Magi's head was filled with junk. She couldn't think straight, not after what just happened. The kitchen table that used to bring her so much joy now just felt like a solid discomfort under her as she sat on it.
But let me begin at the beginning.
It certainly started out like a normal day. She had been in the library reading a Sherlock Holmes mystery novel. She loved the way that Sir Conan Doyle used the most miniscule details in the big picture. In this particular story, a fancy cigarette with a tightly pinched end found at the scene of the murder was the most important clue. Many of Magi's friends disliked Holmes' stories, because they never seemed to figure them out. But Magi liked the details. This is because she was an observer. Her parents told her that all V.F.D members and members in training had a special skill. Inventing, researching, cooking, observing... Hers was one of the more "rare" ones. Right up there with poetry, and mycenology. And, yes, she knew all about V.F.D. In fact, she was convinced that she knew everything. Then her parents sent her out to play. "Why don't you go roller-blading," they had said to her as they pushed her out the door. But then her dog, Fraiser got loose. She chased him, but when she returned home, dog in tow, her mansion was no more. The only thing left stading was the iron doorway. No, there was a few more things she could make out. A solotairy wall, a floor lamp, her kitchen table.
Where is where we are now.
Magi glanced down at her dark red (tear-stained) commonplace book. Even thought the words were blurred, two kept popping out at her. Baudelaire... Quagmire... She knew where they were, to. Or at least, were they were going. The Hotel Denomeunt. She had to be there, she had to talk to them before Olaf got a hold of her.
I mean, come on. Of course Olaf was after her.
This was because she had a fortune. And Olaf obviously burned down her house. So he was obviously after her. So she decided to go before she changed her mind. She grabed her Commonplace book and jumped off of the kitchen table. She charged forward to the kitchen door, head down, arm out-stretched to push open the door.
Wait...
She stopped short. Shouldn't she have felt the door by now? Of course not, it was gone. Stupid, stupid me she thought. She continued past the iron doorframe, down the ashy remains on the steps, across the gravel path that led to her once-beautiful house and down to the street. She lived very close to the Hotel, much to her advantage
AUTHORS NOTE: More to come!