Captured by the Dark Lord by Jaide Fox Page B

women and the burning of supposedly evil sorceresses, who
were in league with the devil. 
                Mayhap, the
villagers had been behind her parents' deaths and she simply had to count
herself blessed that she had not been in the house that day.  Had been sent out
on an errand for a ribbon for one of her mother's new hats. 
                Or conceivably,
it was something more sinister and something that was completely beyond her
cognizance. 
                Again, and not
for the first time, she wished that her mother had explained these...talents to
her.  Isabeau wished that she wasn't so in the dark as to what she was able to
do.  But it was simply a waste of time to wish for things that were impossible
and Isabeau had no other choice but to wait to learn all that she could do. 
                Patience was not,
however, one of her virtues. 
                Closing the door
to the ale house as gently as she could, Isabeau sighed out in relief as she
finally entered the yard.  A horse neighed and she froze at the sound, but
relaxed moments later as she realized that it came from the inn's own stables. 
                Not from men
seeking her.
                The heels of her
worn boots clipped and clattered against the cobbled, stone floor and the
slight sound rang out loudly in the courtyard.  It wasn't enough to cause any
alarm to the inhabitants of the inn, but it instantly betrayed her position and
opened her to danger from those who were hunting her. 
                If anyone was hunting her, that was. 
                It was feasible
that lack of sleep had her so highly strung that she saw ghouls and goblins,
here where there were none to see.
                Resolutely, she
continued on her way and when she finally exited the yard and walked down the
country lane, she praised the Goddess for the moon.  While it lit her path, it
was not so bright as to highlight her whereabouts. 
                Beside her, in
the tight thoroughfare, were hedgerows which were taller than even her.  They
also blanketed her position and for the moment, she knew she was safe. 
                Opening her mind,
as Isabeau had learned to do, she slowly changed her appearance in the darkened
protection of the rough track.  Slowly, her long, dark red hair turned into
straggles of lank, greasy gray.  The violet eyes that garnered her attention no
matter the situation and had to be constantly repressed with glamor, developed
into watery blue orbs that added decades to her real age.  They added a down
trodden, weariness to her appearance that added to the authenticity of her
disguise. 
                The smooth and
tanned skin of a youthful young woman became wrinkled and sun damaged.  A mole
popped out on her chin and she grimaced as she felt the slight growth of two,
three, four hairs pop out of the fleshy mound.  She licked her lips to wet the
dry flesh and realized that the soft and gentle pout of her mouth had become a
hard thin line. 
                With the tip of
her tongue, she prodded a strange mark on her lip and realized that it was a
scar.  Using her fingers, she delineated the scar and realized that it cut
across both of her lips and along her chin and down her jaw. 
                The petite and
curvy figure became skinny and lanky.  The ragged clothes became even more
ragged and drowned her now thinner frame.  With her costume complete, she
exhaled in relief, feeling almost like the tortoise, who could pop into its
shell whenever it felt endangered.
                Her glamor was
her shell and no matter how many times she used the gift of hiding and
disguising the true Isabeau, it always surprised her when her appearance changed
and so thoroughly. 
                It was simply a
case of wishing to change her appearance and her talents prevailed.