This is my first ever fan fiction here….
So, wish me luck, and happy reading!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE TWILIGHT CHARACTERS. I DO, HOWEVER, OWN THIS PLOT AND ANY ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS.
A/N: One of my FanFiction Besties will make a cameo appearance…she knows who she is!
VICTORIAN ENGLAND
LONDON
PROLOGUE
IT WAS
a relatively normal day, at first.
A still day in the early afternoon, the precise times engraved on the tarnished brass pocket-watches of the men who were prosperous in this city.
In fact, this day was quite ordinary. Nothing special — it was not marked by any celebration, a festival of some sort.
No gifts lavishly wrapped up and presented to small children.
No banners hung in the modest, quiet, Victorian houses.
No. Nothing of the sort.
Nothing out of place, including the flea-ridden strays and starving ifs that huddled in the shadowed corners of the city.
It was precisely the same as it were yesterday, unfortunately for some, as the stench remained untamed.
London was bathed in the usual musks of smog, stale bread and unwashed bodies.
Horses' hooves clattered and stumbled awkwardly over the glistening cobbles, slick with the thick drizzle.
A pouring drizzle that grew heavier with each sighing second, drenching the narrow streets and trickling off of the sloping roves on crammed houses.
The weather, as usual, was far from satisfactory.
Grey; everything was grey!
From the thick, billows of pale fog that claimed the city, to the coughing chimneys that spluttered and wheezed into the midday.
The shadows that leapt from corner to corner, whispering past the townsfolk's ears, harmonising with the bland stretch of monotone sky.
Church bells chimed in a slow sort of synchronisation, and the subdued tones echoed in the bitter winter wind.
A wind that bit and snapped, as if a feral dog, at any passing stranger that braved to travel through such a dreary day as this.
It was unusually quiet, too.
Too quiet.
In fact, if it was not for the drunken rambles and guffaws of the top-hat clad men in the smoky pubs, one may have detected the crisp clicks of the hands on the church clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The never-ending, somewhat unnerving, sound.
Though in comparison to what levels of noise a usually busy-and-bustling London could reach, this was silence.
A bittersweet, rare, silence.
And, as with all silences, this one was broken, if ever so slightly.
Through the curled, translucent grey mist, the shadow of a sandy brown horse and a dark carriage were easily detected from the naked eye.
This was not rare; many a person travelled through London, to stop and rest, sample the fine bakery, or to simple cut through, onwards to their destination.
At first, it seemed plain enough; enough for people to turn their backs, not taking a second look at who was braving the city weather this time around
Though, as the horse-drawn carriage drew closer, and more details were recognisable, people stopped and stared.
The striking azure of the tame mare's eyes.
The slender, sliver of a whip that grazed her flank and rind.
A silhouette of a driver, complete with breeches and waistcoat, his features shadowed by the brim of his hat.
They drove on, and seemed to be just passing through the now-drenched streets of the city.
Upon knowing this, lookers on regarded their glimpses of this occasion precious.
They craned their necks to get a closer look at the foreigners, gasping in awe as they did so.
For the carriage was a sight by itself!
A smooth, curved outline soared in a bold arc, kissing the sky were the tips of the carriage curved out elegantly and with an intimidating precision.
It was a marvellous object of craftsmanship: a rich, bold indigo framed by a spider-like, delicate black lace; gold embellishments for the decor, from the trunk to the wheels.
The wood from which these wheels were carved from was a glorious, gleaming oak, crafted with care and pride.
The handles for the carriage were adorned with deep blue sapphires, almost as lustrous as the beautiful mare's eyes.
Such a vibrant sight to see on such a day as this.
The carriage moved onwards, slipping gracefully over the cobbles, the journey as smooth as it they had been travelling on flat ground.
This was partly to do with the great horse that battled against her golden reins.
Whilst other horses continued to ramble and whinny along the narrow streets, the mare seemed a force to be reckoned with.
Surging powerfully ahead, her glossy mane lifted with the wind, her eyes ablaze with intelligence. She looked at if she could carry on for an eternity.
Though, surprisingly for passers-by, she slowed.
Near the foot of a grand, old manor, no less.
The towering building was huge by victorian standards; it shrouded the carriage in a veil of thin shadows, stood proud and tall against a background of a misfit array of modest butchers and small cottages.
Sandy, flowing locks of the horse were brushed to the side by the harsh wind as the Epona halted. Flurries of dust and sandstone pooled and rose at her feet.
She raised her strong head to look directly at the grand entrance of Olympia Manor, named so after its God-like proportions. Whinnies were muffled by the sound of the strong rain, made even more undesirable by the wind that blew constantly.
The driver placed his whip down, and slowly lifted himself off his perch to land onto the cobbled ground. As he did so, the billows of air blew his long jacket, fanning it around him like a dark cape.
Opening the regal door of the huge carriage, no less than nine people strolled out, each dressed finely in expensive clothing lavishly embroidered: the men wore dark suits, with shining aristocratic shoes; the women wore deep mauve frocks, decorated with the finest of silks and lace.
Their formation was quite odd. The tallest man stood guard at the front; the smallest woman at the back. They formed a small crowd around an elegantly dressed young woman, no older that an adolescent girl from her proportions. Swiftly, they made their quick thanks to the driver, before one woman lifted the brim of the bonnet to make direct eye contact with the driver.
Immediately, he took off his top hat and bowed; a mop of angelic blond curls were atop his head, gleaming blue eyes as wide as brass buttons. A small, almost coy, smile was strewn across his innocent features.
Through the whistling wind, their small-talk conversation was only slightly audible.
"Thank you, Michael. Here is a little payment for your troubles. I do hope to see you again."
"I am honoured greatly, ma'am. To deliver the prestigious Cullen family to their destination is a reward in itself."
The pair shared a small, polite laugh. A small exchange between two formally known friends.
The grand woman's husband strode over in his finery, with a great air of importance in his strides. Clattering over the cobbles, he lowered his voice to mutter a small nothing to Michael that make him visibly flinch.
"I understand, Sir. No, Sir. I'll best be going, sir."
"That would be best, Michael."
A flustered driver, with an obvious case of ruffled feathers, leaped onto his perch and cracked his whip — like a single bolt of bronzed lightening — over the coarse chestnut hair of the brilliant horse. He drove on, out of the town, leaving the Cullen family to resume their business.
Though they did not seem to do much in his leave of presence.
They stopped.
They gazed at the manor adoringly.
In an instant, like a trick of the eye, the disappeared from blind sight. Into the creaking doors of the old manor. Into the place where they would call their home.
Into the place that they would rarely venture out from.
In a spine-chilling second, the soft lull of the streets stopped. The invisible tethers that drew their eyes to the family and hushed their mouths were snapped. Each one was cut with a razor sharp blade.
The spell of wonder was shattered.
Instead, they were under another, of gossip and commotion, rumours and breathy whispers.
Chattering and sighing and squealing. False allegations, and rumours, about the mysterious family.
Carts flew in, scattering newspapers in their wake, as they struggled to get through the growing crowd to their small stalls.
The noise of shouts could be heard from miles around; London was ablaze with life, treachery and commotion, with squabbling in the streets, howls of small dogs echoing in the midday gloom.
This was all captured in the curious eyes of the youngest member of the glamourously rich family, who were presumed to be abnormally cautious or protective of who they were.
As solitary as an oyster, though as captivating as the glittering feathers on a proud peacock's tail.
She looked out onto the bustling streets, a small sigh drawn out of her mouth as she placed her palms flat on the smooth surface of the window, only to let out a gasp, as she realised that they had caused this great uproar.
Her family.
With a sickening sigh, she realised the daunting truth: she would never be allowed to be set free of her prison of silk, velvet and jewel encrusted brushes.
Ever again.
This is the introduction of the story; there's lots more to come!
Please review! It'll really make me happy…and increase the chances of me putting up the second chapter very, very soon!
A/N It won't all be in Third Person. I'm going to do different point of views; they're my strong point. I'm not too sure about how good my Third Person writing actually is! So, was this too short or too long? Please tell me!