Status: Slowly progressive.
Waltzing Back
Dying in the Sun.
The large door opened hesitantly, hiding the pursuer, as the lord twitched his thin eyebrow with confusion. Out came a young lady with a face smeared with dirt. Her clothes were torn at the rim and held a brownish-hue. The lord furrowed his brows now as he looked at the feeble girl standing with clenched fists.
The young lady, name Ophelia Lovell, examined the well-furnished room with her dark eyes for she would never see this part of the manor again. The high ceilings were bare, the walls were coated in a mustard color of paint, and the floor was glistening with the light entering the room from the outdoors. There was an antique desk placed in the center of the room which had oddly-shaped blocks settling amongst the top. From what Ophelia could make out of them, they had curious symbols written on a thin sheet of some material.
The large man clothed in several layers walked boorishly to the young lady with a foul sneer arranged on his face. Ophelia could establish that even though there were once workers tending to the lord’s land, and public to the sun’s deadly radiation, the heat was more severe in the room the two were standing in. She could make out the little droplets of sweat mustered within his thick mustache and creased between the wrinkles of his forehead, was a shiny layer of secretion.
She herself had moisture secured under her arms, and a single bead of perspire traveling down her jaw line. A burning sensation was felt where the heel of her foot chafed with the irritating material of her shoe. With the pressure evident on her shoulders of what she was proposing to say, she felt weaker than an insect drowning in water. Her legs were as strong as a strand of grass, and her head was poorly supported by her neck.
“What is it you are here for?”
Ophelia’s posture twitched with his sudden words spoken so vulgar and in a thick accent. She continued to stare on for a moment more, unaware that she was even doing so with her brain fogged with only but the scorching heat.
“My lord,” she mumbled. “I wish to resign.”
The large man gaped wryly at her face and his obscure brown eyes were lost in her “hollow” blue eyes. Every crucial look he presented her was engulfed completely by her eyes as if dropping a coin into a pond composed almost entirely of mud.
“You wish to resign, you say? Very well then… you are released. I have many more workers and losing a petty little one does not inflict as much damage to me as you may have thought. I declare you leave my presence at once or I will order my nobles to display to you an act of ingratitude.”
Feeling rather overwhelmed in the high state she succumbs to, she merely nodded at the burly man and wobbly turned to dismiss herself from the kiln. The sound of her feet clapping to the wooden floorboards soon faded back into reality…
Ophelia stalked the savaged crowd surrounding a market. They were chanting at it as if were cursed by a witch, but without exorcism, it was a massive request for food. The clapping that she reminisced just a moment ago transfigured now into the patter of the wooden market from the angry customers applying damage to it.
However with the scene demonstrated before her, she felt serenaded to be free. The clash of loud voices in protest was as if a song of welcoming to the dear Ophelia. The cloud of dirt drifting into the atmosphere was like a smoke that she found pleasuring to her nostrils. It was an overpowering scent of freedom.
It was that Ophelia felt a change in her life already that made her feel so relieved and unstoppable! Every glance that she took of the prospering city she inhabited, she felt more courageous and determined to discover with a fulfilling passion.
From where she used to operate, in the blistering sun, harvest crops and fertilizing soil, she could now rest in the shadows and observe humanity for once. Without her family, though, was the only pitfall in her new life. The lack of family she had was the single worm hole in the ripe apple.
She now desired, as she averted her eyes from the raging crowd to her lap, that there was someone there to love her. She was once loved in a daughterly kind of way, but she reckoned there was no one to replace her parental figures now. Ophelia had formerly heard of lovers, seeming that is what her mother and father were, but she felt ashamed of her age. She was only 14 and she desired a deep lust for a man to hold her and kiss her. They would excel in their animated ways, and have a family of their own.
If only Ophelia was not poor and reeked of layering sweat.
The young lady, name Ophelia Lovell, examined the well-furnished room with her dark eyes for she would never see this part of the manor again. The high ceilings were bare, the walls were coated in a mustard color of paint, and the floor was glistening with the light entering the room from the outdoors. There was an antique desk placed in the center of the room which had oddly-shaped blocks settling amongst the top. From what Ophelia could make out of them, they had curious symbols written on a thin sheet of some material.
The large man clothed in several layers walked boorishly to the young lady with a foul sneer arranged on his face. Ophelia could establish that even though there were once workers tending to the lord’s land, and public to the sun’s deadly radiation, the heat was more severe in the room the two were standing in. She could make out the little droplets of sweat mustered within his thick mustache and creased between the wrinkles of his forehead, was a shiny layer of secretion.
She herself had moisture secured under her arms, and a single bead of perspire traveling down her jaw line. A burning sensation was felt where the heel of her foot chafed with the irritating material of her shoe. With the pressure evident on her shoulders of what she was proposing to say, she felt weaker than an insect drowning in water. Her legs were as strong as a strand of grass, and her head was poorly supported by her neck.
“What is it you are here for?”
Ophelia’s posture twitched with his sudden words spoken so vulgar and in a thick accent. She continued to stare on for a moment more, unaware that she was even doing so with her brain fogged with only but the scorching heat.
“My lord,” she mumbled. “I wish to resign.”
The large man gaped wryly at her face and his obscure brown eyes were lost in her “hollow” blue eyes. Every crucial look he presented her was engulfed completely by her eyes as if dropping a coin into a pond composed almost entirely of mud.
“You wish to resign, you say? Very well then… you are released. I have many more workers and losing a petty little one does not inflict as much damage to me as you may have thought. I declare you leave my presence at once or I will order my nobles to display to you an act of ingratitude.”
Feeling rather overwhelmed in the high state she succumbs to, she merely nodded at the burly man and wobbly turned to dismiss herself from the kiln. The sound of her feet clapping to the wooden floorboards soon faded back into reality…
Ophelia stalked the savaged crowd surrounding a market. They were chanting at it as if were cursed by a witch, but without exorcism, it was a massive request for food. The clapping that she reminisced just a moment ago transfigured now into the patter of the wooden market from the angry customers applying damage to it.
However with the scene demonstrated before her, she felt serenaded to be free. The clash of loud voices in protest was as if a song of welcoming to the dear Ophelia. The cloud of dirt drifting into the atmosphere was like a smoke that she found pleasuring to her nostrils. It was an overpowering scent of freedom.
It was that Ophelia felt a change in her life already that made her feel so relieved and unstoppable! Every glance that she took of the prospering city she inhabited, she felt more courageous and determined to discover with a fulfilling passion.
From where she used to operate, in the blistering sun, harvest crops and fertilizing soil, she could now rest in the shadows and observe humanity for once. Without her family, though, was the only pitfall in her new life. The lack of family she had was the single worm hole in the ripe apple.
She now desired, as she averted her eyes from the raging crowd to her lap, that there was someone there to love her. She was once loved in a daughterly kind of way, but she reckoned there was no one to replace her parental figures now. Ophelia had formerly heard of lovers, seeming that is what her mother and father were, but she felt ashamed of her age. She was only 14 and she desired a deep lust for a man to hold her and kiss her. They would excel in their animated ways, and have a family of their own.
If only Ophelia was not poor and reeked of layering sweat.
♠ ♠ ♠
So this story is partially a fan-fiction and original fan-fiction, for you could use it with or without the celebrity I chose to portray the prince, which is Dominic Howard, the drummer of the rock band Muse.xoxo :)