A/N: The character is the Grey Lady, which is kind of hard to figure out. My randomness seems to have reached knew heights these days. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the story except the squirrel, whom I've christened Evlis.
Miss Constance Grey was ten years old in the year 1629. She spent her days doing chores for her mother and older sisters.
"Lazy bunch, the lot of them!" she thought privately, while carrying a bucket of water from the well to her home. "They don't do anything at all, just sit around sewing and gossiping!" The liquid splashed noisily inside the bucket, and Constance quickly steadied it. The last thing she needed was to spill half the water.
Suddenly, out from behind a nearby tree popped a squirrel; not uncommon in these parts, but the woods had been quiet as of late, and the surprise of the small creature's appearance caused Constance to drop her bucket.
"Devil animal!" she hissed, waving her apron at it, successfully scaring it away. As she picked up her bucket and saw it empty of water, her eyes began to prickle. Wiping her eyes and scolding herself for being so teary, Constance slowly began to walk back towards the well. As she did, anger began to take the place of sadness, and her fists balled. Anger pumped through her veins, filling her. She did everything, everything, yet she got no thank you, no chance to speak, just more and more work! She'd heard the older women whispering about oppression, and felt sure this must be it. Not allowed to create her own ideas, never allowed to let herself out into the world! She stomped her feet and moaned,
"Oh dear Almighty, must you punish me so? I do all the work, running back and forth from place to place! Surely thou has some divine plan for my life, something much more than a lowly Puritan girl! Oh, yes, I am quite sure that hell would be much better than this!"
As soon as she finished speaking she gasped. She had sinned, she had sinned, she had uttered a dreaded word! She dropped to her knees muttering words of repentance. As she opened her eyes and saw the empty wooden water bucket, a surge of power seemed to course through her to the very core. Before her eyes water from nowhere filled the bucket to the very tip top. It seemed to drizzle from the air! Constance, rightfully stunned, sat on the cold hard ground staring in awe at the full bucket. Had... had she done that? It was either a symbol of the presence of God, or... of the Devil. Her heart begged her to believe she had done the magic, but her mind had been trained in the way of the Church.
"Perhaps some trickery of the Devil," she said softly, apprehensively reaching out to touch the water. Squeezing her eyes shut Constance quickly dipped her fingers into the bucket. So cold! She drew out her fingers and put the stray drops of water to her mouth.
"Why!" she laughed, "Tis but ordinary water!"
"But how?" The voice inside her mind asked, "How does one get water from nowhere? It's not a miracle! Tis evil spirts!"
She hesitated once again, torn between her desire to believe she had created magic, and the rules of society.
"Oh, dear Lord, have you blessed me with Powers? Or have you cursed me with Witchcraft?" she asked to the sky. Receiving no sign, Constance picked up her bucket and began the long walk towards her home.
Nine days later, on her eleventh birthday, Constance was not surprised at all when she read the piece of parchment an owl had dropped on her lap.