This is Probably a Terrible Idea.

 

Well, uh. Hi. My name is Juliet Maverick. Juliet is my given name... well, sort of. Juliette, with the extra t and e at the end, was what my parents named me a very long time ago - I've just shortened it because I really hated how the french embellish their words. Maverick is the name I picked up a while ago when I met a pioneer who called me one, because I both loved the term and I hated the reminder that my family was all gone.  

My particular line was doomed when my brothers and sisters all died before the age of 2, from various causes. I had two older sisters die within days of their births. One of my brothers made it all the way into toddlerhood before he fell to consumption. Another died in the plague. I also heard whispers of a stillbirth after me, which was said to have put my mother into such a state that she never really recovered. Or maybe that's a story I made up to myself when I was a child. I only remember her as a figure in front of the big kitchen hearth, rocking, rocking, rocking in that wooden chair my father made for her. I grew up mostly on my own.

What about my father? You might ask. Well. Da was quiet, and always out on the farm, working. Every morning I'd wake up after he was gone, when the warmth of the fire finally heated our stone house. He'd come back mid-morning with our meat and whatever vegetables we had and start our supper stew - but by then I was usually away.  Mum and I would eat whenever I managed to get her attention every day, and he would come home long after it was dark. When I got older and knew what they were, I always wondered he was at the pub, but if he was, it never changed his routine. He got up before dark every day and came home after dark every day, and in the middle, he took care of us.

On our farm, we had everything we needed for living: some fields of rye and barley and oats, but mostly we had cows and pigs and sheep. The sheep and the lambs seemed to be his favorite, as far as I could tell. The only time my father ever allowed me to spend any time with him was every year where he would bring our sheep and lambs into the town center each year during the Shearing Festival. I'd walk in town in my farmer's dungarees and jumper, my hair wound up and tucked under a hat, our sheeping dogs barking and nipping at the herd's edges to push them forward. The townspeople always thought I was his shepherd boy, which suited me just fine. I saw how the girls in town dressed, with the big skirts and tight corsets, barely being able to take a step, or breathe. And I saw what marriage and children did to my Mum. I wanted none of THAT, thank you very much. 

We did this for a good number of years, my parents and I. Every day, no matter what the weather, I walked our countryside. Back then my da used to try his hand at cheese making, so every day I'd head to the stone slab covering his cave, where I'd study the rounds of cheese wrapped in burlap. Some days he'd have one for tasting or where someone couldn't pay for a whole round, and those were the BEST days for me. Even now a good imported sheep's milk raw cheese can bring me back to that cave.

But there was no keeping me inside fo very long. With the freedom I had, I spent every one of my days wandering. I so loved those walks along the countryside. Even though that wandering led to my downfall - the reason why I'm here today. I am doomed to spend eternity wandering this Earth with no rest. I know, I know, it sounds dramatic. But it's also true.

I'm a vampire, you see.