Erybelle

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Erybelle stretched her limbs, trying to shake the sleep from them and maybe something else a little more foreboding. She watched Maple's green eyes flicker from side to side as she studied her surroundings at the same time as she rolled hers. The chocolate haired girl was only a year older than her at 10 years of age though it was hard to believe. She had a pool of knowledge exceeding her years, able to name by heart even the most obscure names of poisonous plants and without hesitation tell where the ice was on the pavement after a snow (It was probably from watching Erybelle fall so many times).  
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You stretch your limbs, trying to shake the sleep from them and maybe something else a little more foreboding. You watch Maple's green eyes flicker from side to side as she studies her surroundings at the same time that you roll yours. The chocolate haired girl was only a year older than you at 10 years of age though it was hard to believe. She had a pool of knowledge exceeding her years, able to name by heart even the most obscure names of poisonous plants and without hesitation could tell exactly where the icy spots were on the pavement after a snow (You guessed it was probably from watching you fall so many times but still).  
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It was time to set up the business again, a ritual they had started up nearly two years ago underneath the same decrepit willow. The doll faced girl reached into her satchel and brought out the aged scrolls, yellowed pages facing up to the miserable grey skey. Her writing was cursive, nearly illegible, but she loved it that way. Maple had been the one to teach her how to read and write, sharing with her only
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It was time to set up the business again, a ritual you two had started up nearly two years ago underneath the same decrepit willow. You carefully reach into your satchel and bring out the aged scrolls, yellowed pages facing up to the miserable grey sky. You study your writing, cursive, scrunched together and nearly illegible, but find that you don't mind at all. Maple had been the one to teach you how to read and write when you had first met, sharing with you the few things she had learned from her Mother. Through Maple you'd been able to become an asset not only to the business, but to the Orphanage as well, which she most definitely wasn't pleased with. You'd been confused as to why she seemed so angry about it but she told you in a stern hiss that if the Head Mistress found out it would mean that you'd never get adopted. Your heart had dropped. Your blood had froze. You knew it was true. So you had stopped writing except for the business. Of some day being adopted, having a Mother's arms to wrap around you and pat your head when you cried, and a Father to protect you from the bad things and love you no matter what... It was your dream, it was what you woke up in the morning for, even if Maple told you parents were mean and weren't like that at all. Maple was usually right about things, but sometimes you found it was more fun not to listen to her.
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She could hardly even remember the last time they had fought. Hadn't it been over the name of their small business? Yes, she was sure that had been it. Erybelle was positive that Relationshipping would catch the eyes of travellers looking to burn some gold, but Maple argued that The Witches was so much more powerful, and had a certain mystique about it that would attract buyers. In the end of course they'd both comprimised, agreeing on 'The Shipping Witches'. That had been nearly two years ago and their business had blossomed beautifully.
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'''What should you do now?'''
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*[[Erybelle: Read some parchments.]]
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*[[Erybelle: Set up the table and other miscellaneous doodads.]]
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[[Category: The Shipping Witches]]

Current revision as of 23:01, 10 February 2013

You stretch your limbs, trying to shake the sleep from them and maybe something else a little more foreboding. You watch Maple's green eyes flicker from side to side as she studies her surroundings at the same time that you roll yours. The chocolate haired girl was only a year older than you at 10 years of age though it was hard to believe. She had a pool of knowledge exceeding her years, able to name by heart even the most obscure names of poisonous plants and without hesitation could tell exactly where the icy spots were on the pavement after a snow (You guessed it was probably from watching you fall so many times but still).

It was time to set up the business again, a ritual you two had started up nearly two years ago underneath the same decrepit willow. You carefully reach into your satchel and bring out the aged scrolls, yellowed pages facing up to the miserable grey sky. You study your writing, cursive, scrunched together and nearly illegible, but find that you don't mind at all. Maple had been the one to teach you how to read and write when you had first met, sharing with you the few things she had learned from her Mother. Through Maple you'd been able to become an asset not only to the business, but to the Orphanage as well, which she most definitely wasn't pleased with. You'd been confused as to why she seemed so angry about it but she told you in a stern hiss that if the Head Mistress found out it would mean that you'd never get adopted. Your heart had dropped. Your blood had froze. You knew it was true. So you had stopped writing except for the business. Of some day being adopted, having a Mother's arms to wrap around you and pat your head when you cried, and a Father to protect you from the bad things and love you no matter what... It was your dream, it was what you woke up in the morning for, even if Maple told you parents were mean and weren't like that at all. Maple was usually right about things, but sometimes you found it was more fun not to listen to her.


What should you do now?

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