Whoever said anything about happily ever after was sorely mistaken.
His name was Robert Devereux. He was kind, honorable, intelligent, and always had a great sense of humor.
The only problem was that he was my master.
My name is not important; it never really was, since it was quite common. I lived, with my family, and others in a grand house, in an even grander neighborhood, in a fine city. The city is not important either; for all great cities are alike, in their manners and their people, their bearings and their character.
I had known Robert, or Robin as I will prefer, since we were both quite young. We were playmates, he and I; my siblings also played with us, and we were all so very happy with this position in our lives, that we forgot that we were in distinctly different social classes, with he as our lord, and us as his servants. Of course, as children, one does not understand it, nor do they until they are distinctively told so. It would only be a few years after that he would soon put on the mantle of lordship; that would be when things would start to change between he and I.
It was when he and I were both middling, not quite children but not quite adults either, that I noticed things had gotten strange. I saw nuanced changes within me, the swell of curves on my body, and the monthly changes that my mother most assuredly told me was normal. But I also saw how much my dear Robin grew. It may have been something in the air, but I started to see him....differently, as if I saw him like an idol. I wholeheartedly noticed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his body. I saw how he acted, how he would behave around other people. I saw this not as an equal, as I so hoped and prayed that I would one day be, but as one of lesser rank. I watched as he would go out, going to balls and other social events, while I stayed back, keeping a silent vigil on him, and what he did. I saw him court ladies, and I remeber being ferociously jealous of all of them, even though I knew that I could never have a chance. But what kept my head held high while he would kiss the ladies goodbye was the slim - and improbable - chance that he would pick me, of all the ladies he knew, he would pick me.
But such was not the case.
I remember the day of his wedding, to a girl named Catherine Livingston. The smells, the sounds, the people clambering everywhere to make everything perfect. As fate would have it, I would be with Ms. Livingston, and help her dress. My rival who never was, was marrying my dear Robin. As I looked at her, I grudgingly acknowledged how pretty she looked; her sable hair and light eyes were quite a perfect match. I would try not to think of her, and Robin, and what they would do that night. The idea repulsed my to end.
I watched them say their vows, and walk off happily in their merry way. How I wished that would be me, with Robin, down that aisle, wearing that dress, with that smile.
But who ever said I need a happy ending?