Caroleen Xavier was the fourth daughter of the village silversmith. Always a petite brunette with hazel eyes, she didn’t consider herself a beauty because of the smattering of freckles across her nose. She was a sturdy young thing and enjoyed working with her hands. She was given to the town’s blacksmith to wife when she was barely 19. Theirs wasn’t a love match, but a business arrangement to pay off her father’s debt for a horse. Gustav had come to love her and called her his little French wren. It sounded so elegant in her native tongue. Peu roitelet français. He said it with such pride and such adoration. She worked hard to please her husband and he lovingly cited her for being jaunty and jolly.<br/><br/>Caroleen was not educated, nor was she fancy. She was not a demanding woman, although she had high personal standards. The men of the village knew that she would have become a nun had not her father intervened. She was not the woman to trifle with other men, certainly. She became a central part of their small town as the wife of the blacksmith. She was often found carrying food or clothing to the poor. Others came to her for her wisdom even though she was quite young.<br/><br/>Although young, she was a devoted mother to her two children and was happily preparing for this third. Keeping her house immaculate and baking bread with two little boys running under her feet were taking a toll on her for in her pregnancy she was as big as the smithy yard.  Her feet and fingers would swell somedays making walking and working painful. She was glad when her water broke three weeks earlier than the midwife expected for soon she could return to normal.<br/><br/>The last thing Caroleen remembered was the midwife’s voice,<br/>“There is so much blood.”<br/><br/>Opening her eyes in the dark had been frightening at first, but soon she was floating on a dark cloud and rather enjoying the peace and quiet. Something was wrong, though, She didn’t hear the crying of a newborn and there was no light anywhere. Something was incredibly wrong. Suddenly she felt a sucking sensation, pulling her body down at a rapid speed, putting her in mind of water being poured from a bucket and she was the water.<br/><br/>Falling in a rush, cold  liquid and then a new sensation, warmth. Then light. Then a man’s voice making a decree but in a language that she didn’t know. She listened with the sense that she should understand and this feeling of frustration, of inadequacy.  She moved her finger, noticing that the sheet surrounding her was soft and her roughened fingers did not snag in the fabric.  The man’s voice was pleading and more insistent. Caroleen felt sorrow for the tones of that voice and opened her eyes to see…<br/><br/>A strange man running his hands over her body, crying and pleading!<br/><br/>Caroleen sat bolt upright and screamed, covering her breasts with her arms. His face went pale and he jabbered at her and tried to embrace her. She struck out at him. Where was Gustav? She looked around the unfamiliar room frantically. No midwife, No children. What was going on? Where was she?<br/><br/>A voice inside her head said,<br/>“You are dead. We both are dead and Ivan has made a mess of it.”<br/><br/>Caroleen stopped and looked around,<br/>"Qu'est-ce qu'il y'a?<br/>She inquired but it came out all strange,<br/>“What is it?”<br/><br/>She shook her head, expecting to see her dark curls flying around her face, instead, she was shocked to see long wavy strands of strawberry blonde.<br/><br/>“I told you,” said the voice in her head, “You are dead and I am dead and Ivan has made a terrible mess of it.”<br/><br/>“Who, who are you?” she stammered in French.<br/><br/>“I’m Teresa.”<br/><br/>“Where are you?” she stammered in French yet again.<br/><br/>“I’m trapped in here with you. Get used to it.”