Pre-Story

In the sprawling english country-side; where skies are wider and as uninterrupted as oceans and fields flow and wave with corn, wheat and rape, grew a house. We say the house must have grown from the ground, unnoticed by many, like an oak. Huge and regal, no one knew the time it was built, or the day the first walls sprung from the ground. But there it stood, dark wooden walls enveloped in ivy, gothic shining windows and an impressive five floors high. The house was alive, just like an oak; windows were always lit, flowers always bloomed and lazy smoke always crept from the mouth of the proud chimney.

The home of Mother. You could see her waving travelers and adventurers inside from the heavy red front door. The front door was a lot like Mother, painted red, ornate and beautifully built, though often silent and welcoming. Red velvet, red silk, red taffeta, red lace. Mother wore red every day you knew her. She encouraged freedom in her house, and earned her money by letting the wind guide those crossing the land to her good food and many beds. The home was there for any traveler to rest, any gypsy to eat and any folk to stay until a storm blew over.

The many coming and going meant the home quickly became filled with gifts, flowers or items left behind. Glass jars over-spilling with gerberas, daisies, carnations and roses. Lanterns, of many startling colours, bird-cages, ornaments, trinket boxes, paintings, post-cards, statues. The home grew into a treasure chest full of wonders that covered every wall, every surface.

Despite the home being full of friends yet to be made, or indeed new friends extending their stay, Mother slept downstairs with the kitchen and dining room. Her bed set in a little box room, with plain white sheets and a curtain-less window. She spent more time cooking, cleaning and story telling to have much time in her room anyhow.

Mother was wise. In her time, she had fondly brought seven daughters into the world. The seven girls did as they pleased as long as they remembered Mother telling them to be "Fair, modest, brave and good". Their days spent playing together, listening to stories from adventurers and helping Mother around the home was as nicer childhood anyone could ask for. The girls always had pretty dresses, dolls and books, and Mother cherished them.

One day, Mother sat down for dinner with her girls and the folk staying. Everyone ate dinner together, a rule by Mother, so she could hear about everyone's day. A gentleman of the wilder type, twitching eyes and unkempt hair, announced
"Why, it must be a blessing for you to have seven beautiful daughters,"
"A blessing indeed," Mother said "But they know that there is more to life than beauty, they must be brave and smart too,"
The wild man seemed uncontent with this answer, and so he tried again,
"And these girls, have you found suitors for them yet?"
Mother smiled and said "My daughters are free to choose their own path in life, I would be cruel to pin them to a man,"
The wild man must have been the old fashioned type, as he grunted into his soup and said not a word more. But Mother smiled round at her daughters, knowing one day they will find their own way.