IT WAS RAINING when they came for her. When they killed her parents.

The day before was for preparing. The day that would follow was the most dreaded day of the young girl's life. She found this fact mildly amusing, as it was always Sundays that caused her the most uneasiness because those were the Holy days. The days of 1572 weren't what she would call progressive in terms of religious freedom.

Protestants like her and her parents were never safe, it seemed. Even though the wars between the Catholics and Huguenots had broken out when she was just two, her parents always reminded her that the tension had been building for years prior.

"Les guerres viennent peut-être de commencer, ma chérie, mais la haine était déjà là," her père warned her on nights like these. The wars may have just begun, my dear, but the hatred was already there.

She supposed this was true, based on the general consensus of the large group surrounding her. Most of the Protestants left in France were men who had had enough of les complots and schemes of Catherine d' Medici, the controlling and seemingly immortal mother of King Charles IX. The royal line had always spoken of religious freedom in their country and promised its citizens that while Catholicism was the preferred faith of the Royals, any daughter of France was welcome to pursue the faith that she desired.

Of course, French royalty was especially known for its slippery way of manipulating the past to shape the future. When a German monk called Martin Luther renounced the ways of the Catholic Church in 1517, any thought of religious freedom was dismissed to be a figment of a person's imagination. Catholicism was declared the official religion of France, and any practice other than that of the French court was considered heresy of the highest order. What was once considered a strong suggestion by the king was now a direct order, one which was punishable by hanging if disobeyed.

The young girl shivered despite the warm summer breeze that rustled the many layers of her skirts. "Maman?" She asked, searching the growing crowd of Huguenots for her mother. "Où êtes-vous allé?" Ducking around a small group of men who were praying in hushed voices, their words slurring together so fast that they were unrecognizable, the girl anxiously turned her head back and forth, waiting to find her parents.

"Jacqueline, there you are," her father called from somewhere behind her, weaving through the dirty skirts and pants of the working class French men and women that had gathered that night. "The service is about to start, where have you been?"

She looked up at her father and furrowed her eyebrows. "I didn't move, Papa. I stayed right where you told me to." She crossed her arms and huffed, "It was you who left me."

Her father's gray eyes sparkling in the moonlight, she saw him reach out for her and envelope her in his grasp. "Oh, ma chérie, I would never leave you. You know that, don't you?" He peered into his daughter's eyes, pride swelling in his chest at the way she smiled at him, utterly and completely trusting in him.

When the young girl nodded, she released her father and took his hand, following his lead as they took their place in the dark cellar of her house where the others were waiting.

The Protestant movement, even in such a small village as hers, had to congregate in secret every week, often in the middle of the night and at different places. Jacqueline's father had offered up their small house as the next location for the Saturday service, admitting that while the cellar was less-than-satisfactory, it would hold enough people to compose a well-lit service for them. So, the day before had been spent preparing the space to hold the maximum amount of people it could. Jacqueline and her mother, despite the scandalized looks from the farmers that lived nearby, loaded all of the vegetables and stored goods into the far corners of the cellar and cleared as much space as absolutely possible for the gathering the following night.

Now, it was finally here.

"Bonsoir," the acting pastor called out gently, the rumblings of the cellar fading down to silence in the candle-lit space. "May the Lord's peace and grace be with you all on this honorary service for Saint Bartholomew, one of Christ's apostles."

"And also with you," the congregation responded, and they all bowed their heads to pray.

—————

The rain had started around halfway through the service, pounding on the ceiling and startling the ragged group of faithful people in Jacqueline's cellar. When one man went up to confirm that it was just the weather, the crowd visibly calmed down and returned to the sanctity of the moment.

Jacqueline liked to close her eyes in the darkness. That way, she didn't see any shadows. The candles, though helpful in breaking the solid darkness, only cast long shapes along the walls of the cellar that made her squeeze her father's hand tightly. I'm twelve years old now, she would always reprimand herself. I'm old enough to know that nothing can hurt me when I'm in the cellar. It's just a few shadows.

They were just about to start handing out Holy Communion with day-old bread and sour wine when the pounding became louder and more frantic. Jacqueline's head shot upward, opening her eyes as if to see through the floorboards above them. Something's wrong. One glance at her mother's kind face was enough to know that she wasn't the only one who had sensed it. But when she looked at her father, her heart clenched as she saw his determination and an easygoing smile on his lips.

"It's just the Holy Father," he called out, "raining down his blessings upon this holy night." Still, he moved to step over to the cellar stairs, opening the door to peer out into the rain.

Jacqueline followed her father with her eyes and stepped back as she saw a dark figure standing outside, a black hood hanging over his eyes and a large club clutched lazily in his hand. The room went completely silent, everyone holding their breath as if that would keep the stranger, no doubt one of Catherine's men, from spotting them and taking them to be hanged in front of the whole country.

"Qui  êtes-vous?" Her father demanded angrily.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, in one fluid motion, the club swung up and collided with the side of her father's face, causing him to leave the ground and soar a few feet to the right, crashing into the cement ground. The rapidly growing puddle of blood that surrounded his head like a halo told her that her father would not rise again.

A strangled scream fell from her lips and she fell to her knees as at least half of the group surged for the door, maybe thinking that if they could overwhelm the vigilante, they could run into the night and escape this inevitable fate. Others huddled in the corners, circling around each other and offering frantic prayers to their God that they hoped would listen.

As the group at the door quickly learned, the stray vigilante was not, in fact, a stray; a multitude of men in the same attire came to stand on his sides, others parading down the steps into the cellar itself. Jacqueline felt her mother's shaky hands on her waist as she was pulled further into the darkness. They were cornered like sheep, waiting for the merciless death that would no doubt follow.

Jacqueline hadn't thought about death very often in her twelve years of life. But now, it was the only thing she could think about. The image of her father's blood spilling out onto the floor was tattooed in her mind, never to leave it for as long as she lived. This night had already turned into one that she would never forget.

One of the vigilantes stood in front of her, the shadow of the hood keeping his face dans l'obscurité. For a second, he just stood there, as if contemplating what to do with them. The screams of the Huguenots surrounding them were filled with terror, some of them gurgling with blood that rose in their throats. It seemed that the screaming would never end, that it would go on forever, so long that Catholicism would truly become the only religion in France.

He reached out and clamped his strong hand on Jacqueline's thin arm and yanked her away from her mother, who was too weak to keep her in her hands. "Please, not my baby," her mother pleaded, "she is just a child, she is too young to die, je vous en prie, s'il vous plaît!" She begged as Jacqueline was carried away, thrown over his shoulder like a bale of hay.

Tears stained her cheeks as he carried her into the night, rain pounding on her body and washing together with tears. "Maman, Papa, où êtes-vous?" She called out, sobs wracking her chest and leaving her voice raw. "Maman, Papa, je t'aime..."

She was hauled on top of a horse that was waiting at the edge of the wood, roughly hanging there. When she tried to sit up, she was merely pushed back down so she was laying on her stomach, nose pressed into the strong muscles of the animal. Only when her captor was straddling the horse himself was she picked up and held tightly to his chest to ensure that she didn't fall off. Cracking the reins, the horse sped off into the woods, the screams of her neighbors swallowed up by the thick forestry and the loud rain.

One glance around showed her four more horses, young children that looked like her held fast in the evil men's grips. Where are they taking me? She asked desperately, though she knew that question would never be answered. So she prayed. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come—"

"Ah, pray to your God, see if he listens," her kidnapper hissed in her ear, rancid breath making her cringe.

"He's your God, too," she spoke bravely, trying to twist around and see what kind of man would take a child in the name of Catholicism.

He scoffed. "There is no God, little one. I am my own God."

She faced forward, shocked by his words. He renounced the existence of a Holy Father. He wasn't a Huguenot, and he apparently wasn't a Catholic. If he wasn't one of Catherine's lackeys, then who was he?

"Now you settle in, little one," the man mocked her, holding her painfully tight against his chest. "It's going to be a long night for you and your new friends."

Jacqueline could feel the shock rising to her head, climbing through every passageway and barrier in her body to send a shot of warmth to her head. In a red haze that washed over her eyes, she closed her eyes and fell limp against her abductor.

As the dizzying ground moved quicker and quicker beneath her, she was taken into the darkness, but not before she heard two words that made her blood run cold.

"Heil Hydra!"

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hey there kiddos! i hope this wasn't as bad as i thought it was as i read it and rewrote it. but here's the history lesson that was included in this prologue:

jacqueline and her family are living during the french wars of religion, that took place between march 1682 and april 1598. this time was a series of wars between the french catholics(the reigning religion in that country for several centuries before) and the huguenots, which is the name for french calvinists, a branch of protestantism that was founded by john calvin.

this night in 1572 that the prologue takes place in is when the st. bartholomew's day massacre happened, which was when catholics went around paris and the entire nation, really, killing protestants and anyone who was not a catholic. this was a critical time in france's history because charles ix of france, the current king, had started to lean in favor of the huguenots, so his mother, catherine d' medici(yes, catherine from the cw show reign), who was a freakishly loyal catholic, sent her men and those of the guise family(powerful catholic family in france) to kill protestants.

this is really the only chapter that will include this much of a history lesson, but a few other things from this night and what happened to jacqueline will come up in later chapters. so if you hate history(*cough* cece), just know that it won't be the main plot of this story. i'm just explaining how jacqueline will eventually become jack, asset 53.

sooooo that's about it, thanks for reading! updates will be coming around every tuesday and friday until the end of this book, expected to be around march of 2019.

see you on tuesday!

published on: feb. 2, 2019