My bitterness and resentment towards my mother only grew.

I was a troublesome child. I got into everything, tearing apart clocks and fitting them back together, drawing on the walls, scratching things into tables. Fingers itching to create. As I grew older it was becoming clearer that what my mother wanted from me and what she would end up getting were completely different things. At the tender age of 12 years old I was taught manners.

"Every lady should have manners Kiera, proper manners are the cornerstone of perfect brides."

And so I had my manners lessons. And I was taught French of course, and when I finished that mother thought it wise that I should learn English too, then Latin, then German, and Spanish. Though I suspect at this point she was just trying to keep me occupied. She taught me piano, though I quickly out-learned her on that, and when Marie bought me my first violin I taught myself that too.

I was even given a rudimentary understanding of maths, and of course reading, which I could do in the many languages. All of this, and only being thirteen. Yet, still I could not impress my mother.

I was still ugly.

As far as my mother was concerned that meant I was completely un-marriageable, which was to her, the ultimate crime...

"Unmanageable! Unmarriageable! Well perhaps we can find a nice blind man for her!" I'd heard her exclaim more than once.

I climbed like a monkey. Read everything I could get my hands on. Understood things no child my age should. I'm not bragging, just telling the facts.

So, to keep me occupied, books were acquired from my father's library. The only real thing left of him... besides me, I mean.

I never knew my father, he died before I was born. I was glad for that. It was a mercy. But sometimes, I'd take one of the well loved volumes from his little collection, and I'd smell it. I like to think that my father always smelled like books. Books and sawdust. A smell I would later come to love.

But I digress.

My education was an odd one. Eclectic. Built out of the bricks of books and the mortar of Marie.

As it was, Marie was the one who first gave my mother the Idea.

"She already draws on everything. What's the harm in giving her some paper and crayons? At least that way you'll save your walls."

Then...

"She's already drawn the papers up, what would be the harm in sending some in? Surely Charles has some colleagues that could take a look at them."

She was speaking about the architectural pictures I was so fond of drawing. Encouraging my mother to send them to one of my late father's work friends.

So my mother did, and soon a very amused man was let into our house.

He must have thought this to be some clever ruse.

I was only 14 at the time, and surely no child could have drawn what was sent in. Let alone a female child.

What an imbecile.

My mother told me very clearly what to expect of this man.

"He used to work with your father. He is a good man, you sit here and... well just behave,"my mother sighed.

I had been wrangled into yet another impractical dress. This one a bright summery blue, and I had sat, semi patiently, as my mother brushed out my tangled hair, then took the curling rod to it. Lord! How I detested the smell of burning hair!

I sat and fiddled with the frills on the hem of my skirt and contemplated how much trouble I'd get into if I ripped them off... but then my mother reentered the room, with a pinched look on her face.

"Come with me and do as I say," she barked.

I raised a brow and obediently followed her.

For once.

The man was at least a good two feet taller than I. A feat indeed, as I was a very tall fourteen year old. He was heavyset, with a full beard, and a mop of curly red hair.

His brows furrowed as he took in my mask, though he said nothing, looking expectantly at my mother.

I gasped as my mother removed the mask from my head.

My mother on, that night so long ago when she showed me that horrible face. Had to calm me and help me to sleep. She told a lie.

My little brain could not wrap my head around my face, it was a burden too terrible for a child to bear!

So mother told me, that the mask she made me was magical, and that as long as I wore it, the monster could no longer get me.

It took me nearly 4 years to understand. It was my face. In the mirror that night.

Which is why I nearly screamed in terror as I stood unmasked before this man.

His eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing on the matter. Merely clearing his throat and stepping forward with his hand outstretched.

I immediately thought he was going to strike me and I backed up into my mother.

The man retracted his hand.

My mother recovered my face.

There was a general sigh of relief across the room.

As soon as the man regained what little wits he had...

He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "You must be Kiera."

"I am." I replied.

"And is this your drawing?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"An arch... a basket arch," I politely replied.

The man lightly gasped, "And this?"

"That's the Keystone."

"Where is the abutment and impost?"

I pointed on the page.

"Center, span, haunch and Crown," he barked.

I found them with ease as my mother hovered over my shoulder.

He was now scarlet with embarrassment as I huffed at him.

This exercise was boring me.

"What is a springing line?" he asked.

"The level at which an arch springs from its supports." I replied.

The man drew out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating face.

"Draw me ten different arches and name them," he ordered, sliding a pencil and some paper towards me.

I rolled my eyes, but with a sharp pinch from my mother, obediently I began to draw.

I finished quickly, and gazed up at the man.

He gaped like a fish.

After a few moments of silence my mother dismissed me.

I sat out in the hallway and amused myself by humming a tune till I was brought back in.

My mother smiled at me.

I was quite taken aback.

"Monsieur, tell her what you told me," mother demanded.

"I will teach you. You will, of course, have to stay here. But I will teach you all I can."

A slow smile spread under my mask.

Hence began my journey into the world of architecture.

Soon my little dwelling space of the attic was filled with books, architecture, life!

The little black spiders made their palaces amongst the books. I felt that we could learn quite a bit from the arachnids. Watching them weave their intricate silken homes often distracted me from my work.

I found I had to leave the attic to get any work done.

I had lived in that attic for most of my life. Though the only window had been boarded up from the inside.

My mother was very... protective of me.

I wished she understood that it was the way she treated me, not just my curiosity of the outside world that made me want to leave.

But leave I did.

There was a massive oak tree not too far from my window. After I pried off the boards from my window, I would sneak out at night. I would play in the woods near my house, and would explore under the cover of the nocturne.

One night, however, I was found out.

I could hear children's laughter, and after one moment of standing frozen in fear. I legged it towards the house.

It took no genius to figure out they saw me. Their screams sliced through the night.

I climbed that tree faster than I ever had before. The sap stuck to my hands as I climbed back into my window.

I had trouble sleeping that night.

Meanwhile, my mother had been very busy during my schooling.

There were some days that Marie would be the one teaching me, and my mother began to go out.

And stay out late into the night.

I began to get suspicious.