A/N: Here we go again. I don't own GS any more than I did the last time I did a disclaimer. The story this was based off of is by George MacDonald.
YellowFairy07001: Yeah, I like Alex enough to where I decided to give him a minor role. He was the only one I could think of that really fit the role. And I'm glad to know that I have people eager to read this =)
Forgotten~Soul: Gee, how'd ya guess? =P
GoldenSunGeek: Heh, Monty Python rocks =) And thanks about the website. I have to update it sometime. Heck, this story hasn't even made it on there.
Sam: Glad ya liked it. And yes, definitely look him up. Definitely.
VII: How Mia Grew
The little education she intended Mia to have, Menardi gave to her by word of mouth. Not wanting her to have enough light to read by, to leave other reasons unmentioned, Menardi never put a book in front of her. Mia, however, saw much better than Menardi imagined, and the so the light she had was more than ample. She gradually coaxed Karst into teaching her the alphabet, and then taught herself to read. Karst would even bring her a children's book now and again.
But her chief pleasure and her greatest joy were in her instrument. She loved the feel of it. Her very fingers would wander over its keys like grazing sheep. She was always playing one piece or another. Some nights, when she was feeling especially happy and creative, she would compose her own songs.
She was not unhappy. She knew nothing of the world except for the tomb in which she lived, and she took pleasure in everything she did. Nevertheless, she wanted something more or different. She did not know what it was, and the nearest she could come to expressing it to herself was that she wanted more room. Menardi and Karst would go beyond the shining glow of the lamp and come again; therefore there surely must be more room somewhere.
She was often left alone, and she would often pour over the colored bas-reliefs on the walls of her room. They were meant to represent various powers of nature under allegorical simmilitudes, and as nothing can be made that does not belong to the general scheme, she could not fail to imagine at least a flicker of relationship between some of them, and thus a shadow of the reality of things found its way into her.
The one thing that moved and inspired her above the rest-the lamp, namely, the lamp that hung from the ceiling in her room. She never saw its flame, but just the slight condensation towards the center of the alabaster globe. And besides the steady and unchanging light itself was the indefiniteness of the globe, and the softness of the light. She felt like her eyes could go into it and its whiteness, and all of this associated with the idea of space and room. She would sit for an hour gazing up at the lamp, and her heart would swell as she gazed. She would find her face wet with tears, and wonder what had hurt her and how it had done it without her knowing. She never looked thus at the lamp except when she was alone.
A/N: Wow, 294 hits and 18 reviews. This is the most popular one I've ever written. And the sad thing is, I'm only retelling =(
Please cheer me up and review. Please? Thanks.
Pyro1588
A very outdated Planet Weyard
07.21.05
8:52 PM
606 words