Ericka thought to herself: 'Men are boring.'
On the night of her 14th birthday, Ericka von Vanderburgh walked back to her room with no less than six hundred different written proposals. All, Aphrodite help her, would regurgitate the same nonsense as the last with nothing new to say. Like she said, men are boring.
Ericka threw down her proposals on the floor and crawled into bed. She had little time to relax though before her father, Viscount Vanderburgh, walked in. He grinned slightly and looked at the proposals, "Surely, out of all these men, one of them caught your eye?"
"You'd be mistaken. No less than ten men offered me my own separate wing on their estates."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"Perhaps for a woman who loves the stuffy estate life. I'd rather be out there, with a group of companions, exploring."
Lord Vanderburgh empathized with his daughter, truly, but Vanderburgh women were homemakers and nothing else. Their place in the world was to have no place. Besides, adventures were dangerous and Vanderburgh, with Ericka as the sole heir, couldn't risk her not coming back alive.
Her father tugged at his sleeves in slight hesitation and looked at Ericka's bedroom wall. It was decorated with a golden fleece. Etched into the gorgeous, shining fabric was a full-blown map of the world. This was his father-in-law's gift to Ericka on the day she was born and the most likely source of her ideals. Lord Vanderburgh, staring at Ericka's most prized possession, made up his mind for her sake.
Gesturing to one of the servants, he said, "Tear it down and put it into the incinerator outside. It would seem that Lady Ericka's head is in the clouds."
Ericka, rising to her feet, said, "You can't! This was a gift from Grandpa and you're going to destroy it? That's not fair!"
Lord Vanderburgh bit his lip in frustration. As he suspected, she was too emotionally attached to this little piece of fabric. Grabbing Ericka by the shoulders and pushing her into the wall, he shoved a finger in her face and shouted, "This is not the first time you've undermined my authority, Ericka, but it will be the last! If you ever want my approval-!"
"I do!"
"Then might I suggest that you stop acting like a child!"
Viscount Vanderburgh turned around and stormed out of Ericka's bedroom. Not too long later, the maid left with the fleece. Staring at the now empty walls, Ericka couldn't suppress the urge to cry. Curling up beside her bed, she sobbed into the night.
Meanwhile, a peculiar visitor waited just outside Ericka's window. With a mask covering his face and neck, he said, "If Fabien's source is correct than this should be Lord Vanderburgh's room. What am I saying? He was just in there! Of course, this is his room!"
Before he could make a move, the bedroom window opened and his breath hitched. Hesitantly turning his head, he made direct eye contact with a young girl. A wave of relief rushed through him.
"Oh, thank the gods! I thought you were-"
"The guards? The viscount?"
"Yeah..."
Although this girl's nightgown was made from fine silk, he assumed that she was a victim of the county's serfdom policy, a servant. A very pretty servant with weary emerald green eyes. In that split moment, the mysterious stranger almost found himself lost in them.
In a strange turn of events, the pretty servant girl held out her hand for him. "Come on," She said, "It's cold out there and you're likely going to get spotted standing outside the daughter of the viscount's room."
The mysterious stranger internally cursed Fabien and his bad intel, but he welcomed himself into the room, thinking of this as a way to easily get to the viscount's room. His plan wasn't in complete ruins yet. In fact, thanks to this beauty right in front of him, he was basically saved.
"Who are you, Sir?"
"Eugene Hilgraad, master thief and single. What about you, Little Bird?"
Ericka hesitated. Not only not wanting to give this thief her name, but not wanting to have her own name anymore. This was her chance for reidentification, this was her chance for freedom. All she had to do was play a part.
She smiled and said, "My name is Tywren and I'm a servant or... well, I used to be."
Eugene grimaced, no doubt the viscount got angry with her and shouted at her just now, even going as far as to rip the fleece off of her wall. He pitied her. Authority could be so troublesome, as he well knew.
"Tywren," Eugene said, taking her hand, "If you can get me out of this place and promise go help out with a little errand, I vow on my very heart to free you. You could go anywhere, be anything, but first you have to help me."
Tywren sat there and contemplated her options. She looked over at the scissors sitting on her vanity and, in one fluid motion, cut several inches off of her hair. Eugene watched in amazement as her gorgeous hair fell to the floor.
"Why on Earth did you do that?"
"You want to escape, right? Don't worry; this is all a part of the plan."