Okay, so this is just a little sample, so thank you very much for reading and if you have anything to offer or anything you would like anything put in, just drop it in a review or PM and I will be happy to oblige and to discuss ideas. I don't really have much of an idea exactly what is going to be in this so suggestions greatly appreciated!
Sample opening paragraph; what do we think? Alice and Agnes, just before Lizzie picks her up.
It was the day of my parent's funeral, just two days after their death, and my aunt Agnes had taken me in to raise me as her own. She was barren, my aunt Agnes and so had never had any children of her own; she said that I would be a daughter to her now I'd lost my own mam. I had started the day dressed in my best for the funeral with my long hair washed and brushed out glossy, my aunt Agnes clearly making up for the lost years when she'd had no daughter of her own. I was pretty sure, from the things my own mam said, that if she had had a daughter she'd be sick of the sight of her by the end of the month and I wasn't looking forward to the beatings that would surely follow. My aunt Agnes was kinder to me though than my parents had ever been- they had beaten me black and blue for the smallest of things whereas my aunt Agnes only raised her hand to me on occasion.
Like before, when she'd tried to plait my hair into two like a little girl, despite the fact I was very nearly eleven, when I would begin my transition into womanhood. After insisting on bathing me herself- despite the fact I had been washing myself since the age of five- and making me stand naked by the fire while she did so she had then wanted to sit me down at her dressing table and comb out my hair 'like a proper young lady.' My aunt Agnes insisted on bringing me up right and proper, and she considered me more than a little 'wild' and 'unpolished.' She kept saying to me while she combed out my tangles 'you might have been born in Pendle, Alice, but you're no witch and you don't have to go round looking like one either' I had sulked and kept silent, not liking being compared to those warty hags with their yellow skin, long nails and dirty hair. I might not have had a new dress for every day like my aunt Agnes but then I didn't have the luxury of being able to clothe myself and I took real pride in my appearance, washing myself and my dress as often as needed. (My pointy witches shoes could rot on my feet for all I cared, though, now that my mam wasn't around to beat me for it.)
After all that babying, though, Agnes still wasn't satisfied and she'd wanted to braid my hair into two plaits tied with little ribbons at the end. I'd refused and twisted up and away from her, mussing my hair up purposefully. She'd got angry then, called me an 'ungrateful little wretch' and ordered me to sit back down.
'I don't even want to go to this stupid funeral at all! I hated my parents and they hated me. I ain't going looking like a bloody five- year- old to something I don't even want to go to.'
She'd slapped me then, my aunt Agnes, hard across my right cheek. I clenched my fists until the knuckles turned white, humiliated enough by todays babying to even care what I said anymore- I was going to show her I wasn't some little girl.
'Alice Sowerbutts, you are going to become a young lady if it is the last thing I do and you will go to your parent's funeral looking presentable and you will not use that language in front of me. Is that clear?' She snapped, trying to sound dangerous while her plump white chins wobbled with anger.
'My name is Alice Deane' I shouted back at her 'and I'll do whatever I want! You can't tell me what to do and neither can anyone else- bloody, bloody, bloody!' I shouted defiantly. Agnes had slapped me twice then, first one the left cheek and then on the right. My own hand came up to slap her back and as my fingers struck her cheek she fell back in furious silence.
'Alice you will put your best dress on and you will do your hair nicely. We shall talk about this after the funeral, when you shall apologise and I shall decide on your punishment, is that clear?' She hissed at me. I merely raised my chin and did not reply and so Agnes quitted the room in silent anger. I ripped my best dress off over my head- it was an ugly brown colour anyway- and purposefully tore through it so as it would be unwearable in future, no matter how much my aunt Agnes tried to repair it. I donned my usual black dress that I wore every day and ran down to the stream to wash off the scent of Agnes' yellow soap and smell more like myself.
I returned to the cottage just in time to walk with her to the funeral and her face paled, her mouth twisting in anger when she saw how I had dressed myself. Not only had I put my black dress back on but I had rummaged through Agnes' cupboards until I had found what I was looking for. I now pulled in the waist of my dress tightly with a piece of white string; firstly to show Agnes that I wasn't a little girl and was getting a waist as well as to lend the dress a bit more shape on my body. My hair tumbled down over my shoulders in its usual waves that, although glossy in colour, lacked the slippery sheen Agnes' combing had given it. I smirked to myself in defiance and walked to the morgue well ahead of Agnes, who had initially tried to take my hand as though she really did think I was a little child.
The door of the morgue was open and before I even stepped in I could smell the strong stench of dying blood and hear the quiet buzzing of flies. My aunt Agnes blanched when she entered at both the smell of the corpses and the sight that greeted her; the sight of my dad (her brother) laid out on a dark wooden table; the wood soft with all the blood that had seeped into it. My aunt Agnes had paid for his body to be washed but not my mam who lay beside her husband, wrapped in her death shroud and still with a thin film of dead sweat clinging to be brow. They had both died of a dangerous fever that infected and conquered them all in one night. I remembered the whimpering and sobbing from their bedroom as the fever boiled their blood and shuddered. It was a miracle that I, a mere scrawny girl of ten, had managed to survive such a dangerous fever without even a scratch. It was a miracle that could mean my life was finally about to start getting better… Fat chance of that.
…So, what do we think?
A big thank you for taking the time to read, I plan fairly regular updates and just to remind you (in case you didn't read the blather at the top) if you have anything to suggest please drop it in a review or PM- trust me, you'd be doing me favour putting in your suggestions and you would, of course, be credited for them.