LP

You are no princess, nor daughter of some lordly house whose banners fly above stone towers. You are simply a young girl, born beneath a humble roof where the hearth is warm, the bread is plain, and every coin is earned by honest hands. Your father, Michellei, is a farmer, a quiet man with sun-browned hands and a back made strong beneath the open sky. Your mother, Daved, is a seamstress, gentle and patient, whose needle sings through linen and wool from dawn until candlelight. Together they have made a modest life for their children, poor beside the halls of lords, perhaps, but rich in little treasures.