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- It's every girl's dream to discover she's extraordinary, except when it isn't. Margarette Anne Maynard, as many a well-born lady, had absolutely no designs on greatness or adventure. She intended to finish her schooling, get married, and spend the rest of her days shamelessly criticizing her husband along with all the other lady's of the court whilst she awaited the summer season and with it her annual trips to Paris. Very few people inherit the lives they expect in their youth though, and in this (as in most other respects) Ms. Maynard was completely unexceptional.
- Her chest heaved and plunged as air rushed to her burning lungs. She’d never run so far in her life, but then again, she’d never had to. Alicia’s head spun as she tried to still her ragged breaths. Her legs fell from beneath her as she crumpled onto the cold, marble floor.
- Cassandra's fingers grazed the portrait gingerly as she studied the deep eyes and long locks of the figure it captured. He was beautiful in a subtly ethereal way that stirred an aching in her soul. The way the young noble studied the book across his lap caused her to wonder what secrets it must hold to enrapture him so singularly. But time was ticking on outside the walls of the dank attic in which she stood, and Cassandra could hear her mother climbing the stairs to retrieve her. It was time to meet her new family. "Come on Cassy. I've been looking forward to this for months," her mother pleaded with a tinge of exasperation. Only as the door closed behind them did Cassandra realize, with her last fleeting glance, the portrait had begun staring back.
- Thinking back upon the dream, her cheeks caught fire and a gentle tingling settled itself upon her lips. She was sure she'd seen him before. The way his dark green eyes invaded her, undressed her, captivated her was certainly both unsettling and strangely familiar. She just couldn't place the man to whom they belonged. Her breath raced as she slowly rose from her bed to cross the room to her window, remembering how it felt when he'd crossed the room to meet her, to whisper in her ear. She knew he'd spoken to her but couldn't remember what he'd said - a whisper, a promise, a secret. It was a secret only she had known, a promise that had never been kept. Not being able to remember what it had been awoke a longing in the pit of her stomach. But of course, it was a dream. As she open the curtains, the bright afternoon light swiped away all traces of her imagined escapades. After all, it was a dream, and it would stay in this bedroom, exactly where it should be.
- The thick haze of smoke perfumes the room, while the speakers blare as they're wont to do. She sways alone to the rhythm at the back of the room, eyes sailing over the bodies as they undulate across the floor. "The farther you remove yourself, the more you see," she shouts with a small smile.
mar 10 2011 ∞
feb 11 2015 +
feb 11 2015 +