DISCLAIMER: This belongs to me, so don't steal it!! Although why anyone
would want to remains to be seen! LOL!
A/N: Please review!! I love reviews!! I also don't mind flames, cuz like I've said before, my room gets really cold at night!!
There was once a girl, a beautiful girl. Her name was Isabelle and she sleeps in the dark tower on the common. No one goes near it, people say it is haunted by evil powers, but the only power there is the power of the roses who claim the tower for their own.
The roses, by some miracle of nature, bloom all year round. Not even the sharpest frosts kill them, and their petals are luminous against the first snows of winter. All colours are represented - from the creamiest ivory and lightest pink to the deepest crimson. No one picks the roses from the tower. It is as though they are sacred, even though no one has been near enough to the tower to find out about them. Except me. No one even knows of the girl, save me. And I don't tell anyone, it's as though something whispers in the deepest recesses of my mind "keep silent, don't breathe a word." So I don't.
I discovered her by accident, or at least I though it was an accident at the time, although now I'm not so sure. I was walking in the hills, and it started to rain - heavy droplets, which soaked through my clothes within minutes - and so I took shelter in the tower. I wasn't planning on ascending the steep steps leading to the room at the top, but it was as though my feet went of their own accord. Up, up, up, as though the stairs would end in the heavens. But stop they did, and there she was. Lying as she had for the past thousand years. Her skin was warm to touch and her chest was rising and falling gently as she breathed, unlikely as it sounds. Dark curls lay about her head on the silk pillow, and a circlet of silver bound her head. There was a small book lying on a small table scattered with rose petals. I couldn't resist picking it up. It was the story of her. Roses which looked almost alive bordered the pages and the graceful writing on the first page proclaimed it to be the property of Isabelle de Vallieres. I glanced up from the book and across at her, lying peacefully on the bed. I wondered what she had been like, this sleeping angel.
A/N: Please review!! I love reviews!! I also don't mind flames, cuz like I've said before, my room gets really cold at night!!
There was once a girl, a beautiful girl. Her name was Isabelle and she sleeps in the dark tower on the common. No one goes near it, people say it is haunted by evil powers, but the only power there is the power of the roses who claim the tower for their own.
The roses, by some miracle of nature, bloom all year round. Not even the sharpest frosts kill them, and their petals are luminous against the first snows of winter. All colours are represented - from the creamiest ivory and lightest pink to the deepest crimson. No one picks the roses from the tower. It is as though they are sacred, even though no one has been near enough to the tower to find out about them. Except me. No one even knows of the girl, save me. And I don't tell anyone, it's as though something whispers in the deepest recesses of my mind "keep silent, don't breathe a word." So I don't.
I discovered her by accident, or at least I though it was an accident at the time, although now I'm not so sure. I was walking in the hills, and it started to rain - heavy droplets, which soaked through my clothes within minutes - and so I took shelter in the tower. I wasn't planning on ascending the steep steps leading to the room at the top, but it was as though my feet went of their own accord. Up, up, up, as though the stairs would end in the heavens. But stop they did, and there she was. Lying as she had for the past thousand years. Her skin was warm to touch and her chest was rising and falling gently as she breathed, unlikely as it sounds. Dark curls lay about her head on the silk pillow, and a circlet of silver bound her head. There was a small book lying on a small table scattered with rose petals. I couldn't resist picking it up. It was the story of her. Roses which looked almost alive bordered the pages and the graceful writing on the first page proclaimed it to be the property of Isabelle de Vallieres. I glanced up from the book and across at her, lying peacefully on the bed. I wondered what she had been like, this sleeping angel.