Now that that's taken care of, on with the story!
A young golden-haired girl stepped off the train with her two bags. No one noticed her, she was just another person in this great city, she was nothing to others and they were nothing to her. Though she was different than others, she hadn't come here for a hope of a new life as of others. She also didn't come here to see shows or anything of that sort. Most people went here against friends and families will, though she had come here because of them, though in her own protest.
She had potential, she knew it, and everyone knew it. When she wrote something they all saw it. Her strokes with a pen, or her fingers tapping the keys on a typewriter, people looked at it as a thing of beauty. Some felt it was a gift, others a promising new career, to her it was a plague. She hated attention, all she wanted was to blend into the background. It had always been a dream of hers to write something, anything, that someone, anyone would read and thought it was amazing and thought provoking. She didn't want attention for it or anything. That's why she wanted to write something back home in a small town in England. Though people sensed her talent, and made her come to Paris to train with a professional writer. He was an amazing writer, he wrote a work much like the one she had wanted to write herself. He had approved of having her apprentice him. She should have been happy. This was an opportunity of a lifetime, and she probably would have taken this chance any other time. Though she felt it was wrong now. She just wanted to sit at home and write. She didn't want to go away from her friends and family. At least not yet, she still felt she was too young to go and face the world alone.
Though suppressing her thoughts for the time being she put on a false smile and walked towards the address she had hastily scribbled on a piece of paper the night before she left. It was the address to the place she would be staying with her tutor. He had provided accommodations for her, which she accepted willingly, it was less for her family to spend. Though she wished she actually knew what to expect, not just the return address she had found on an envelope and wrote on a piece of paper the night before she left. Her tutor had never even actually told her where to find him. She of course was worried that he wouldn't be at that address, though as there was nowhere else to go, it made sense.
She came to a bad part of the city. It was under-developed, and some of the buildings appeared to have been out of use for years. She couldn't believe people would live in such slums. She finally came to a tall building; it was decorated with advertisements in French that she could barely read. Times like this made her wish she had paid more attention to her French lessons. Thoughts raced through her mind, 'this couldn't be the address' and 'why would a renowned author live in such a dump?' She put her thoughts into the recesses of her mind and instead pushed open the door and climbed the stairs to the correct apartment.
With barely a knock on the door it was opened a crack, revealing a dashing man looking in his forties. He had a shaggy beard, and ragged clothes on, looking as though he put his personal health in disregard. He seemed surprised to see a visitor, he didn't have many, he didn't like people. Before she could say anything he spat,
"Alana Matthews?" The young girl could barely nod her head as he flung open the door to let her in. The apartment was small and quite dirty. It looked just like him, disregarded. Before Alana could say anything to him he said, "I'm Christian, your mentor, tutor, professor…whatever you want to call me for the time being, it doesn't matter to me." Before she could get in a word edgewise he asked another question. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen, I will be turning twenty in September." She diligently replied.
"Why did you come here?" He asked again almost cutting her off.
"To learn, my parents want me to become a proper writer and they think…."
"But why did you come here?" he asked again.
"Well…I guess…" Alana was less forward with her reply, as she really didn't know the answer. "Partially because they made me, and partially because I want to learn how to write like you." She finished, though before he could ask another question, she cut in. "Why all of the questions Christian, if I can call you that…Where am I staying, and why do you live here in the slums?" She spat out all of the questions quite fast.
Christian gave a brief laugh and paused to think before he replied. "Some questions must be answered over time, because the recipient or the giver of the questions is either not ready to answer or ask them yet. You will find out everything you seek before you leave here if you try, otherwise I have nothing more to offer you here than my trust. I will teach you what I know as long as you are willing to learn and question along the way. You will be staying in the room to the right of this, I got you your own room, so I won't have to deal with you all of the time. Here is you key, that is all for today. Thank you." He said and handed her a small bronze key and pointed out the door. Her head still spinning with what he said, she turned around and picked her bags up in the doorway and unlocked the adjacent room to set them in there. Alana still wasn't sure whether to thank him or not. He had said everything in a tart way that made her feel hurt, though that one ring of brief laughter seemed to set aside her worries.
She looked around her room and was surprised to see it wasn't in as much dismal as her strange new teachers. It seemed pretty clean compared to the rest of the building. The bed still looked taunt and almost new, the dark green comforter on it only had a few small holes. The floors matching carpet was only stained in a few places. She was surprised to see it had three rooms, a bedroom, a sort of living room and kitchen, and a bathroom. She a few windows, the one in her bedroom was actually quite large. It seemed her living conditions were okay for the time being. She opened her curtains and gazed out into the horizon. She could see a lot of the city; it didn't look quite as dank and ill repaired from this high. It took her a long time to peel herself from that view and drift into sleep in her new home.