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     I sit quietly by my window, watching the rain pour down upon the dirt 

roads; there's not a soul in sight. The only noise to be heard is the 

pounding of the rain as it beats down on us from the heavens. My name 

is Rose Goldléaf, I am named after my grandmother: Lady Rose Juhel of 

Messina. I can remember my father telling me stories about her when I 

was younger; she sounded like such a wonderful person. I smiled at the 

memory of my father holding me on his lap, telling me stories of his 

childhood, in order to distract me from the pain filled cries coming from 

the desperate, dying people in the streets.

     I would've liked to have met my grandma Rose, but I was only a babe 

when she caught Ergotism, poisoning from a fungal infection of grain, 

and died. However, now it is no longer Ergotism that we fear; it is the 

terrible disease known as the Bubonic Plague - or as we call it, the 

Black Death - that makes everyone, even the toughest man, shake in 

his boots.

     I've come to understand that the plague tended to feast on the 

elderly and the worried. Parents would worry for the safety of their 

children and allow themselves to become weak and vulnerable 

because of it; I've seen this come to pass more times than I care to 

admit. They become stressed out, catch the plague and die in a matter 

of weeks; I believe that this is what caused my own mother to die, in the 

haunting year of 1348.

     It has been nearly five years since my parents died. I can still 

remember my mother and father praying day and night that the black 

death would pass over us like the Angel of Death had passed over the 

houses of the Israelis in the days of Moses; but we had no such luck. 

My parents caught the plague and died when I was only eleven years 

old; at least, I believe them to be so. I never actually saw them die. That 

day changed my life forever and I shall not ever forget it; it was the 

worst day of my life.

     I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest, huddling against the 

wall. I closed my eyes and allowed my head to fall back against the wall 

as I felt myself falling deeper into the haunting horrors that are my 

memories.

     My father looked me in the eye and told me to pack my stuff and 

leave; he didn't want me to catch the plague from mother. He told me he 

was going to stay with mother and help ease her passing until he takes 

ill and dies alongside her. My father and I wept bitterly as I packed up 

my few belongings and set out on the road to the Kingdom of Poland. It 

was an isolated kingdom that was said to have had very few cases of 

the plague making it the ideal place to go. There I could hopefully get a 

job as a maid or a lady in waiting and find place to lay my head at night.

     However, before I departed, my father pulled me aside and gave me 

a mask filled with posies. The town's doctors said that holding posies 

over your mouth and nose helped prevent you from contracting the 

plague. We had wanted to buy some for so long, but they were far too 

expensive for us to afford.

     Staring at the mask in my hands, I asked him, “Papa, how did you 

get this? We don’t have enough money to afford this and you and Mama 

still need to buy food!”

     His response is what finally drove home the fact that I would, more 

than likely, never see him again. “We have no need for food now, my 

child. Death has come to the Goldléaf household and I do not believe 

that your mother and I shall escape its iron fist. It’s more comforting for 

your mother and I to know that you - our daughter - are safe from the 

plague than it is for us to have full stomachs in our final days.

     I put the rest of the money in your leather pouch; remember to never 

take it off because someone could steal it. Now go, before it is too late. I 

love you, Rose; my daughter.”

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