lumberjack yet, REMEMBER?" Olive rolled her eyes and muttered, "Barn-bred brickbrain."
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
"Nothing, nothing..."
"Oh, give her a break, Anita, she's just a few minutes late, after all," Horst Heimelman said, standing against the wall and flashing Olive a toothy grin. "Besides, you'll scare away the customers. Hey there, Wildcat! Long time, no see!"
"Same to you, Heimelman!" Olive replied, grinning back at him. She raised her voice a pitch higher and turned to Anita. "Leedle, sweet Sassypuss in a tempah, aren't ya, angwee, cutie pussy."
"Shut up, moron," Anita snapped.
"Cowface."
"Bugbrain."
"Hammerhead."
"Lizard-lips."
"Brainless."
"Why I oughta..."
"Calm down ladies," Horst told them, grinning obnoxiously. "Otherwise, we'll never even get started. Come on, Wildcat." He led her to a door that led to a larger room. Olive wrinkled her nose at Anita, who glared back at her behind the counter. Olive turned away, smiling as she followed Horst into the room. She gasped.
The room was absolutely FILLED. The wall was completely obscured, with a gigantic variety of weapons, armor, helmets, sheaths, and shields hanging on supposedly invisible pegs on the wall. Every single inch was covered with at least one thing that had to do with the fighting arts. The sunlight that blazed through the window reflected off the metal, making the room sparkle with blazing light. The heavy dust that clung to the air glittered brilliantly in the sunshine like gold and silver sparkles. Olive felt her heart leap with excitement at the sight of all these THINGS. She wanted to reach out to one of them, touch it, and embrace it with her heart and mind. Fighting the urge caused a strange pain in her heart, because for once, she felt as if a part of her belonged here, with the weapons.
She marvelled the weapons the most: the glaives, swords, daggers, longbows, axes, pikes, staves...the varieties were endless. For the first time, she realized...she realized that all her life, the thing she yearned for the most in her life...was her very own weapon. She didn't care whether it was a stubby, rough-bladed dagger or even a razor-sharp glaive. All she wanted was her very own weapon, and the knowledge to use it.
Horst Heimelman laughed at Olive's open-mouthed amazement.
"C'mon, Wildcat," he said cheerfully, using the nickname that came from Olive's defiance and toughness. "Just relax, you haven't even seen half of the heap of metal that stuffs this wreck. C'mon, let's get started." Olive took one last, desperate glance at the weapons, then quickly followed Horst into the next room, whispering, "I'll be back."
The next room was a bit smaller than the other one Olive had just left. The dust in the air was a lot lighter and duller, even in the light of the candle clock. It was almost empty, with walls of cracking plaster and a bare ceiling-everything that made up the roof was revealed. Olive could hear the wind whispering through the gaps between ancient roofboards. The air was cool and dry, and had a musky, metallic scent to it. The air made Olive with shiver...there was magic clinging to the air around her.
The only piece of furniture was a large, beechwood table that looked as though it had stood there for a thousand years. On the table, cluttered all in a towering heap, was a huge pile of weapons. Olive stared at them, completely compelled by them.
"Well? Aren't you ready to get started, Wildcat?" Horst asked impatiently. Olive snapped out of her trance, and nodded shakily as she walked towards the table. Fingers trembling, she selected a weapon, an ivory-bladed glaive.
"This one's less likely to be magicked, because of the ivory," Olive said quietly, fingering the pure-white, razor-sharp blade and muttering very minor enchantments that were to be used when testing whether an object was magicked or not. Wendy taught her how to do this, but she wasn't exactly an expert yet. Still, a few months of experience taught her quite a bit about dealing with magicked objects. She waited, but the glaive lay in her hand, still as a stone. Not a single spark came from it.
"This one's magic free," she murmured, handing the glaive to Horst. Selecting a rapier, she tested it, but it was pure of magic. Next came a longbow. Olive ran her finger over the tough-feeling cord, casting her lowly bit of magic on it. Suddenly, a tingling feeling shot through her fingers, and heat surged through her hands. She gasped a dropped the bow, startled.
"Magicked?" Horst asked. Olive nodded. "Leave it, then, Anita will organize everything when we're done." Olive picked out her next 'patient', a broadsword.
Weapon after weapon she tested, some were magicked, some were pure, and some were just plain weird for Olive to handle. Minute after minute tumbled away like raindrops. The hours were merely lemon drops melting in the scorching sun of the Tempest Deserts. Olive's arms were aching a few hours later, and her mind was being partly shrouded by dizzyness. Still, she kept on going like there was no tomorrow, not realizing the hour of day at all...
Suddenly, her hand rested on a sword's hilt that was decorated with dazzling emeralds and sapphires. The hilt itself was made out of a pure, marine-green jade glimmered strangely with a brilliant aura. Set right on top of the hilt was a sparkling marine-blue jewel, perfect and whole. Breathing fast and heart pounding nervously, Olive gripped the hilt and tugged. Out from undernearth a heap of weapons slid a elongated blade made out of sparkling pure-white metal. Olive gasped. If it had stood upright on either end, it would have been at least a foot taller than Olive herself, yet it was completely featherweight. Its diamond-like metal blade was wide and broad, but it had a razor-sharp edge.
"Oh, Lord," Olive murmured, eyes widening in shock and amazement. Horst Heimelman appeared at her side and whistled, totally impressed.
"If that's what I think it is," he murmured softly. "Those are supposed to be extremely rare and extremely valuable. The value of those jewels combined wouldn't even take up a quarter of what this sword is really worth, that is, if it's genuine of course. It it is real, this sword is a gift to an extremely devoted fighter, a gift from the Supreme Goddess-Queen of the Valkrie Spirits, Goddess-Queen Valkria."
"Oh, gods and goddesses," Olive gasped. She knew about the legends of the Supreme Goddess-Queen, Valkria. She was said to be every fighter's soul, every fighter's mind, every fighters, heart, body, strength, and spirit. She was the guardian of all devoted fighters, guiding them through fate and fame, and in return, they kept faith for her. Many worshipped her, many kept their faith in her and worked up to their devotion in the fighting arts. Many said that Valkria appeared in front of the most devoted fighters and rewarded them for their unfaltering determination to become a fighter of fame of glory.
To the fighters pure of heart, free of sin, and filled with faith, Valkria gave each of them the title, "Chosen One of Valkria." Each of Valkria's Chosen Ones are given one of Valkria's many powerful swords. To a Chosen One of Valkria, selling one would mean utter disgrace and a cursed life for all eternity-they would never win another battle, their fame would fall to pieces, and their skills would be torn to shreds. Valkria was Goddess-Queen, a Goddess-Queen whose devotion to loyalty and vicious temper was not to be denied.
"Exactly how much do you think this would cost?" Olive asked as she ran her trembling fingers over the hilt and calling upon the small bit of magic she had to test the sword. Satisfied, she said to Horst, "Pure of magic."
"In that case, that sword is completely worthless," Horst replied smoothly without a single hint of hesitation. Olive's jaw plummeted in open disbelief. Horst smirked in his usual smug way and drawled, "It's a complete fake. All of Valkria's Swords are specially enhanced with magic, and the Goddess-Queen made sure that anybody who did so much as bump into it knew right away that it had been magicked. Only a fool would sell a fake Valkria's Sword without magicking it, and a bigger fool would have bought it without noticing that it had no magic. However, if it had been real, it would have costed at least seven-thousand pieces of gold."
"I'll be betting that the ground-pounding, low-born pig of a potato-brain who sold you this was the Chinese Orc," Olive said, feeling her fists clench unexpectedly. "The man-handling, pebble-brain, barnbreathed, stinker of a wanted criminal con artist!"
"Actually, the 'seller' happened to be a geezer of a begger who happened to be passing by," Horst told her. "While Zen was taking out the trash, the old bum just walked by, dropped the sword at his feet, and darted away as quick as a blink."
"Weird."
"Like, totally! It didn't seem that the poor guy had any manners, or he would've said something." Olive nodded.
Speaking of manners...
"Holy bats! How long have I been here?!" Olive asked frantically, whirling around in search of any sign of a sundial. Suddenly finding herself eyeing the candleclock, she realized that six hours had passed during her stay at the armory.
"Devil dust!" she cried exasperatedly, slapping her forehead in anguish. "I'm supposed to be studying Protocol!" She cursed herself both loudly and badly.
"Ouch, watch your language."
"And speaking of language, Dad's gonna use dirty words on me for being an hour late for Protocol!" she snapped angrilly at him, cherry faced with frustration. "The Elder would maul me, and if it isn't the Elder, then it would be Lady Antoinette whose going to KILL me! Then DAD will KILL me THREE TIMES in a ROW and GROUND me until I'm SIXTY-FIVE! What am I to do?!" Horst Heimelman stared at her for a moment, then took her elbow and steered her towards the door, saying, "I suggest you run, Wildcat." Olive stared at him incredulously.
"For once, I value your advice, Heimelman," she said, grinning tomato-faced at him. And so started her mad dash for the Decorum school.
"Yeah! Go for it, Wildcat!" Horst Heimelman shouted after her.
* * *
Current score for Mad Dashing Olive:
Highest speed-37 miles per hour
Stands knocked down-38
People bruised-134
Nobles knocked over-86
Apples bruised-97
Apologies made-3675
Curses-9583 (Variety, rudeness and nastiness of curses counts as part of score)
Happy people-1 (that would be Horst Heimelman. Don't ask why he's happy)
Total Points-90000 (for overall speed and people slammed)
Of course, Olive hardly cared about her score as a Mad Dash 'player'. All she'd cared about was how late she was and how many minutes it would take for her to sprint to the Protocol against a setback of carriages, nobles, passer-by's, merchants, and fruit-stands. But if she did, she would have realized that she had just shattered every single record made by latecomers of protocol seminars and made it to first place. Of course, it isn't really something to be proud of.
Indeed, Olive's luck had worsened deeply by the time she'd reached the Protocol tutorial school. It turned out that instead of Bartholomew, the Elder, Countess Antoinette had taken his place as a substitute. The Countess was beautiful, for one thing, and she had the straightest, most rigid back Olive had ever seen. Just at first glance, Olive could see that she was an extremely strict person who would not tolerate even a single hair out of place. More experience told her that Countess Antoinette was totally unfair, favouring some and separating people from others by her own unfair prejudices. For Olive, Countess Antoinette bullied her the most, and made it clear that she was the Countess's least favourite student.
Some of the lucky ones, the ones the Countess favoured the most, included children of high nobility. This particular group included the Countess's daughter, Lady Francoise More. Francoise More, as far as Olive could tell, was a total priss, even though she was only about Olive's age. Cruel, cold, and discriminating to people she considered "inferior commoners", Francoise was one of the most popular girls in high society...that is, besides Olive's close friend, Patricia Hearn. Francoise was talented, mainly because she was rich. She could play the vielle(vielle is an older form of the violin), paint, dance. But none of her talents could match her best talent, fencing. Indeed, Francoise was a beauty and she knew it. She made sure that everybody knew it.
For Olive's punishment, Countess Antionette gave her three hours of detention, two for her tardiness and one for falling asleep during class. Olive struggled hard not to glare in reply to Francoise's condecending smirk. It was natural that the Countess ignored any event that occured Francoise misbehaving, and that she excused her daughter from any kind of punishment. It was also natural for the Countess to punish Olive the most, mostly for small things such as breathing too hard or smiling for no reason. Olive was used to it, but the attitudes of her two adversaries always filled her heart with fury.
At the end of Protocol, Olive's friend, Patricia Hearn, stopped by her desk as the other students flooded out of the building.
"I can stay and help out if you like," she offered sweetly. "I don't mind."
"No thanks," Olive replied stiffly. "You may not mind, but the Countess will. She won't allow it even if her life depended on it, and I wouldn't want you to waste your time in here any longer." Disgruntled, she opened her tome of basic etiquette and stared at it in pure disgust.
"You know," Patricia told her. "To be frank and honest with you, it seems that you don't have any talent at at this at all."
"Obviously."
"Also, I can never recall a single day when you walked out of this school without a single minute of detention. It also seems that you aren't interested in this at all, which I totally disbelieve. Protocol is the way of life, and seeing it."
"I thought that was Philosophy."
"Whatever. Decorum is the biggest part of a woman's true character, personlity, mind, heart, and soul." Olive gave an ironic snort at Patricia's words.
"And what's the other part?" she retorted irritably. "Bust size?"
"Very funny," Patricia snapped at her. "Honestly, Olive, if you can't even go through a single day of Protocol without even falling asleep, you'll never be a real lady. If you can't be a real lady, you'll never become popular and then earn a good job in high society. That's saying the truth, you know." Suddenly, Olive slammed her book down on the desk face so hard, the entire room trembled. Her cherry red fists were so tightly clenched together, they bled.
"What makes you think I WANT to be a real lady?" she snapped at Patricia angrily without even looking at her, ignoring the blood that dripped from her hands onto the desk. "What makes you think I LIKE this trash!? What makes you think that I want to be POPULAR?! You know, there are plenty of ways to get a good job without wasting time in this molehill, and I like it THAT way. I can't succeed if I go as I am NOW. It's...it's just not right for me at all. Not this...this isn't right for me, and I don't know what is. I...I thought..." She bit her trembling lip, fighting hard to hard back painful sobs of anguish.
Patricia realized that she'd said too much. Guiltily, she patted, Olive's back, trying to comfort her.
"Now, now, there's no need to cry over little things. I didn't mean that becoming popular is the only to bring honor to your family," she said softly, handing Olive a handkerchief. "You're an extraordinary girl, you know. Everyone knows that. You're not like Francoise More. You're a lot different, and that's nothing to cry about." Stiffly, Olive wiped the blood away from her fingers and desk.
"Are you sure you don't need my help?" Patricia asked gently. Olive shook her head and muttered, "I'll manage..." Patricia smiled and said, "I'd better leave. See you, Olive, and good luck with the Priss Duo." Olive grinned after Patricia as her friend left the building. She gave a weary sigh, then reopened her tome. No later than a few seconds passed did she slump her head upon the face of the desk, dozing off.
* * *
There was only one thing to say about Olive's grumpiness when she left the school four hours later-Once glance from her would have stripped paint.
Grimly, Olive unlocked the door to her mansion and walked in. No farther than two steps away from the door did she almost bump headfirst into her father. As the word, 'doom' repeated over and over in her mind, Olive looked up.
She had never seen him look so angry. His eyebrows were drawn together in a glare. His eyes narrowed angrily, and that frown told her that he'd never been so ashamed of his daughter in his entire life. Obviously, he was fighting inside to control his unexpectedly heated temper, which often got the better of him...very much like Olive's temper taking her over. Sorry, Cube, she thought silently, feeling horribly guilty of herself.
"You've kept your supper waiting for at least four hours," he told her in a low, ominous voice that he'd saved especially when he was particularly infuriated. "Most of all, it is eight hours past noon, two hours past your daily curfew. You've had better prepared a good explanation for this, Olivia Thornwood." Olive gulped down the lump in her throught. Like the low, dangerous voice, Alexander only used his daughter's full name when he was truly vexed.
"I lost track of the time," Olive mumbled. Her father gave an exasperated sigh.
"Do you have any idea how much these classes cost me?" he asked her sharply, sounding truly irritated. "What is the point of paying them when you don't attend them at all? You've let your supper go stone cold, plus you've had four hours of detention only because you were two hours late, and meanwhile, you took naps two hours each when you should have been paying attention!"
"Patricia told you?" Olive asked meekly. I owe you a pummeling, Patricia Hearn! she thought grimly.
"Yes, she stopped by to tell us that you managed to get on Countess Antoinette's bad side(it's the only side she has, Olive thought irritably). Not only that, but do you have any idea of the hour? This time of the evening isn't the time for any young, carefree girl to go wandering carelessly in the streets! You'll have no idea how many young hoodlums and outlaws wander out at night! No nine-year-old should ever wander about in the streets a night, especially a girl!
"That will be eighty percent from your monthly pocket money for four months, and no free time for the rest of the month. You'll spend the rest of the month studying Protocol and helping out at home. Furthermore, you will be restricted from wandering anywhere else other than home and school, unless you're going from one place to the other. Now, take an apple from the fruitbowl and go straight to your room. To be frank and honest with you, I've never been more disappointed with you than I am right now."
Spirits down-to-earth and pride flattened paper-thin, Olive sullenly selected an apple from the fruitbowl. She sauntered heavily up the spiral stairwell up to her room, where she slumped wearily onto her bed. She had never felt so guilty in her entire life. Half-heartedly, Olive nibbled her apple, but with her guilt added to the taste, it tasted very much like sawdust.
Staring up into the ceiling, she thought about how differently things would have been if she'd been a boy. Maybe instead of plain old Protocol tutorial seminars, she would have been practicing fencing, hand-to-hand combat, are maybe even battle tactics and strategy! Nobody could even PAY her to be late for THOSE classes... But her father just didn't understand what his daughter truly wanted, and it didn't seem that he'll be able to find out at all.
A grim decision was made: Olive would have to make her own father understand.
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