Erybelle
From Create Your Own Story
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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 icey spots were on the pavement after a snow (You guessed it was probably from watching you fall so many times). | 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 icey spots were on the pavement after a snow (You guessed it was probably from watching you fall so many times). | ||
| - | 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 you | + | 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 you don't mind it 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 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. |
Revision as of 01:14, 26 January 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 icey spots were on the pavement after a snow (You guessed it was probably from watching you fall so many times).
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 you don't mind it 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 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.
What should you do now?
