You have been taken by the Mists

Author Topic: The memories of a ghost.  (Read 582 times)

Little Lotte

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The memories of a ghost.
« on: March 01, 2009, 03:14:57 AM »
A girls laughter full of mirth and confidence woke her up, her eyelids fluttering open letting her toffee colored orbs greet the day. She had heard that laughter everyday for the last fifteen years, she knew it well and it brought a smile to her full lips. The sun was just coming up over the hills outside of their estate and the house already was full of life. Valentina, the middle child of the Petrov family rose gracefully from her bed, her curly black tresses blowing in the slight breeze from the open window as she pulled her dressing gown on. Making her way to the window she looked down into the field, and there under the large rowan tree was her younger sister Violetta swinging on the homemade swing her father had made specially for her. Her laughter permeated the air and brought a grin to Valentinas porcelain face as she hurried to dress.


She made her way down the flight of stairs, her gloved hand never leaving the banister, nodding to various servants along the way. She was nearly to the door that would take her to her sister when a shadow crossed her path, she raised her eyes looking up into the stern face of her older brother Vicente. Nodding politely to him she attempted to make her way around him, her skirts swishing around her ankles as he made a point of keeping in her way.

He spoke to her in a low bass voice, using their native language. "She does nu need you Valentina. Tend to your studies." His voice was cold, and abrasive as it so often was when speaking to her. She tilted her chin up looking him in the eye, her stubborn streak showing through.

"Nu, I wish to see my sister this morning Vicente. The violin can wait." She attempted once again  to step around him, but the action was in vain as his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist strongly and pushed her back. His eyes burned with malice, and her heart stopped. Without another thought she turned on heel and went into the drawing room.

She picked up her violin, anger flashing in her eyes momentarily as she ran the freshly resined bow across the strings listening to the harsh tone her anger produced. Letting her emotions drive her playing, her arm movements were fierce and ragged, the sharp high notes echoed through the halls of the Petrov manor. Finally as she continued playing her anger seemed to ebb away giving way to a sorrowful melody, her eyes focused on the window leading to the outside world. She was prisoner here.


The walls of the Blue Water Inn dripped blood as Valentina relived one of her childhood memories, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. She looked to her hands, expecting to see her beloved violin, but all that graced her eyes was the crimson of blood dried to her ethereal body. Fear rose in her throat as she frantically explored the Inn looking for the one person she knew she could trust. Vincent. Where was he? She gracefully floated around the corner, a mournful look of despair etched across her pale skin, her eyes seeing no one she lets out a scream so terrifying it could freeze the blood of the living.

Little Lotte

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Re: The memories of a ghost.
« Reply #1 on: March 03, 2009, 12:23:30 PM »
Someone was buckling her shoes for her as her toffee eyes roamed around the sparse room. Her eyes burned with lack of sleep, her cheeks sticky from her tears. The little girls deep black curls hung down around her face as one of the various servants made her presentable. The past few days had been a nightmare, the screaming and moaning coming from her mothers room had kept her wide awake deep into the dark of the night. Valentina looked back to her shoes, they were buckled. Suddenly someone was picking her up and straightening out her tiny little gown, full of lace and ruffles in all the places children dont need them. Her eyes shifted to the left, her bed, where her beloved doll Charity lay limp, her buttons eyes looking off into the distance. The servants moved around her quietly, some spoke of not wanting to upset the child, so they let her be.

Valentina grabbed Charity the doll and silently left her room and ventured out into the silent corridor, her eyes and ears sensitive to any movement. The only sound to be heard was the clicking of her buckled shoes on the stone floor. She walked as if in a daze through the home she had lived in all her life, memories of her mother flooded the tiny girl. She passed her brothers room, peeking in momentarily. He sat quiet as a mouse on his bed, his eyes glazed with saddness. She entered his room, the ruffles of her skirt swishing as she walked over to him. Silently she handed him the doll before placing her small hand on his, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Their mother had died in the night, overcome by fever and hallucinations. She had screamed for three days straight, wracked with overwhelming pain as her body contorted with the diease. Both siblings looked at each other, both carrying the eyes of their mother and at once began to cry silent tears cascading down their cheeks as the loss of their mother hit them with full force. Vicente grabbed Valentina and hoisted her up onto the bed with him, hugging her tightly as he ran his hand through her hair. They were all each other had now, brother and sister.