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The Lady of Blackwood Chpt 13
Chapter 13 - Troubled
Lying awake in bed Florence could not reconcile what she had seen with the picture she had formed of each of the people. She turned over various excuses, but had to discard them in favour of the obvious. She could think of no proper reason why Count Marcus should have three pretty women in his bedroom late at night. Thinking of the not-so-innocent reasons create a storm of emotions inside her. She wanted to scream in anger and outrage, and cry in misery and rejection. It was her own fault for creating an image of perfection in her head. Of course the Count was not perfect. It made sense that something like this should be his flaw.
'But Elizabeth?' she thought angrily. She never expected him to be interested in a child. She never expected any of it, but Elizabeth made it worse. So much worse.
There was also the question of them being married, even though it was only in name. She felt she deserved more than this. She deserved some semblance of respect
The Lady of Blackwood Chpt 12
Chapter 12 - Scandalous
Somewhere in the morning, a few hours before dawn, Florence awoke to the sound of creaking noises. There were other sounds too, but she could not place them. After listening for a while and finding herself unable to drop off to sleep again, she decided to investigate, to find the origins of the noises. Throwing on a overcoat against the night's chill, she quietly exited her room. She contemplated taking a candle, but decided against it. Who knows what or who the light might attract. She knew where she was heading and did not need a candle to light her way. She was heading to the tower above her room. Florence was about to break a house rule.
Tip-toeing down the hall she reached the stairs and tip-toeing up the stairs, she reached the landing above. There she was faced with an old rusty door, lit by a full moon that shone in from windows situated high in the walls.
The door weighed a ton, or so it seemed to her, and she groaned with effort to move it. At f
The Lady of Blackwood Chpt 11
Chapter 11 Balcony
"Would you like to take a break?"
"Yes, please", Florence answered, trying to not sound out of breath. She started to leave the impromptu dance floor, but he caught her by the hand.
"Come", Marcus said. "I want to show you something."
Thirsty and tired she followed him, keeping her eyes open for something to drink. The only fluid she saw was wine, so she grabbed a glass when they passed Old Sam at his wine table. Sipping some of the liquid she climbed the stairs behind Marcus. The halls were dark and he had to take a candle from a wall bracket at the top of the stairs to light the rest of their way.
"It feels like I'm a child again." Florence was not sure why she was whispering. Perhaps it was because she felt they were sneaking about where they shouldn't be.
"Oh?" His voice was normal.
"Many times when my parents were entertaining guests, my friends and I would steal away into the night and play hide and seek. Listen... Do you hear how far away the mer
The Lady of Blackwood Chpt 10
Chapter 10 New World
Sweet music drifted from the dining hall. Floating on the beckoning melody, Florence entered the hall and attempted to locate the source of the auditory river. Unable to find it, she closed her eyes and absorbed the music with all her senses, through her skin, through the air she breathed everything was filled with the sound. A world opened before her, dark and colourless, as the invisible violin produced low, sad tones. Tears stung the back of her eyes, not because she was sad, but because her body did not know how else to express the emotions that were drawn from her with every stroke of the bow. In her colourless world mist flowed over meadows, dark clouds above mingled with the feathery, low-lying mist in a melancholic dance. Now the notes methodically climbed higher, sometimes revisiting their brooding low brothers, but constantly they rose again, to heights of bitter-sweet peace, love and faith. Sunlight pierced the mist of her mind's eye
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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