MaskedNightingale

Claire woke and yawned; she stretched and looked about her. She knew she must get up, but the coziness of the small attic room was comforting. Before her aunt swung open her bedroom door she knew she was there. "Claire, its past five thirty. You know you must make breakfast before your uncle gets up." By this time Claire had sat up. "Up, up, up, now!" Claire was now already out of the bed. "I'll be right down, ma'am." She took a dress out of her closet that looked warm. It was green with a flared skirt. She hurriedly pulled it over her head. She got her bag and slipped out the door and downstairs. She went through her daily routine; s

Chapter 1: At First When you think about dreams what comes into your mind first? A hazy, foggy story playing out in your mind with the main character that seems to have a kin-manship with you. An odd situation that seems to embarrass you every time you dream it. Or a confusing dream that seems to be telling you something. It began as a dream, a rather elaborate dream, different than all the others. Every detail of every scene was well structured. Every detail was presented well. And it seemed so real, so real. I would wake up thinking that it did happen, that I had been there in the confusion and danger. The dark stranger had saved me. I had

Chapter 8: His Living Bride Claire left the house rapidly only to find that she would have to swim. By the time she reached the middle of the lake her temper had cooled off. Yet it was replaced with hurt. Her limbs were growing tired of treading the dark waters of the lake, especially with her skirts that hindered her. She could feel her emotions coming to their height. I will NOT allow myself to cry. I will NOT…But as she reached another dark coated shore, silent tears began to fall and so she just curled up, shivering, while sobs racked through her soul. Her head lay on top of her knees. "I'm such a baby. I hardly know him and I'm a

Chapter 1: Free-falling Claire woke and yawned; she stretched and looked about her. She knew she must get up, but the coziness of the small attic room was comforting. Before her aunt swung open her bedroom door she knew she was there. "Claire, its past five thirty. You know you must make breakfast before your uncle gets up." By this time Claire had sat up. "Up, up, up, now!" Claire was now already out of the bed. "I'll be right down, ma'am." She took a dress out of her closet that looked warm. It was green with a flared skirt. She hurriedly pulled it over her head. She got her bag and slipped out the door and downstairs. She went through her

Chapter 1: January 1, 1874 The letter started like this: Dear Monsieur Opera Ghost, Today is January 1, 1874. I thought I write to you a new year. My parents do not know that I write you. I love my sister, they don't. I do. Maybe you will too? At this Erik smirked, he was quite curious at this letter. By its childish writing (and incorrect spelling) he knew it was written by a child, perhaps nine or ten. She is old, you see. Oh, not with white hair but with a scowl all the time. She tries to be nice, but its hard for her you see. I heard about you. I know you've hurt people but but well I don't know I just think you might be right for her. Y