My name is April March. Yes, that is actually my real name. You see, when I was just a wee baby in diapers I was abandoned by my mother at the stairs of Newcrest Most Holy. There I was found crying un a small basket, with just a blanket and a stuffed animal for comfort. I was told that the nuns found a note from my mom tucked into the sides of the basket. But apparently it had only said: ” I am sorry”. When they try to estimate how old I was they could only decide that I most likely was born between April and March. Hence the name. Don’t tell me that Sisters lack a sense of humor…
Growing up at the orphanage was fairly OK considering. I never really lacked anything. The women that worked at the place was friendly but reserved. It felt like they kept their distance on purpose and never come too close. Which suited me just fine.
At my 18th birthday everything changed though in a very chocking way. You see, as a child without any known relatives it is an obligation for the orphanage to raise and protect, but only until the day you turn 18. After that you are on your own completely. Zero, zipp, zilch, bye bye… Some say that this is exactly what we spoiled brats deserve. For me I could care less. I just knew that I dreamed about the day when I no longe had to feel the stern, disapproving gaze of the head-mistress in the back of my neck all the time. But instead of being driven to the nearest bus stop with only a bus ticket in my hand and my last monthly allowance as a check I was brought to a big fancy office building in Sunset Valley. I got a big lump in the pit of my stomach. What had I done now?
The truth was far more amazing than my wildest imagination could dream up. The man IU met was called Maurize von Dinkelspiel and he told me that he was the legal council for the mayor of Windenburg. The Mayor was not only an very eccentric old man, he was also a history-nerd and filthy rich. A thorn in his book had for the longest time been the old Windenburg Manor, which dated as far back as to the 18th century. For more than a 100 years it had been abandoned, because it was common knowledge that the last heir had died 30 years ago. The nutty Mayor had refused to give up though and hired a professional genealogist to dis-prove what everyone had believed before. The result they had found was…
…me. I really did not understand how it all came together. I did not quite understand how things were connected. It was something about bastards and disgrace. But apparently I had now gotten a 300 year old manor thrown at me and really did not know what on earth to do with it. Mr mad Mayor had then come with a suggestion: He had offered a very favorable deal from the citizens of Windenburg and himself where all bills, electricity and water would be payed by the city. I on the other hand became duty-bound to focus 100 on cleaning up and restore the old manor to its old fame and glory. The costs (besides the bills) to do so I had to pay for myself.
It sounded more than insane, but I realized that in its apparent insanity this was the best offer I had had so far and if I did not want to sell burgers at Burger Sims all my life I could not afford to say no. Money would always work out some way or the other. So we spit in our hands (yeah, litterally) and shook on it, me and the mayor and I had hopefully made the deal of my life.
Looking back I wished I had played it more cool and not jumped the gun. That the manor was old and in full deterioration was just the tip of the iceberg. What on earth had I gotten myself into?
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