Angel
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Angele Ch. 01 free porn video
She sat reading at the kitchen table, as she did every morning, waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven. The lantern light flickered across the page as she started reading the next chapter drawing her attention back to reality. The sun had started rising without her realization. Angele jumped to her feet, startled so much time had passed already. She was a slender, beautiful girl of 18 with mahogany hair soft as satin and warm brown eyes men tended to get lost in. At her age, Angele had the curves any woman would envy and every male wanted to dominate. Rushing to the oven, Angele saved the bread from burning just in time and placed it on the table. ‘Angele?’ Gethen, her father, called down the stairs as he descended. It had been the same ever since her mother had passed on years ago.
‘I’m here, Papa.’ Her father was the only family she had left. While other girls were already married and starting families, her only wish was to stay home and take care of her father as it seemed his health was failing more and more often. Though sometimes she wondered what would happen to her once her father did pass on, she always decided she’d face that when it happened. Watching for her father, Angele didn’t realize how close her hand was to the oven vent. Her mind was on her worries so she didn’t immediately notice as her left hand settled on the vent. After a few seconds, the pain finally penetrated her thoughts. Crying out, she attempted to pull her hand from the oven. Her hand had been on the vent for too long, however, and her skin had fused to the surface. Gritting her teeth, Angele yanked her hand free, tearing the skin off of her palm at the base of her fingers. Blood started to flow from her raw hand as she quickly tried to wrap it in her apron.
‘Angele! You more careful!’ Her father chided her as he did his best to get to her side. At one time, her father had been a tall, proud man. Standing to full height, he had been six foot one inch and one of the best hunters around. He was also very intelligent. Gethen was always coming up with ways to make the life in the village easier, or at least that is how it had been in the past. Years of hardship and heartbreak over the death of his beautiful wife had taken more than their fair toll on the poor hunched man in front of her. Now walking with a limp from the shipwreck that had also ended her mother’s life, Gethen panted with the effort of trying to make it to his daughter’s side. Examining her hand, his thoughts strayed to the life they had lost.
Before the shipwreck, Gethen had been very wealthy from the furs of the animals he hunted. His family never wanted for anything in those happy years. Gethen himself though had not been satisfied and thought that he’d be able to sell the furs at a much higher price than the merchant that had been transporting them. The merchant had explained due to the fact that the furs were being transported by wagon through the mountains, they wouldn’t bring the profit desired. Gethen argued with the man, wanting him to sail the furs to the city. The merchant refused, he had been wary of the waters. Gethen, being as prideful as he was, decided he’d show the merchant there was nothing to fear and rented out a vessel. His beautiful wife, however, had begged him not to go for she feared he would never return. In his overconfidence, he convinced her to join him on this journey, leaving Angele with a close neighbor.
For the first few days, the journey went smoothly. Yet when the ship was half a day’s distance from shore, a terrible storm hit. As if the very ocean had been angered by Gethen’s greed and arrogance, the waves seized the small barge and dashed it into the cliffs. The ship was utterly destroyed, taking all of Gethen’s hard-earned, fine furs to the bottom of the sea. Worse still, when he finally awoke on the shore, what else did he first see, but his precious wife’s lifeless body. The waves that had barely put her to the shore still engulfed her over and over as if the sea was trying to reclaim her. Though she was only a short distance away, Gethen had been badly injured, his leg broken, and could not move fast enough. As his fingertips brushed her cold skin, one last surge and the ocean stole the love of his life away with more permanence than death itself. He finally was able to return home weeks later, but with nothing.
The village had took pity on him at first, sympathizing with his loss. As the years came to pass, many had started to whisper things. Some said he had squandered his earnings and perhaps had even sold his wife before returning. Others gossiped that maybe his wife had found another lover, stealing Gethen’s profits and escaping away in the night. The cruelest yet suggested he had murdered his wife and had spent the wages to keep the fact remaining a secret. Never the less there were still those believed in Gethen. They excused his irrational habits and behavior, thinking that the trauma might have made his mind weak and it was the reason for the deteriorating state of his health. Angele had showed no sign of interest in any suitors and dedicated herself only to the health and care of her father. Even the most avid and handsome Samil hadn’t seemed to be able to appeal to her.
Though Angele’s inhibitions towards men might have been a good thing, Gethen despaired over what fate would bestow upon her. Trying to focus back on her injuries, he noted that not only had she been burned pretty badly but her palm had quiet a bit of flesh missing, flesh the oven vent had refused to relinquish. Seeing this as an opportunity to get her to go into town and maybe find someone suited to her taste, Gethen started trying to form the right way to persuade her to go, maybe there would be a traveler or gentleman visiting since no one here had succeeded yet. She always seemed to want to try to avoid that ‘daunting task’, as she called it and his mind seemed to be exceedingly less cooperative for vocabulary than in days of old.
‘Angele, maybe you go into town to doctor for this?’ Frustrated with his obviously increasing limitations, Gethen looked at her with pleading eyes. He only hoped she’d be able to understand that he really would like her to get out of the house for a little while. She’d been reading and tending to the few animals they had obtained for over a week now without even the slightest inclination about going into the village. He glanced around the little kitchen trying to be inconspicuous. Noting the items they were becoming low on, he decided that if she tried to resist he’d ask for the supplies as a back up reason. If she agreed without complaint, he’d leave the shopping for another day or so to have a reason to get her back into the village.
Angele stared at her hand in utter frustration. She had to be more attentive of her surroundings: especially for her father’s sake. Sometimes he just did not notice the danger in things as normal minds would. It proved to help sometimes in some of his inventions. Other times, it seemed to just make things worse because he did not understand why she would insist on his ceasing when projects became too dangerous. Instinctively, her eyes swept to the corner of the kitchen where a big contraption was hidden away under a sheet. It was by far the most hazardous contrivance her father had come up with yet. The intention was for it to be able to cut firewood down to a size suitable for bread ovens all on its own. The worst part was that he was insisting that every time he tested or worked on it, the real ax had to be involved.
‘Papa, I don’t think it’s that bad,’ Angele tried to excuse it but winced as she attempted to rearrange her apron covering the still bleeding wounds. Her father never missed anything, and his expression visibly showed more worry. Not wanting to upset him further, Angele conceded. She didn’t think he would try anything dangerous in the short amount of time that Dr. Du Bols would need to examine her hand. ‘Yes, Papa, I’ll go into town. Is there anything we need for when I com
e back?’ Angele asked starting to look around the kitchen just as he had seconds before.
Trying to dissuade her, Gethen shook his head fervently. ‘No trouble yourself. Just worry about hand,’ he pleaded, hoping she didn’t interpret his real reasons for wanting her to go into town. Though he was genuinely concerned with her injury, his eyes flickered over to his invention. He was convinced all he needed was a few candle marks, and he’d have it working and completely functional. When he looked back to his daughter, she was studying him as if worried of what he might do while she was out. He tried to look as if he had nothing important on his mind, and he must have been successful. Angele, still clutching her hand, moved to the door and slipped her shoes on. With only a quick farewell, she left her father alone. Listening to see if she had truly gone, Gethen waited. Once he was satisfied that it was only him and the animals, he snatched the sheet off his soon-to-be prize invention with such force it sounded with a crack, sending the dust flying.
Normally Angele would have waited outside the door to hear if her father rushed to get tools and start tinkering. Today was different. Her palm felt as if it was bound to red hot irons. She quickened her steps to put less distance between her and the small village. Her house had been one of the furthest from the center of their little town, close to the forest on one side with a sprawling open field to the other: something the cruelest of the townspeople hadn’t missed. The stories of fairies and the evil creatures that inhabited the wood had been around ever since she could remember. Though she’d never seen anything to attest to the existence of such critters, some still whispered about curses and such that might be over her family.
Heaving a sigh, Angele came to a realization as she started getting into the more populated area: she just did not like people. No matter how nice and kind she was, people in general still insisted on being bitter and inconsiderate. The town was starting to come to life now that the sun had started to peak over the nearby mountains. They bustled around in the same manner as every morning. Sometimes it seemed like this tiny village was just repeating the same day over and over. Hearing the church bells ring to signify it was seven hours past the mid-hour of the night, she watched the door of the bakery. Before the bell had even finished ringing, the baker came out with fresh hot rolls, just the same as any other day.
Shaking her head with a slight smile, Angele continued on her way. Like normal, as she strolled through the streets at a quick place, eyes followed her. Men, some even married, looked after her with varying expressions. Women, on the other hand, seemed to ignore her completely. She saw some girls she once played with when she had been a child standing in a group. As soon as they noticed her, however, they turned their backs and headed down a lane between the houses. Sighing again, Angele tried to focus on her hand. She needed to get to Dr. Du Bols. The sooner she got there, the sooner she could go home.
The doctor’s house was at the far end of the little square in the right side corner. In the middle of the square stood a fountain that was a tribute to the queen of the good fairies. Angele never understood that if many of the townspeople denied the existence of these magical beings, then why would they have a fountain built in recognition of their queen? Still pondering that fact, she rushed past it, reminding herself that she needed to stay focused on her injury. Realizing it had gone almost completely numb, she quickened her stride to almost a run. She didn’t notice the shorter man leaning up against the side of the tavern as she rushed to open the doctor’s door, but Gervaise made note of her. As she disappeared from sight, he chuckled and hurried back towards his master’s house.
The little tarnished bell chimed as Angele rushed through the door. It was a wonderful idea her father had presented to the doctor. If someone were to enter at a leisurely pace the bell would only tinkle. If a person were to dash in with a medical emergency, it would sound off with a shrill clang. Though it didn’t seem all that loud or shrill, Dr. Du Bols jumped out of his kitchen as though he thought someone might’ve been shot with a musket. He must still be getting used to the bell, she thought to herself. Seeing her dress splattered with the blood that had seeped through the apron, the older man visibly paled.
‘Angele! Child, what ever happened to you?!’ he exclaimed, surging towards her in a hurry now. Dr. Du Bols had been the only doctor in this village since his father had passed the trade to him. He had never found the time to marry, though, and as such had never produced an heir to carry on his profession. He adored the younger people of the town and when asked about his decision not to marry and have kids, he simply answered that he had never found the time while taking care of his ailing father. Angele sometimes worried she would end up the same way. Putting that line of thought out of her head, she started to peel the apron from her seared flesh and tissue. Gasping in the painful effort, Angele tried to gather her thoughts so she could explain.
‘I was cooking the morning bread and got distracted,’ she began. ‘My hand got too close to vent and I just did not realize.’ With that the doctor cut her words short with a single look.
‘Reading those books again?’ He asked with obvious disapproval, ushering her into the sitting room. ‘You know, Angele, a young woman such as yourself should be busy making a home? Most ladies,’ he said putting emphasis on the word, ‘don’t even know how to read.’ As Dr. Du Bols lectured her, he was wandering around collecting the salves, gauze, and such needed items from the shelves lining the walls. While Dr. Du Bols continued the lecture, Angele started looking for a way to change the subject. It seemed all too often that, no matter where she went, she was always getting told how it was wrong for her to want to learn and read. Seeing a new bear throw rug as she started towards the chaise he had motioned towards, she seized the opportunity.
‘I apologize for the interruption, doctor, but is that a new fur? It’s so beautiful! It has such unique markings,’ she gushed, trying to sound as exuberant as any of the others would be in this hamlet. Hunting was one of the only excitements this village seemed to appreciate. As for Angele, she had never approved. Hunting the animals out of necessity for food, she could understand. Killing them senselessly because their fur had unique or beautiful patterns? Not only was the thought of that almost sickening, but it had been the destruction of her family.
Eying her with obvious suspicion, Dr. Du Bols led her the rest of the way over to the chaise by the window so that he could get a better look at her hand. She had forgotten the doctor had known her ever since she was a child. ‘You’ve taken a sudden interest in the trapping art, have you?’ He took a pair of tweezers and methodically started removing the bits of lint from the wounds. Angele bit her lip, trying not to cry out as the cold metal scrapped across her raw tissue. Oblivious, the doctor continued on, ‘Master Samil shot that bear for me a few weeks ago, had a bit of a time with it too, apparently. Left claw gashes right down his back, it did.’ The old man was smiling as if the thought of Samil’s personal struggle with the bear excited him. He probably wishes that it was him out there, Angele thought to herself, suppressing her sigh with a little effort.
‘I had to sew up the scratches, I did. He was so grateful that, in exchange, he gifted me this splendid throw rug,’ he said, gesturing to the pitiful carcass on the floor that once was a mighty creature. As he placed the tweezers on the table, he picked up a glass bowl, positioning it under her hand on his knees, and a glass bottle full of almost clear liquid. Knowing that the water from
this area never got that clear even from the spring, Angele braced herself for the burn. ‘This’ll hurt,’ was the only warning Dr. Du Bols gave her. He poured the alcohol over the burns, clamping down on her wrist with a grip of iron when her arm jerked, an involuntary reaction. Pain seared through her mind, sending tears flowing down her cheeks. Still she did not cry out, she was too proud for that.
The doctor glanced over her features to make sure she was not going to faint. Too many times did he have women in his house that, even at the slightest amount of pain, would collapse. It was the very reason he had her come to the chaise. He didn’t have the strength as he had in his youth. Angele had always been a strong-willed young lady though. A head-strong, beautiful girl who never seemed to figure out that in these times, it was better to try to blend in and just deal with it than being so outspoken. Dr. Du Bols wondered if she had ever considered the consequences of being so different. As he wound the gauze around her hand, he considered trying to talk to her about it once more. At least it’d break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. Studying her face once more, the doctor decided against it. If she were to ever find a man who would be suited to match her, it be a miracle, thought Du Bols. Either that or he’ll have to be just as peculiar as she is.
Angele listened as the doctor warned her about keeping the bandages dry and giving the wounds some air periodically but only half of her mind was hearing his words. By the time she left, Angele’s spirits had dropped significantly. How could she have let herself be so careless? Who was going to do the cooking for the next few days? These and similar questions kept swirling through her mind to the point that she didn’t even noticed the other villagers looking at her blood splattered dress in alarm. Remembering her father’s worry, though, Angele decided since she was already in town, she would go to the place that never failed to cheer her.
As soon as Angele walked into the book shop, Pierre knew something was wrong. He was a burly man aged into his late forties. He had always approached life with a smile and a warm heart. The Lord had been kind enough to grant him a wife and family for that, or at least that was his belief. Having a daughter himself, he could recognize that look. Angele shuffled in, starring at the floor, looking as if she had suffered a tragedy. Pierre wondered if it had been more careless comments from the other townsfolk. They seemed to delight in causing this young lady undue grief over what he thought was a valiant act, her taking care of her father instead of abandoning him to start a family of her own. Then he noticed the blood on her dress.
Still chastising herself, Angele wondered over to the closest shelf. It was her favorite because it held all of the stories about princes, fairies, dragons and such. The books always helped her escape from her life and from the worries it contained.
‘Difficult morning?’ Pierre asked hoping the blood on her dress had not come from her father. Angele jumped. She hadn’t even noticed Pierre standing close to the back of the shop. He was looking at her with a gentle smile and compassionate, yet worried eyes. Angele smiled back as best she could. He was right: it had been a rough morning. She thought about confiding in him. She had always found it easy to talk to the gentle man. He somehow seemed to understand her love and joy for the written word.
‘Yes, Monsieur Pierre, it has been a very trying morning.’ With that, Angele started pouring her heart out to the kindly man. He tsked in all the appropriate places and shook his head in others. Once she was finished, Angele took a deep breath to try to keep the tears back. She had ended with how much she was actually worried about becoming a spinster. She hadn’t realized how much this frightening possibility had worried her until now. Pierre studied her with guarded eyes and looked like he was about to say something she may not like. He looked at his hands as he began.
Josephina
- 25.09.2020
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