Difficult.

Orsolya was sick of being an urchin.

She'd been orphaned by the plague at an early age and was **** into destitution. She refused to sell her young body, instead relying on petty theft and begging to survive. Her fellow villagers soon caught on to her thieving and she was **** to steal only when a stranger passed through.

That was all when she was young. She had always thought that once she came of age she would ascend out of debilitating poverty. She would be a woman, not an orphan.

Now, in her 24th year, Orsolya was the same bitter, hopeless orphan she was when she left her parents to rot in their bed, bodies bloated and necks blackened and deformed with buboes.

The grofica's man was in town today. They didn't know his name but everyone called him Fickó. Fickó was a nasty little man that no one in town trusted. He leered at the village girls, offering them an education at the grofica's castle like a menacing stranger offering sweets.

Everyone else saw a toady and a predator when they looked at him, but Orsolya saw an opportunity. She deftly crept behind him as he skulked the streets. He was too distracted by the backsides of the local girls to notice her, or so she thought. As her hand slipped inside his coat pocket, she felt something cold and hard clamp around her wrist. With dismay, she realized it was Fickó's hand. He was craftier than he looked.

Before she could protest, he held something to her face that made her dizzy. It seemed as though a cloud passed before her eyes and when it cleared Orsolya felt different. She looked at him without curiousity or fear, simply observing as though he was a meadowlark or a piece of furniture. His evil grin didn't arouse any feelings either.

The grofica's man led her to a waiting carriage. Inside was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Whatever the grofica's man gave her was powerful; she had no reaction to the angelic creature whatsoever, other than to disinterestedly note the woman's kind smile and radiating peace.

"You've done well, Fickó." The woman leaned forward, her breath hot on Orsolya's neck. She whispered something into Orsolya's ear and the girl was once again cast into a dizzying void. She felt something being ripped from her, something that had been with her always. Her distrust, her loathing, her bitterness - all gone before she realized it, disappeared as quickly and marvelously as the strange celestial powders traders brought from the East to astonish and delight local children.

"Thank you," she said to the woman, and meant it with all of her heart.

"Will you serve me?" The woman replied with a smile.

"Yes."