Sarah Marie
Well, ladies and gentlemen, keep in mind that I have yet to actually invent a plot, and have only the first two or three chapters outlined.
Other than that, enjoy!
The world was still, silent almost. Trapped in the hazy cushion of a summer shower, the only sound the steady drum of fat raindrops hitting the wooden roof. A chill followed each gust of air that blew through the trees, but they were thankfully few and far between. The air itself held a lazy warmth, not hot, the day Forks, Washington ever experienced real heat was the day Elvis, Bigfoot, and the Tooth Fairy held a barbeque in Union Square, but a comfortable warmth, like a fire's glow.
The icy breeze made the soggy air a little uncomfortable, but she loved it just the same. The moderate pitter-patter of the rain above her head, accompanied by the constant splat and plop as it splattered into the already saturated earth, against the background of the water drip-dropping through the trees and finally splashing into the surrounding puddles, with the occasional swish of the wind through the forest and grass was better than anything she could find on the radio.
Perhaps it would pick up by the time 9:00 rolled around and she had to go to bed. Everything would increase in tempo, the rain becoming a constant thudthudthud, and the wind would howl through the trees, feral and comforting while lightning zig-zagged all the way from the heavens to the trees below, or flashed brilliantly in a blanket across the sky, blacked by the heavy clouds, and best of all there would be a sudden crash and bang of thunder as it kept the beat of nature's symphony. Her favorite lullaby.
She longed to be out in the rain, steady but not pouring, settled on the soggy ground amid the puddles, to feel the drops against her face and running through her long dark hair, turning the lovely reddish, chestnut brown a deep, midnight black to match her father's. But the rain she adored so completely would ruin the book she currently reading, The Divine Comedy by Dante, and that would be a tragedy, especially if the book was destroyed before she was old enough to actually understand what the heck it was saying. So she settled for the old wooden rocking chair on the porch. The rain splattered against the old paint-chipped railing far enough to splash her arm, but the sturdy black roof protected her book from the elements. It would have to do.
Without looking up from the page, she was aware of someone watching her. The sound of the rain had changed, the drops falling in different places and hitting something solid instead of the ground. Even if she hadn't heard the slight adjustment of harmonics in her music, there was the sudden feel of eyes on her profile. The air was suddenly sweeter and more thinly spread; she was clearly sharing with somebody.
Equally clearly it was not a repeat visitor. Whoever it was simply stood quietly at the base of the steps leading up to the porch. Her many uncles never bothered with tradition, personal space, or privacy, and were constantly letting themselves in, laughing and greeting her with booming voices and bear hugs every time. Aunt Emily and Aunt Leah were also a familiar presence around the place, more polite and less boisterous, but always announcing themselves with warm greetings, cooing over how big she was getting and what a pretty girl she was. Aunt Emily and Aunt Leah were always welcome as far as she was concerned. Grandpa Billy was always a host, never a guest.
Swallowing hard, she tore her eyes away from the gray-white page and turned to face her guest. Standing just in front of the first step was a girl, maybe a few years younger than her dad, watching her curiously, as if she were an unexpected puzzle that needed sorted out. Intrigued, she matched the curious gaze with her own and settled down to study the unexpected visitor.
Long, thick, mahogany locks fell around her face and shoulders, glossy and almost shimmery in the weak light. The medium brown contrasted beautifully with the egg shell complexion of her skin, equally striking and hauntingly perfect. And her eyes, a peculiar but lovely shade of deep amber, rich and warm like honey, were hypnotic and inviting.
She was easily the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.
"Are you an angel?" she asked in the blunt, innocent form only a child could get away with. She'd always been told she followed too closely in her father's footsteps where tact was concerned, but no one seemed to be willing to explain what that meant.
It didn't appear to be of any particular concern as of yet, though, because the girl just flashed a brilliant smile that only a child could induce and responded, "No, but I think I'm looking for one."
Before she could ask if the angel had a name, the front door swung open, earning a startled gasp from herself and a slight jump from the lady at the steps. Her dad stood in the doorway, expression unreadable; a mask she'd never seen before. He'd always 'worn his heart on his sleeve' as Aunt Emily would say; his emotions written plainly on his face, harmonizing in his voice, and expressed through his actions. Seeing him with no expression at all was strange and unnerving.
"Sarah Marie," His voice was equally blank, level and calm, betraying nothing from his mind or heart. It was a stranger's voice from a beloved face. She didn't like it. "Inside." Her lips parted to form a protest that died on her tongue, "Now." His tone left no room for argument.