|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Mon Jul 30, 2007 9:01 pm
FIRST ANGEL
Elizabeth sighed, flicking her long golden hair from her eyes as she scanned the instruction sheet she had been given. Her feet carried her through the sweltering streets of Gaia as she neared the shelter of her home. Her eyes remained fixed upon the small pamphlet, and it was small wonder that she collided with something. Hard. For the first time since she had purchased her angel, she tore her gaze from the small egg and the papers that had come with it. Looking up, she saw no sign of what she had run into. As she furtively glanced around, all she saw was a burly man some ways off, a group of girls slightly older than her, giggling over what was undoubtedly, in their minds, the juiciest bit of gossip they had ever heard, and, further off, a stream of people beginning to emerge as the sun sank past it’s zenith and the day began to cool. Pushing this anomaly aside for later, she sank back into herself and began to walk once more.
Without conscious intervention, her feet brought her to the back door of a small house, to all appearances like any other on the small block. There she stopped, though it took a few moments before she realized she had done so. As quietly as she could, she turned the handle and pushed open the door. She did not doubt that her family, most notably her sister, was home, nor did she doubt that they would want to know what the egg she was holding was. She did not want them bothering her, especially not now. So, with all possible care, she pushed open the rarely used door. A soft creak heralded her arrival, but one would have had to have been listening exceedingly closely to hear it. Not that she would put that past Lily.
Yet her appearance through the threshold passed without notice, though she could hear the worried voices of her parents issuing from the living room. They had that tone again, they were talking about her. She let out an exasperated breath and turned to climb the stairs which, luckily, did not require her moving past the living room. As she reached the second floor, she rotated on her heel, glancing around for the sibling she knew would be lying in wait. But she was reassured by the conspicuous lack of humans in sight. Fishing a small bronze key from her pocket, she unlocked her door with a soft click. A lull in the conversation below meant she had to wait a moment to open it. When her parents began to speak once more, she pulled open her door, turning to lock it behind her before surveying her sanctuary with short-lived relief.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed was her younger sister. Kika was glaring up at Lily, mirroring her owners feelings. “Out,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft and dangerous. But her sister, used to such tactics, remained where she was. A grin split her eleven-year-old face as she saw that Elizabeth’s arms were wrapped protectively around an object. “What’s that?” she asked mockingly, “Another book? You know mom and dad said not to buy any more books! I’m gonna tell.” The grin was nothing compared to the full blown smile when she saw what Elizabeth was really carrying. “Is that what I think it is,” she asked, her mocking tone still in place, “Ooo how’d you afford it? My friends have those. That’s an Angel, isn’t it!” She emphasized the word “friends” to attempt to strike a blow at her sister, who had none. But Elizabeth was impervious to such criticism. “Out,” Elizabeth repeated, her eyes narrowing, her voice cold. Sticking out her tongue, Lily complied, yet not without a parting comment of, “I’m telling Mom!” before she slammed the door quite audibly behind her.
Elizabeth did not care if she ran directly to their parents. She hastily rummaged through the items in her arms before pulling the instructions out once more. “Open it in a bath,” she murmured before preparing to comply, leaving Kika to lay her head on her paws once more. With a glance at the shelves of books that covered every inch of wall space she possessed except for her door and a single large window, she purposefully walked to her desk, gingerly emptying her arms onto it. Pulling the egg shaped container from the mass, she examined it once more. Her eyes strove to pierce the container, and she rather thought she saw a small form inside. A doll. “What am I getting myself into?” she asked herself, wondering if she really desired to leave her books. But the hesitation lasted only a moment. She gathered the egg in her arms once more and picked up her robe before opening her door. If her sister could already get in, she saw no point in locking it. Leaving her door open for the first time in years, she snuck toward the bathroom, confident that her soft footfalls could not be heard below.
She slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it before she turned and set down the robe and egg. Her hands turned the taps without feeling them, her concentration intense upon the egg. She knew her parents would know beyond doubt that she was home now, but then, they would only catch her on her way back into her room if they waited outside the bathroom door for her to come out. And she somehow doubted they would do that. Lily might, though. With a sigh for her sister irascible ways, she slipped out of her clothes and slid into the bath, its warmth doing wonders despite the hot day. She sat for a few minutes, ignoring the occasional and accidental knock on the door as Lily shifted positions in her watch. Eventually, she slid into a sitting position and pulled her egg toward her.
She stared at it for a minute, still delighted that she had purchased it, as she let her mind wander back to earlier that day, when she had enter the Descending Angels shop merely to escape the heat and ended up exiting with two things she had never before had: an angel, and a friend. Coming back to the present, she slid the egg under the water, unsure if it needed to be submersed or not and deciding to as a precaution. Her hands slid over the eggs smooth surface in her eagerness, and it took her a number of tries before the egg finally came apart. Pulling the small form from the water, she wondered how something of this color could become what she had seen the other angels look like. The doll was bald and its skin was blue, its eyes odd and apparently unformed. But she knew that it would be able to change, it would have to in able to become what she desired. Pleased that she had had the foresight to purchase a wig for her angel, she continued her soak, listening for the signs that her sister had moved from the door.
Hearing movement outside, she hurried to pull herself from the tub. Drying herself and her angel, she gathered the now empty egg and pulled the plug to allow the tub to drain. Slipping out into the hall as silently as she could, she darted to her room and pulled the door shut before locking it. She reminded herself that she would need to replace the lock if her sister could get in, then darted over to the desk on which she had set all of the items she had obtained from Descending Angels. Her left hand closed, finally, on the fine material of the wig, and her right groped for a pair of scissors. She perched on the edge of her bed and held the wig to the light. Its red surface gleamed with reflected light as she turned it over to attempt to decide the length she wanted it. Carefully balancing it upon the head of her little blue angel, she arranged it employing as much of her artistic skill as she could, despite usually working with two-dimensional medium.
The rosy glow of the sinking sun that leaked in through her open window shone off the silvery surface of the scissors as she began to trim the hair. It was far too long, extending all the way down the back of her doll and obscuring as far down as its thighs. With her first cut, she shortened it so it fell to only half-way down the back of the doll. Then she fell to precision work, bending in over the doll so her nose was mere inches from the wig she was cutting. The bulky scissors, though difficult to work with at such detailed levels, were efficient enough in thinning and layering the hair. She debated with herself over whether or not to pull the hair into a braid and, after some hesitation, decided to do so. Her fingers so accustomed to precision work with a pencil or pen, nevertheless felt large and clumsy as she attempted to get exactly the effect she wanted.
The braid took shape, after many failed attempts. It was large and loose, extending halfway down her back with a simple and elegant look. She searched through her various drawers in a desperate attempt for simple things to tie it back with and came up with a few pieces of thin, sapphire ribbon that, she realized as she looked down at her own garments, matched the dress she now wore. Using one small length of ribbon, tied into a bow, to keep the braid in place, she worked now with the hair she had purposefully left loose.
Pulling thick strands over the shoulders and ears, she attempted to soften the entire look. Yet something wasn’t quite right, and she would not progress until she corrected it. She thought for some moments, experimenting with different amounts of hair draping and obscuring the shoulders before finally pulling the braid over the dolls right shoulder. She pulled the two foremost strands of loose hair across the top of the doll’s head, tying them together with yet another length of ribbon tied into a bow. The remaining hair that she had left loose from the carefully done braid she draped artistically over both shoulders. Stepping back, she pronounced herself satisfied with the overall appearance and sure that she would be able to redo it should it come apart. This, she reminded herself, was quite likely.
Carefully setting her angel down among the folds and creases of her sheets, she turned back toward the desk. Night had fallen while she had been working, and the single lamp with which she had been working may not be enough for the next step. With a purposeful air, she strode over to her door, flipping the small switch and throwing her room into relief as light flooded it. Now, the slightly off-white of the sheet of instructions stood out from the mass of objects. She carefully pulled it from the top of the pile and read through the instructions once more. She had opened it in a bath, she had arranged its hair. All that was left was to hook it up to the Angelic Layer laptop, provided as part of the Starter Kit. She looked at her desk and despaired, there were so many items there. Yet with surprising ease, she pulled from it the laptop and glowing cylinder she had read she would need.
Searching around for a clear flat surface on which to put the glowing cylinder, all that met her eye was the nightstand on which her lamp provided ideal lighting for late-night reading. She laid the glowing cylinder carefully upon the table, and then equally as carefully placed the small angel within it. The hair swayed slightly as she set it down, moving from its perfect location as she knew it would do every time it moved. Yet she fixed it before continuing. She had, after all, voluntarily chosen a hairstyle that would take nearly constant redoing. Her nails were short, due to often biting them down, but they were sufficient for the minor repair work needed and Elizabeth undertook it without complaint. Her mind wandered to the gathering that was doubtless being undertaken downstairs as her sister must have told her parents about her latest purchase. Yet that was a worry for later.
She turned her back on her angel only for an instant as she settled upon her bed, crossing her legs and assuming unconsciously the position her sister had taken earlier. Pulling the Angelic Layer laptop into her lap, she felt no lack of anticipation as she turned it on. The screen flickered on, revealing a screen with which she set the appearance and statistics of her angel. She glanced back at the small blue form topped with the elaborate red wig only a second before deciding upon green eyes. A rich, deep, crisp green, she decided, and clicked on the option. The skin tone took rather more time, but she decided upon a pale shade that looked rather as if it only occasionally saw the sun, containing only the hint of a tan. Moving onward, she saw that there was an option to decide the weight and type. With only a moments hesitation, she decided upon a medium weight angel due to that she knew little about the game, and it would be best to have a well balanced first angel. But the type took her longer. For several minutes, she sat; torn between speed based or evenly distributed. Power based offered no lure to her, but there were obvious advantages to both speed and even. Hovering over the options, she finally gave in to the part of her that went with speed. All options chosen, she had a single thing left to do: name the angel. She was tempted to name it Leia after her first and only friend, but decided against such a sappy move. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a minute or two before she typed “A-L-E-I-A”, the name of a character in her book. “Aleia,” she murmured, pronouncing it “uh-lay-E-ah”. Her index finger hit the enter key, and she accepted her choices without a second thought. A motion out of the corner of her eye drew her gaze to the angel, and she watched as it took only a second to assume the qualities she had given it. Picking it up from the glowing cylinder, she tied around it a piece of cloth she had found in her search for ribbon. Its color matched both her dress, and the ribbons tied into her angel’s hair.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 03, 2007 8:22 am
Aleia Revealed
Elizabeth lay on her stomach, her legs crossed and her bed beneath her. Her hands ran repeatedly over the smooth surface of her angels “skin,” over the thick braid of red hair, over the face and closed green, unseeing eyes. It had looked so…human when she had set it in what she now realized must be a miniature layer to set up its statistics. She shook the feeling off. It was a doll, she reminded herself, albeit an exceedingly advanced one.
Her eyes swept across the dimly lit room. Her deep maroon drapes were pulled shut against the rising sun. The shelves were crammed those books that had been her life. The floor was strewn with more books, a testament to her lack of organization. Her gaze lingered on the pile of Descending Angels items still lying on her desk. A grin crossed her face and she contemplated standing up, deciding against it. As she turned back toward her angel, a shimmering object drew her eye. It turned out to be the Angelic Layer laptop that had so helpfully allowed her to define much of the angel still firmly clasped in her hand.
She reached out to pull it toward herself, but the motion was interrupted by a piercing call of “Breakfast!” With a sigh, she withdrew her hand, carefully placed Aleia on the nightstand beside her bed, and stood up with a groan. She moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open in one fluid movement. As she stepped out of her room, her younger sister Lily darted past, knocking into Elizabeth “accidentally.” “What, was she waiting for me?” Elizabeth muttered darkly to herself before continuing onward. Her sister was a constant annoyance in her life, never seeming to miss an opportunity to taunt, tease, or otherwise disrupt Elizabeth’s life. She shook her head nearly imperceptibly as she followed her sister down the stairs at a much more leisurely pace. She took the steps as slowly as she could; lost in thought over her plans for the little angel she had left in her room.
It was no surprise, therefore, that by the time she sat down at the dining room table, sinking into a chair with obvious remorse, the rest of the household were already seated. Pulling a plate toward herself, she selected a sausage and skewered it onto her fork, moving it to her plate. She served herself a small quantity of scrambled eggs, then let her mind wander as she occasionally and mechanically shifted food from her plate to her mouth. “Guess what Lizzy bought.” Her sister’s taunting voice pierced her reverie. She glared at Lily, both for what she was about to say, and for calling her “Lizzy.” Her parents, of course, turned kindly to her, their gaze questioning, as if they would prefer to hear it from her than from Lily. Not that she would have caved in and told them, but before she could even open her mouth to make some excuse or to destroy her sister’s credibility, Lily said “She bought an angel!” Her parents, of course, were dumbfounded by this news. They did not know that “angels” were dolls, but they did know that, sadly in their minds, their older daughter was not religious. Elizabeth’s eyes met Lily’s and the younger girl grinned at the fury in the elder’s face.
“That’s nice, dear,” Elizabeth’s mother said, piercing the uncomfortable silence beginning to form between her two daughters. With an exasperated sigh at her mother’s ignorant ways, Lily asked, quite impertinently, “You don’t even know what an angel is do you?” Then, before either of her parents could answer, she said, “I don’t mean the religious kind. I mean like the ones they sell at that Descending Angels store that just recently opened up.” Both girls knew, of course, that their parents would never have even looked closely at the store, much less go in. They would doubtlessly assume, just as their elder daughter did at first, that it sold religious paraphernalia. For once both their daughters were united in thought, knowing how wrong that assumption would be.
“An angel,” began Lily, her tone that of an adult explaining a concept to a young child that they thought would find the idea difficult, “Is like a doll.” Her parents exchanged looks of surprise, knowing their daughter had forsaken dolls for books at four. “All my friends have them,” continued Lily, in a tone that obviously conveyed her desire to buy one for herself, “And they say that they move. You put them on this table-thingy and then their owner can control them with their mind. They fight other angels, playing on whatever advantages their build and type give them.” Her summary showed that she must have, for some time, had an interest in this subject and had been waiting for an opportunity to bring it up. With a treacherous glance at her sister, Lily added “And Elizabeth bought one! They’re really expensive.” The self-satisfied grin on her face showed she thought she had both won and planted the idea of her wanting an angel in her parents’ minds. But the grin was quickly swiped from her face as she saw the thoughtful expression on both adults faces. They did not appear angry, in fact they seemed slightly pleased. Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to grin, unable to restrain herself in her sister’s defeat.
“It will get me out of the house,” Elizabeth told her parents consolingly, knowing that it was that which they so desperately desired and would pay any amount of money for. They turned to her as one, their expressions mirrored on the other’s face. “So it’s true, then,” asked her mother, a note of pleading in her voice. Elizabeth nodded. She did not, of course, tell her parents that it was not she who had paid for the angel. Nor did she confide in them that she had made a friend and the promise she had given the girl. All her parents knew is that it had already influenced her. She had, after all, gone out last night to draw, bringing Kika with her as protection. This was, in their eyes, an immense improvement over what she usually did, which is to say, locking herself in her room and reading until she fell asleep.
Elizabeth’s eyes wandered, falling on the canvas bag she had left near the door and knowing that, before she had gone out, she had carefully placed the instructions on proper care of an angel. She had also placed within it a highlighting kit she had purchased for a nominal fee as she bought her angel, but she had had no time to examine that. She stood from the table, leaving her empty plate and walking to the bag. “Put your dishes in the sink,” her father called after her before realizing Elizabeth was already planning on returning to the table. She slung the bag across her shoulder before pulling from it the instruction sheet she had studied over and over before actually carrying out what it said to do. She showed it to her parents in turn, giving them only enough time to read the heading and the first few words before pulling it back and carefully placing it within her bag once more. Hurriedly, she grabbed her plate and rinsed it in the sink, hoping to make it up the stairs before- “Honey, can we see this ‘angel’ thing?” her mother called after her. She sighed inwardly at her being too slow before pivoting on her heel from her position half-way up the stairs, nodding at her parents, and continuing up toward her room once more.
She set down her bag in the center of her floor before tenderly picking up the small doll. “Aleia,” she said to it, as if the inanimate object would somehow know its name. Carefully cradling it in her arms as she so often did with a long awaited book, she walked downstairs once more. She showed her parents, but more importantly she showed off to her sister. She pointed out the lovingly braided red hair, the well crafted features, the pale skin tone, and she showed them the eyes, though they were now closed, assuring them that they were a vibrant green. She told them how much of it she had done, the choosing of the eye and skin color, the build choice, the artfully arranged hair. Every detail she had memorized in the hours she had been up, she showed them. And she did not care how they would respond.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2007 3:19 pm
A New Hairstyle
Elizabeth sat in the swivel chair at her desk, turning absently back and forth as she looked at her angel. Her hand stroked the hair she had let out of its braid, moving gently along its wavy surface. She pulled two thick strands toward the back of Aleia’s head, tying them together with a Sapphire ribbon. But something was not quite right about the doll. She pulled her scissors from the desk beside her, knowing she could shorten but not lengthen, and carefully planning her cuts. “What’re you gonna do, cut her hair off?” asked an obnoxious voice at the door, and Elizabeth nearly did in her surprise, her hand slipping. “Go away, Lily,” she said in an exasperated sigh, not even turning to look at her younger sister.
Lily, of course, did not do as she was told but instead moved further into the room, watching Elizabeth over her shoulder as she knew Elizabeth hated. Elizabeth ignored her, hoping it would make her sister leave, instead raising the scissors once more to trim the hair surrounding the face, making the features framed delicately in Aleia’s long locks. Lily did not leave, but instead watched in rapt attention, following every move her sister made. Her eyes held a hunger, a longing, but that was rapidly disguised as Elizabeth turned to look at her younger sister. “What do you want, Lily,” asked Elizabeth in a voice as exasperated as her pose. Lily shook her head as if to clear it before saying in her usual, quite annoying, voice, “Mom and dad said they want to know how you could afford an angel,” she lied, in truth wanting to know this herself. “A friend bought it for me,” Elizabeth replied coolly, evoking a snort of derision from her sister. “You don’t have any friends,” Lily mockingly retorted, but she was disconcerted by the lack of guilt or secrecy upon Elizabeth’s face, signs that her sister usually was unable to repress when she was lying.
Elizabeth ignored her sister as she was so used to doing and Lily returned to watching her work on the hair. Elizabeth pushed away the miniscule amount of cut-off hair, pushing it into a bag she had pulled out for this purpose. The hair was as good as she would get it, but it was still lacking...something. She contemplated the color. It was a beautiful shade of red, but it was too consistent to look natural. She did not particularly want to go to the store to purchase the highlighting kits she had seen they sold, but her mother dyed her hair, as many middle-aged women do, and at the moment she happened to prefer red hair. Elizabeth swiveled the chair about, nearly knocking her sister over, before getting up and walking out the door, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door before Lily could discover what she was doing. She searched the shelves twice before finally locating, amidst a mass of random nearly-used up hair colors that were, for the most part, a number of months old, the red that was her mothers current color. She pulled it from the shelf and hid it behind her back as she slipped back into her room. “Out,” she told Lily once more, and this time the eleven-year-old complied.
Elizabeth locked her door after her sister and compared the red of Aleia’s hair to the red of the highlighting kit. The highlighting kit was darker, but they went well together and she decided it would suffice. Pulling out a paintbrush from the mess that she called her desk, she dabbed lightly in the color, brushing it delicately over Aleia’s hair until, finally, she was satisfied. She picked up the kit and unlocked the door, jumping back as her sister nearly fell in. Lily’s eyes flickered from the highlighting kit in Elizabeth’s hands to the new color on Aleia’s hair and a malignant grin crossed her face. “I’m gonna tell,” she told Elizabeth gleefully. But Elizabeth replied darkly, “No you won’t.” She glared at Lily as if daring her to tell and see what happened, and the pout on Lily’s face showed she knew she would not tell. Elizabeth stalked back to the bathroom, replacing the highlighting kit exactly where she found it. Then she strode back to her own room, slamming the door shut and locking it, reminding herself she needed a new lock.
Elizabeth surveyed Aleia from just inside her door, examining the effect the lighting had upon her hair. A thought crossed her mind as she remembered a thin strand of silver silk ribbon she had tossed aside earlier that day. Her hands groped for it in the deepest recesses of one of her desk's many drawers before her fingers finally closed around its silken form. She pulled it out and held it against her angel's hair before nodding curtly to herself. She began to reach toward Aleia, as if to tie the ribbon around her head, but paused mid-motion. She had realized that she knew absolutely nothing about hair color, and she definitely did not want to take the risk of destroying her intricate work. She settled instead upon the end of her bed, watching the sunlight play of the shining surface of the ribbon, watching the golden glow fall across her angel's hair. Finally, she deemed it ready and she moved once more to her precious Aleia. She carefully tied the ribbon around her hair like a headband, tying it twice, trimming the loose ends, and swiveling it so the knot was hidden below Aleia's hair. Aleia did not, after all, seem like the bow type.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 12, 2007 6:08 pm
"Shall You Believe?"
Elizabeth ignored the repeated knocks on her door, her gaze falling absently across her room, her eyes unfocused. A pencil was held in her hand and on her lap was nestled a notepad, covered with miniscule writing. Suddenly, Elizabeth’s eyes went into focus once more as she finally came up with an idea, scrawling it down in handwriting so small it barely looked as if her hand moved as she wrote. But still, she ignored the knocks. All around her were loose pieces of paper with half-finished pictures on them, all discarded as being unworthy. Her left hand was curled around the arm of Aleia, and the dolls hair drew her eyes, distracting her from her work. She loved the new look: darker in parts and much more natural looking.
She sighed and set aside her notebook. She was simply having writers block today and unable to work on her book. Tuning out the ever-present knocking of what was, undoubtedly, her sister attempting to annoy her, she lay back on her bed and cast her mind about. She then remembered what she had heard, and sat up strait. Aleia needed an entry phrase. She completely lacked ideas, and with the day she was having, she wouldn’t come up with anything. She pulled herself up, grabbing Aleia and tucking her safely in the bag which she hurriedly threw over her shoulder. She unlocked the door and pulled it open, rushing past her sister who looked startled. She darted down the street to the Descending Angels store and toward the section where battles were held. The best way to get an idea was to see what mundane things could not be used, and to see what sounded interesting as people said them. So she pushed down her hate of crowds and maneuvered through the throngs to a decent position with a view of a layer.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Elizabeth’s time watching people battle had been fruitless. Nothing they had said would apply to her precious angel, or else it had something to do with religion, which wouldn’t work for Elizabeth. She sighed dejectedly and pulled out a loose sheet of paper, writing all of the phrases she had heard upon its white surface, reviewing them once more to see if their appeal had grown. It hadn’t, so she cast her mind about for inspiration, landing finally upon the outfit: the three items she desired. Obvious and immediate came the idea of something in her own elfish language she had invented for her book, but it would do her no good for no one else to understand her. Her thoughts turned to the dress, and she realized how many medieval-based options there were.
An hour later, the scratching of the pencil stopped. Nothing had particularly stood out, but she had written a few of the better ones in her minuscule handwriting along the side of the page. She had all but forgotten the third item of her ideal outfit for little Aleia when, suddenly, her gaze fell across Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows which lay, open and worn, across her bed where she had left it after reading it for the 14th time in a row. “Magic,” she murmured to her angel, “Do you believe?” Many of her ideas for books were in lands of magic and elves, and the character she had based her doll off of would indeed believe in magic, seeing as she was an elf. But would this angel, if it could talk and think? She turned the doll over and over in her hands. “Do you believe in magic, little Aleia?” she asked, her mind turning back to an entry phrase. She scribbled the little phrase along the edge of her paper and circled it. “You shall be in Ravenclaw,” she told the doll, “And shall you believe?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Nov 03, 2007 11:11 am
A Letter About a Meeting
The scratching of a pen on harsh paper penetrated the otherwise silent room. The gentle breeze that flowed through the room made no noise, serving only to cause the silk curtains to flutter eerily. Outside, the sun had set and the moon had not yet risen, yet the quiet was unusual for this time of night. The sky was perforated with dots of light, yet all was blurred and hazy. The fog, so rare and beautiful, had come tonight. Fall would be coming soon, and the sweltering days would give was to cool ones, and perhaps snow would fall.
A girl was bent over a desk wrought of cherry wood. In her hand was an old fashioned pen, before her was a page full of words. Her golden locks fell haphazardly about her face, straying into her line of vision only to be unconsciously brushed away by the index finger of her left hand. Under the thick sheet of paper, so outdated it was quaint, was an envelope which happened to appear to be much more modern then the devices she chose to implement would show. Yet a rustic feel would be best for these purposes.
Elizabeth finished the last sentence of the letter with a flourish. Her hand was clasped around the small form beside her as she set down the old-fashioned fountain pen. Aleia was, indeed, a character come to life. Her eyes moved from the white paper to the small figure resting in her lap. Her hand uncurled from around her waist and she unconsciously straitened the dress. ‘Okay,’ she thought, looking at the angel, ‘so she’s a little more flamboyant than Aleia would be...’
She trailed off and turned her attention to the paper in front of her. Her eyes scanned it once more. She had not gotten the point across, not brought out her amazement at the girl who would go so far as to call herself the name of a character from a book so well known. Since she had encountered this so-called “Luna Lovegood,” she had been unable to forget her. Her mind was locked in a constant struggle between what she knew was impossible and what she wished could be true.
“Luna” she muttered under her breath, thinking back on the odd teenager she had encountered. Luna did indeed comply with the parameters JK Rowling, the author of the ever-popular Harry Potter series, had set. She did indeed have blonde hair and a dreamy, almost disconnected air. Her language made just as much sense in real life as it did in writing (in other words, none at all). She often seemed about to reference something, then refrained as if she was meant to be hiding it.
Elizabeth longed with all of her heart that still held on to such childish possibilities, that such a thing could be true and real rather than a crazed fan who likely had some form of split personalities. She wished with all her might that Luna could be the real Luna. But what was real? Was it the character written in some book, the brainchild of an author whose work reached a generation for whom video games replaced reading? Or was it the child that called herself that name, the flesh and blood version? What, in essence, was reality?
Elizabeth shook her head sorrowfully. If she kept this up, she would convince herself that the girl she met would be able to perform magic and that her patronus would be a hare. She sighed and tore the letter out of the notebook she had written it in, reading it more carefully.
JK Rowling,
I realize that you doubtless get inundated with fan mail each day. You are nearly an icon for aspiring fictional authors such as myself. Yet, sadly, I write to you today, not about that which I would so desire to send to you for your (or you editors) approval, yet about a matter of the real world, a matter of dire importance.
I have met a girl recently in a store in my hometown. She calls herself Luna Lovegood with strong conviction. Her features are indeed reminiscent of those you so adeptly described in your works. Her appearance is what any would have imagined she would look like. Through that, I have a question to ask you. Do you, by any chance, mind disclosing where you found your inspiration? I shall even venture to childish realms by asking if it is based upon something that is very much real.
This, I realize, is something that seems as if it is a thought that ought to have been abandoned long ago. As yet, not one character from a story so blatantly fiction has existed in entirety in the true world, yet I long, as a writer, to see it happen to my own pieces. Your skill in the telling of the story of a certain Mr. H. Potter was profound, and perhaps you may be willing to pass your secrets on to another. What made your books touch the masses? And I still maintain the childish dream in my heart to make my own characters come to life.
It wouldn’t do. No one would believe her, and fewer would take seriously her secret desires. ‘What prompted me to want to write a letter to someone I’ve never met, anyway,’ Elizabeth thought with a note of exasperation. She crumpled up the letter, tossing it in the general direction of her trashcan, yet missing drastically. A letter wouldn’t do at all. “I hope I meet her again” Elizabeth muttered to herself.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
