Okay, so I had this idea because I was just thinking and thinking how would be living in Gone with the Wind, to live like Scarlett and fix some of her mistakes, of course.

I hope you don't find this too strange and thank you for checking out my history.

Ok guys, it's already proofread it, thank you again to The-What-If-chapters for helping me, and I'll be re-uploading the next chapters so they'll be free of grammatical mistakes, sorry again for that.

Chapter 1
The Picture of Scarlett O'Hara

...

My name is Blair Hamilton and I'm seventeen years old. I live in Chicago and since I can remember I've been in love with the Golden age black and white movies from decades ago. My grandmother is the one to blame since she showed me Breakfast at Tiffany's when I was six. Audrey Hepburn became my role model since that day and it hasn't changed. After all, she was perfect. She was class and elegance in flesh and blood. Then, of course, I saw Roman Holiday, My Fair Lady, Charade and, in Sabrina, I met Humphrey Bogart. But it wasn't until Casablanca that I fell in love with him. His famous phrase "here's looking at you, kid," kills me every time.

After that, it was a matter of time before I watched Gone with the Wind and I had to split my heart for Humphrey and Mr. Clark Gable. But I found more in that movie that just another platonic love. I found another role model. I did not replace Audrey, but I made room for Scarlett. That's right, Scarlett O'Hara, not Vivien Leigh, though maybe I should have picked the second—a lot of broken hearts would be intact now if it wasn't for my delusional thoughts of being a Southern Belle—ironically because I live in the north, but hey, I was thirteen. So I broke a lot of hearts pouting and raising my eyebrow and being a bitch—I knew Scarlett would be proud—until the life paid me back and not only broke, but crushed and smashed my heart, and then I grew up… more or less. What can I say? After all, I'm still a teenager and you only can live once right? But I sought to be Audrey from time to time and not only be the sometimes cold-hearted, greedy, selfish and very spoiled Scarlett.

It was a sunny hot-like-hell morning in Atlanta, but I was wearing denim shorts, a pretty cotton blue and green blouse and a pair of flat leather beige booties.

I felt very comfortable as I walked with my uncles to Margaret Mitchell's house. I know, it sound's kind of boring and lame and it is. But I was actually excited because Gone with the Wind is one of my all-time favorite movies.

I looked up at the three-story building, slipping my aviator sunglasses to the top of my head and smiled. It was an old-fashioned kind of pretty, red and white Tudor style, and we entered it with the rest of the tourists.

The tour was… fine, but I expected something else to be honest. I looked around a little bored, looking for Scarlett's portrait when my eyes caught the gaze of a boy around my age. He was blond and handsome and smiled at me flirtatiously, so I smiled back, fluttering my eyelashes.
He smiled wider and approached me discretely as I turned my head to the front.

"Hi!" he said.

"Hi." I responded, barely looking at him. I knew boys and I knew they liked challenges. They liked when they had to chase.

"So… it's kind of boring, don't you think?" the boy asked me, nodding at the female guide talking. I smirked at him as if I knew something he didn't.

"Actually, I like it," I responded easily, and then turned to the front again.

"Well, I mean… I mean the guide, not what she's saying," the guide just started to walk and I followed the group without a word to the boy who, of course, followed me quickly.

"My name is Ashton, by the way," he told me as we entered to a drawing room full of portraits and old furniture and some old gowns of the movie.

"Nice to meet you, Ashton," I responded, giving him a lovely smile and then I turned and just walked to one of the Scarlett dresses, a blue one with a black hat and yellow gloves.

He followed me again, this time not so quickly and I knew he was thinking that maybe it was a lost cause and that made me smile again. Oh, boys were so predictable.

"So… what's yours?"

"Excuse me?" I turned to him raising an eyebrow.

"Your name, what's your name?" he repeated and I smiled brightly again.

"I'm Blair, Austin."

The boy looked at me frowning lightly.

"It's Ashton."

"Oh, right, sorry," I said, pouting as I really had meant that and he smiled.

"It's okay, don't worry."

"Fine, so do you live in the city?" I asked him as I walked to another glass case and he followed me.

"No, I'm from San Diego. I came here on vacations. A little lame thought, it was my sister's idea of fun, not mine," he grimaced and I chucked, shaking my hair off my shoulder.

"Well, then I'm afraid your sister and I think the same way."

"Oh, so you're into the museums and that stuff?" the boy asked now not much convinced with me. I just read him like a book and smiled.

"No, just this in particular," I shrugged.

"Oh... why's that?"

"I love Gone with the Wind," I responded easily, I wanted to say duh! What else would I be in this kind of museum if not? "Have you seen it?"

"Yeah, in English class. It was fine."

I smirked, leaning a little to him, rubbing my neck lightly. His eyes followed my hand.

"It's okay. It's not so much a boy's movie, though," I replied, walking out the room and he smiled, walking closer to me.

"I did like some parts," he quickly added and I flashed him a smile. Probably he didn't remember a thing.

By the third gallery I hadn't seen the portrait, yet and the tour was getting boring along with Ashton.

I excused myself to the ladies room and ran upstairs. I was going to find the portrait, take a thousand pictures and then wait for my uncles in the coffee shop across the street. Maybe I could find a guy with personality.

I looked into two different rooms until I found it, hidden in a corner. I pulled my iPhone from my shoulder handbag and take one, two, three, well, a lot of photos of the picture and some selfies too. When I finished, I pulled my cellphone back and I turned to leave, but then I saw something from the corner of my eye that made me stay still. I saw someone moving in the painting. No, literally, in the painting.

At first, I thought it was the reflection of the glass, but I realized the painting had no glass. I even turned around and strangely the room was empty. Frowning, I turned to see the picture again and, indeed, something was moving inside.

I leaned over the velvet rope in front of the picture to stop people from touching the picture and see something moving in the background, something behind the blue dress of Scarlett.

"What the…?" the background turned paler and paler until it was like glass and I could see someone moving behind. I didn't think straight and did the stupidest thing to do. I extended my arm and touched the painting.

It was cold and too smooth to be a painting. That was when I noticed something else. I had touched the painting! And nothing had happened. No alarm had jumped and no guard came to drag me out of the house. Well, it was better not to push my luck.

I pulled my arm, but I couldn't move it because my fingertips were, somehow, glued to the paint.

"No, no," I pulled harder, but nothing happened. I thought of screaming for help but then again, I'd be in so much trouble. And when I thought nothing could get any worse, I felt something pulling me to the painting and my hand went through the picture as if it was just a hologram.

I couldn't explain it, something was dragging me to the painting and then I did scream. I yelled and kicked, but no one came in. I tried to hold onto something, half of my arm had already gone across the painting.

"HEEELP!" I cried and then it dragged me completely and I crossed the painting.

So this is it. I hope you don't find it so weird. I've never been in Margaret Mitchel's house so I don't know how the tour it is. So if you liked it, please review and let me now what do you think. Thank you guys.