Rosalie tugged at her hood, its rough texture grating against her skin in the same way her mother’s voice continued nagging her with each step. Never show your face, Mother always said. Hide that birthmark as if your life depended on it.

As if by instinct, a hand shot up to brush against the light tan mark that spread across her face from brow to cheek. Rosalie had asked why such precautions were necessary on multiple occasions, never once receiving a satisfactory answer. “You are special” was all she would say.

Rosalie didn’t feel special, and she grunted as she adjusted her coat further.

But mother loved her, she argued. Mother cared for her. Rosalie shuddered to think of a world without her mother by her side. Alone. She straightened her shoulders at the thought, arms pulled tight to her side now.

Focus, she told herself. Mother said to follow the path until the great oak by the creek—then cut through to the right until I meet the road. The marketplace should be there.

Only two days ago, her mother had fallen ill with bouts of blurry vision, nausea, vomiting, and severe fatigue. She could barely get out of bed this morning, and Rosalie had insisted she be the one to gather supplies. Much to her surprise, her mother agreed.

So here she was, charting unfamiliar terrain.

Rosalie’s heart skipped a few beats as she finally found the road Mother had told her about. Once there, the sight of the marketplace was unmistakable. The sound of chatter was almost deafening as the strange mix of food and dirt mixed in her nostrils, filled her senses, and ignited her muscles into further action. Her pace quickened as her palms began to coat with perspiration.

As she got closer, she was suddenly struck by the sheer number of people in the crowd. There were people everywhere. Not a nook or cranny to breathe. The brief bit of excitement now dissipated into a bout of heavy breaths and shaking palms. Too many people. For a moment, she even considered going back. She looked longingly at the familiar trees of the forest, asking herself if they truly needed the supplies her mother had listed.

She didn’t even give herself a second to doubt the answer. Of course they needed the supplies.

Thus Rosalie resolved to brave the crowd to obtain the first item on Mother’s list: grain. She weaved in and out of the sea of people, thankful her small and wiry frame made it easy to maneuver her way through.  Then, in the distance, she spotted the grain and bread stand—one that Mother had said sold the best fresh bread for miles. Not that she had ever tasted bread from anyone else. Mother always bought grain, but never forgot to bring her a little fresh treat. The thought brought a smile to Rosalie’s face as she considered returning the gesture. She ought to have some coins to spare.

Rosalie took a step closer to the stall, closing her eyes and taking in the smell of bread.

“What can I do for you miss?”

She blinked a few times, and pondered for a moment. “I—I’d like to purchase some bread. And a small bag of grain. Please.” She added the last word with a beaming smile on her face.

The man nodded and cut a slice. He wrapped it on some paper and proceeded to fill her grain order.

“How much is it?” She asked, and reflexively winced. Her mother told her to haggle. To not let them set the price or they’d be more than happy to take certain advantages. “Be firm, tell them how much you’ll pay and move on. And don’t be afraid to walk away…”

“Ten bronze pieces.”

She fumbled around her small cloak pocket for the twenty bronze coins Mother and given her. She felt her heart shrivel at the sum.

“Please, sir. My mother is ill and I have other items to purchase. Ten bronze coins is simply too much!” She wanted to wince at the crack in her voice but let her face remain stern and unaffected. She imagined her mother’s face before he answered.

“Sorry lady. Business is business.”

Rosalie then lifted her chin and straightened her back. She hoped it made her look more formidable and in control, as she certainly didn’t possess the confidence her mother had. The words spilled from her mouth after a brief moment of hesitation, much to her surprise. “Either it’s five bronze coins or none.”

Still, the man crossed his arms and made no motion to hand over the goods she had ordered.

“Ten bronze coins,” he repeated.

“Very well then.” She did as her mother had instructed and prepared to walk away, loathe to be away from the scene of fresh bread. It was certainly preferable to the smell and texture of dirt that was being blowed into her eyes, her mouth, and her nose now. She would find grain, somehow. Or she’d simply explain to mother that she couldn’t pay 10 bronze coins for the grain.

Just then, she heard someone yell “Wait!”

Rosalie stopped mid-stride. Had she imagined the man’s voice? She could hear her mother telling her to just walk a little further, but the temptation was too much. She turned and found him holding up his hand.

“Seven bronze coins!” he yelled.

Rosalie considered this for a moment, even thought she knew that she’d take the deal. A little too eagerly, she bobbed her head in agreement and handed over the payment.  The man, in turn, handed over her order. It took a great deal of effort to not skip away in delight. She took measured steps, telling herself to breath in then out. Once she was out of sight, she let the ridiculous smile turn into a small giggle and sigh of relief.

As Rosalie was reaching to find what was next on her list, there was a sight that caught her eye. It wasn’t a permanent stand, but one often used by travelers. At the top of the stand was a large wooden with the words MADAME ROSSEAU’S APOTHECARY written in red. She hadn’t supposed there would be an apothecary. Mother had insisted she not fetch a physician, but perhaps she might be able to bring back some fusion that might cure whatever illness her mother had. Or at least alleviate her suffering a bit until the sickness had subsided. The thought that her mother’s life was in grave danger never crossed her mind until she began to hear the surrounding whispers.

“Plague.”

“They never wake up.”

“Contagious.”

The crowd quickly seemed to part ways for a man who man whose face burned with redness. He whirled around to the woman at the stand, pointing a finger at her.

“You’re a SCAM!” the man screeched.

“Please, cease your bellowing. Your are causing a disruption.” The woman was unaffected by his accusation, her face a canvas of neutrality—a stark contrast to her wild, curly auburn hair.

“I don't’ care!” the man spat back. “I want everyone to know that your cures did nothing for my daughter. How do I know you didn’t cause her to fall ill in the first place?”

“Be reasonable, Mr. Blanc. We’re all concerned and you’re not the only one affected. I told you-“

“I am being reasonable! This is my daughter we’re talking about! She has not woken up in three da—”

“Like I was saying,” Madame Rosseau interrupted, “I told you that it might not help your daughter. It is a powerful illness she’s come under and you have my sympathy. Herbs work differently for different people and it is not through any fault of mine. If you wish to try another…” There was a small twitch and turn of her lips that sent chills down Rosalie’s spine while her tongue burned with questions.

The man spat, missing her face by a mere inch before it fell to the ground.

More people seemed to be gathering around now, drawn to the yelling and the commotion. None seemed to dare get close, though. Did they suspect the man to be ill as well? He certainly didn’t look sick? Just upset and concerned for his daughter.

Poor man, she thought.

Rosalie watched as the man let out a shrill and kicked at a nearby crate—one, two, three times. The man then ran a shaking hand through his hair before storming off. He didn’t need to worry about the crowd, though, as she continued to watch him until he turned the corner and there was nothing left to be seen. Then just like that, the chatter resumed. Some seemed to still be talking about the plague and the man’s unfortunate circumstance. Rosalie wanted to ask what sort of plague this was, how long it had been going on. Did mother know?

Although she never dared give it more than a second’s thought, a part of her wondered if her mother was affected. Surely not!

Rosalie, though, stood and watched while she pondered whether she ought to approach the woman. The more the watched her, with her crooked smile, slender fingers and painted nails, she wasn’t sure whether to trust the woman. Still, she considered it might be worth it to ask. She was simply too curious.

“Yes m’dear. How can I help?” Madame Rosseau’s voice was no longer harsh, but saccharine. A thrill seemed to punctuate her last word, head now tilting to the side.

“I was wondering if you might have something that might help my mother.”

“And what are her symptoms?”

“She has been nauseated, has had blurry vision, and she is suffering from a severe bought of fatigue.”

“Surely you must be joking,” her words mixed in with a soft chuckle of amusement.

“No, I…”

“M’dear, I do have something it she is afflicted as you say. But I make no guarantees. You saw Monsieur Blac’s distress. My suggestion: if she’s still awake, you might as well save your fortune and spend what little time you may have left with her.”

Rosalie looked at her with confusion, taking a step back and shaking her head. What was she insinuating?

Rosalie swallowed. “And how much might the cure be?”
            “Twenty silvers—and it’s no cure. Merely something I’ve concocted that has helped in some cases if the victim is still in the beginning stages. Of course, those symptoms are rather vague and not always indicative of the plague.”

It suddenly made sense why the woman had chuckled at her list of symptoms. Was her mother truly more ill than she supposed? And if so…the cost of the supposed cure.

“20 Silvers?! The plague?” Rosalie could hardly contain her shock. Who here would have enough for that? No wonder the man was livid. If he had purchased anything for such a promise and it did not work, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her temper in check.

“And…how long will you be in town?”

“Today is the last day, dearie.”

Rosalie gave a nod and stumbled back. With the cloak affecting her peripheral vision, she found herself quickly bumping into another man behind her as the hood of her cloak came tumbling down. She didn’t know why she looked back at Madame Rosseau but she did for the briefest of moments before she hurriedly pulled the cloak back up.

Her hands shook now, almost sensing her mother’s displeasure. Never show the mark.

Rosalie stumbled through the crowd, over various pebbles and even her own foot until she well out of sight of the woman. She bumped into a few more people, but kept hands on the cloak as she weaved her way through. Her only thought was to escape Madame Rosseau’s ice-blue stare.

##

Vegetables and Meat were the only other items on her list, but Rosalie only wanted to leave town. She only wanted to go back to her mother and make sure she was safe. Did she know about the plague? And if so, why had she not fallen ill?

Too many questions filled her mind as she hauled her bag of grain—her only spoil of the day. She quickened her pace, following the familiar paths until the cottage came into view. By then, the sun had just begun to set.

“Mother?” Rosalie peered into the cracked doorway, perhaps hoping to see her mother well enough to be cleaning the kitchen. Instead, she was met with complete silence and a ransacked room. The table was overturned, the wooden chair split. Little bit of porcelain dishes and cups were spread across the floors.

And the stench of blood made her almost gag.

“MOTHER!” She screamed.

A moan answered her from the back room. Rosalie bolted in that direction, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

Her mother was not on the bed as she ought to be, but sprawled across the floor and tangled in blood-soaked sheets. The woman let out a few moans of frustration as she tried to lift an arm toward her daughter.

“Ro—”

She rushed to her mother’s side, eyes focused on the spot of red on her abdomen. Pressure. She needed to apply pressure. Shaking hands lifted and clamped over the spot of red. She could feel the dampness spreading, the soft pulse of life within her mother dissipating with each second that passed.

“Rosalie.”

“I—I don’t understand.” She chocked back a sob. “Who did this?”

Her mother coughed, small drops of blood now splattering across Rosalie’s cheeks.

“Run.”

Rosalie shook her head. Run? And leave her mother? Impossible. Where would she go? What would she do? The thought of abandoning her mother was ought of the question.

“Shhhh. It’ll be alright.” The words tasted bitter on her lips, like her treacherous tongue knew the words to be a lie. She watched as her mother lifted an arm again and brushed fingers against her cheek. “Who did this to you?” Rosalie asked again. Her mother just closed her eyes.

“Don’t ask questions. Just go, before they come back. The men who did this—they were looking for you.”

“But—but why?” It was impossible to imagine anyone that would intentionally harm her or her mother.

“Just go!”

“I’m not leaving your side,” Rosalie hissed through clenched teeth.

She could see a million shades of heartbreak color her mother’s eyes. When mother tried to push her hands away, Rosalie proceeded to apply harder pressure. She watched as a single tear escaped and ran across her hands.

“You have to go; there are men out there who would see you killed!”

“I don’t care!”

“Please, Rosalie. I am not who you believe. I am not your birthmother. You need to go to the town of Flouchester and fine two women there. My sisters. Yoland and Faeve.”

“But—”

Mother interrupted her. “You need to go, now—before…they…come…back…” The words trailed off into a soft whisper, her energy well spent. Rosalie could barely hear the words over the sobs that rattled her chest.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” she sniffed back more tears, her hands not fumbling to keep pressure against the pooling of blood. “I don’t care if they come, and I don’t care if you aren’t my mother.”

Mother did not answer—only alternated between moans and shaking breaths. Rosalie had no idea if she could hear what she said, but she continued to stay for both their sakes. She whispered, “I’m not leaving you” over and over again. A chant of hope until she had to acknowledge the sign of death that spread over her mother’s face.

How long she stayed there, she couldn’t tell. But by the time she felt her mother’s hand go slack, something inside Rosalie broke. She cried out, body slung over her mother’s now lifeless body. She yelled and slammed a fist against the wooden floor, then pulled back her hand in pain. Not a good idea. She examined her fingers, covered in her mother’s blood now. Her mother, now dead.

She was now completely alone.

Rosalie let out a soft stream of tears, only stopped by the sound of male voices in the other room. Fear kept her frozen in place.

“Why didn’t you just come and tie her up yourself? Instead of abandoning your post and sending for us?”

“I didn’t know if it was her!”

“Of course it’s her, you bloody idiot,” the man muttered. “Who else would be coming here? Besides, she has the scar.”

“Right…”

“She better be here, Julian, or I’ll have your head instead.

The man’s voice was followed by the sounds of boots clomping and brandished swords. Within seconds they barged in the room and began to head straight for her.

“Get her now!”

Rosalie screamed, arms shaking as she spread them before her dead mother. A part of her somehow believed they were still after the dead woman—not her. The men paid no heed to the dead body, though, and went straight for her. With a few swift movements, they had her arms tied behind her back as they ushered her through door. She wasn’t dead. They didn’t kill her.  This revelation didn’t make the experience any more comfortable as she squirmed.

“Let me go! JUST LET ME GO!” She tried to use her shoulder and feet to gain some leverage, but she had no hope against three masked men. They were intent on taking her from her only source of comfort and hope.

“Shut her up!” One of the men ordered, and Rosalie found a cloth promptly being stuffed in her mouth.

Still, she screamed as hot tears continued to pour down her face.