Chapter 1 - The Introduction
Submitted June 14, 2006 Updated June 14, 2006 Status Incomplete | Okay this is a Horror type story. Sorry for any spelling mistakes by the way! Not much else to say about this story, you'll see what happens as you read on :) Hope you will like it^^
Category:
Miscellaneous » Macabre/Horror |
Chapter 1 - The Introduction
Chapter 1 - The Introduction
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The large, exquisitely decorated, room was dark, shadows prancing and leaping over the grand piano and long velvet drapes from the weary dancing flames of the slowly dying fire
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The large, exquisitely decorated, room was dark, shadows prancing and leaping over the grand piano and long velvet drapes from the weary dancing flames of the slowly dying fire. It flickered in the great marble and ebony wood fire place. A small almost rectangular shaped table, glowing a beautiful red-brown colour, stood oddly in front of the fire. Even more oddly, a woman sat, straight-backed, facing the flames at this table. The perfect ringlets of her auburn hair fell softly and rested elegantly on her shoulders.
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Though the room was dark, the deep, rich colour of her midnight blue dress could be glimpsed with the flickering of the flames. Her face was thin and features pointed, her eyes a vampiric mixture or brown, green and orange. They stared deeply downwards at the table at what seemed to be a red satin purse with black ribbon tie. On the table lay broken shards of stained glass in deep reds, greens and blues.
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She tinkered with the broken glass shards taking care of the jagged edges and carefully lifting each piece, without a sound, would again lay each piece back down to rest on the table, avoiding the blunt clink of glass on wood. Alone she arranged the shards of glass on the table each night, making a new image, a new story. Long into the night hours she worked, until, finally, when forced by the dead embers of the fire, she swept each piece into the satin purse carefully and retired.
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Alone in the old great house, save a few servants, she was as silent and mysterious as the shards of glass with which she played. Not since the death of her husband had she uttered more than a few words. The towns' people feared her, and stories arose from gossip of how her husband died. Very rarely anymore was she invited to parties or masquerades of the aristocrats and so was an outcast, in a lonely limbo between the too extremes.
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This night was no different, its quite aura of solitude. The slight sound of the whistling wind outside the shuttered windows, the soft crackling of the malnourished fire, the slow, rhythmic intake of her breath. All as familiar, deafening sounds to her ears and disturbingly reassuring to her mind; “When it is this quite, I will always here the footsteps of on comers. Never…..will they catch me unawares…..I will hear them….” And so her mind revolved, paranoia its driver.
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<title>
The large, exquisitely decorated, room was dark, shadows prancing and leaping over the grand piano and long velvet drapes from the weary dancing flames of the slowly dying fire
</title>
</head>
<body bgcolor="#FFFFFF" text="#000000" link="#0000ee" vlink="#551a8b">
<!--Section Begins--><br>
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<b><u></u></b>
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<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
The large, exquisitely decorated, room was dark, shadows prancing and leaping over the grand piano and long velvet drapes from the weary dancing flames of the slowly dying fire. It flickered in the great marble and ebony wood fire place. A small almost rectangular shaped table, glowing a beautiful red-brown colour, stood oddly in front of the fire. Even more oddly, a woman sat, straight-backed, facing the flames at this table. The perfect ringlets of her auburn hair fell softly and rested elegantly on her shoulders.
</p></div>
<p><div name="Normal" align="left" style=" padding: 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm; ">
<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
Though the room was dark, the deep, rich colour of her midnight blue dress could be glimpsed with the flickering of the flames. Her face was thin and features pointed, her eyes a vampiric mixture or brown, green and orange. They stared deeply downwards at the table at what seemed to be a red satin purse with black ribbon tie. On the table lay broken shards of stained glass in deep reds, greens and blues.
</p></div>
<p><div name="Normal" align="left" style=" padding: 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm; ">
<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
She tinkered with the broken glass shards taking care of the jagged edges and carefully lifting each piece, without a sound, would again lay each piece back down to rest on the table, avoiding the blunt clink of glass on wood. Alone she arranged the shards of glass on the table each night, making a new image, a new story. Long into the night hours she worked, until, finally, when forced by the dead embers of the fire, she swept each piece into the satin purse carefully and retired.
</p></div>
<p><div name="Normal" align="left" style=" padding: 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm; ">
<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
Alone in the old great house, save a few servants, she was as silent and mysterious as the shards of glass with which she played. Not since the death of her husband had she uttered more than a few words. The towns' people feared her, and stories arose from gossip of how her husband died. Very rarely anymore was she invited to parties or masquerades of the aristocrats and so was an outcast, in a lonely limbo between the too extremes.
</p></div>
<p><div name="Normal" align="left" style=" padding: 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm; ">
<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
This night was no different, its quite aura of solitude. The slight sound of the whistling wind outside the shuttered windows, the soft crackling of the malnourished fire, the slow, rhythmic intake of her breath. All as familiar, deafening sounds to her ears and disturbingly reassuring to her mind; “When it is this quite, I will always here the footsteps of on comers. Never…..will they catch me unawares…..I will hear them….” And so her mind revolved, paranoia its driver.
</p></div>
<p><div name="Normal" align="left" style=" padding: 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm 0.00mm; ">
<p style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; ">
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