Author's note:
First off, thank you for reading. I am a first time author here on fanfiction.net, and any support would be appreciated. Secondly, I am not asking for reviews, or (in the case of some silly authors that I see continually begging for them drastically) unstoppable praise that practically proclaims that I am a goddess of some sorts. Yes, all of the above would be sincerely nice, but all I ask is that you understand, as you the reader, that this is a fictional work by a fan of the show, no monetary contributions or other greed-led grounds for suing are involved with this work. Joss Whedon is a god, James Marsters is very bloody hot, I still miss Tara and I still wonder what was up with that Cheese Man.
And now, without delay- enjoy the story.
The Lost Parchment
"William!", gasped the hyper, giggling young girl with the bright, sunny face. Her blue eyes sparkled with micheavious delight, and her arms failed about her as she ran down the green, grassy hill of the park laughing loudly.
"Lizzy! You silly bint! Get back here or I shall tickle you until you can no longer breathe!", called out a young lad of only fourteen. His ear length, light brown hair shaggily bounced with each bound as he raced down the hill to keep up with the girl. The little lady looked back at him to check her distance, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and locked gazes with him for a moment. His sight became so concentrated on her eyes that he clearly missed a rock, and upon that moment stumbled into her small, lithe frame knocking her down, and rolling together down the hill.
Down, down and down they went until they crumbled to the bottom. William froze, afraid to ask.
"Lizzy, pet.are you quite alright? Are you hurt in any way?" His eyes bore down into hers, with fright and tetosterone boring through.
The girl smiled shyly, then her face broke out into a clear grin. "My William, I could fly!" Upon seeing the look of relief wash over his face, she added, "Let's do that again!"
"Bloody hell, no!"
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
She smiled smallishly to herself as she brushed her flaxen, long black hair. She always preferred to style her hair herself as it gave her time to reflect on the earlier part of the day, and to think of useless mingle to exercise at whatever party she was attending to that night. Wearing the first half of her hair pinned up in a slightly teased style with curls framing her face and ribbons weaved in, she iron curled her remaining-half head of hair with a tedious look of concentration on her face. Normally, she hurried through the procedure, but tonight she took all the time she could in getting ready. He would be there.
He would be William Townsend, her childhood friend, and the man she had admired for several years. Upon her mother's death, she had been returned to her birth country France for the past four years. Now, on her sixteenth birthday she was being temporarily established to her father's country under his order to find a husband. She had at first been terribly lonely in only her governess Glinda's care, but after a while found herself suited to the older, homey, aunt-like figure.
A bell tolled, and a candle blew out, leaving the room in little light and blanketed in the heavy feeling of impending darkness. She shuddered, and quickly felt her way to the balcony doors, and heaved against the small, ornate latch. It snapped open, and the door creaked its way to a full span letting the moon's light rain down on her. Such a crisp, watery feeling of nighttime there was, she couldn't help but to step outside a little more, drawing her warm chenille shawl about her bare shoulders tighter as she bathed herself in the light of the dark sun of the night. Not even self- aware of the simple shift she wore under the shawl, her bare feet padded to the rail, then looked down to the bustling London street below.
William would make a poem of this night. And just like when we were younger, he would read it to me in the parlor, and I would arrange tea and biscuits on the tray just so, and we would delightfully make an afternoon of each other's company playing husband and wife like grown lords and ladies just a few years our senior.
She smiled to herself as she remembered times past. They almost seemed untouchable, as if they had never even happened, but were just a faint memory. However, they were her fondest.
Turning to the room, she found the door by the light of the full moon, turning the handle to sliding the heavy door open. There stood her governess, true to time and frowning at her appearance. "My maid, only a half of the hour left before we must leave for this ball at the Netherfields, and you have yet to finish your hair, lace the corset, or apply the garment? We shall be late! Better hurry up the ante, and quicken your pace!" She shooed at the girl, and handed her a small hallway candle to light her own that had blown out. "And don't you dare try to blame the iron this time!"
Lizzy shrugged, her eyes in pondering. "My governess, I apoligise- my candle blew out rather strangely and it frightened me so." She shuddered remembering the strange coincidence of the bell toll and the disappearance of light.
Glinda eyed her suspiciously. "They say that candles are the gateways to other worlds, and lead you to them. Do not tamper with candles- they hold immense power." With that, the governess closed the door, leaving the girl with her back to the moon, holding the soft, slim reminder of delicate light.
First off, thank you for reading. I am a first time author here on fanfiction.net, and any support would be appreciated. Secondly, I am not asking for reviews, or (in the case of some silly authors that I see continually begging for them drastically) unstoppable praise that practically proclaims that I am a goddess of some sorts. Yes, all of the above would be sincerely nice, but all I ask is that you understand, as you the reader, that this is a fictional work by a fan of the show, no monetary contributions or other greed-led grounds for suing are involved with this work. Joss Whedon is a god, James Marsters is very bloody hot, I still miss Tara and I still wonder what was up with that Cheese Man.
And now, without delay- enjoy the story.
The Lost Parchment
"William!", gasped the hyper, giggling young girl with the bright, sunny face. Her blue eyes sparkled with micheavious delight, and her arms failed about her as she ran down the green, grassy hill of the park laughing loudly.
"Lizzy! You silly bint! Get back here or I shall tickle you until you can no longer breathe!", called out a young lad of only fourteen. His ear length, light brown hair shaggily bounced with each bound as he raced down the hill to keep up with the girl. The little lady looked back at him to check her distance, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and locked gazes with him for a moment. His sight became so concentrated on her eyes that he clearly missed a rock, and upon that moment stumbled into her small, lithe frame knocking her down, and rolling together down the hill.
Down, down and down they went until they crumbled to the bottom. William froze, afraid to ask.
"Lizzy, pet.are you quite alright? Are you hurt in any way?" His eyes bore down into hers, with fright and tetosterone boring through.
The girl smiled shyly, then her face broke out into a clear grin. "My William, I could fly!" Upon seeing the look of relief wash over his face, she added, "Let's do that again!"
"Bloody hell, no!"
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
She smiled smallishly to herself as she brushed her flaxen, long black hair. She always preferred to style her hair herself as it gave her time to reflect on the earlier part of the day, and to think of useless mingle to exercise at whatever party she was attending to that night. Wearing the first half of her hair pinned up in a slightly teased style with curls framing her face and ribbons weaved in, she iron curled her remaining-half head of hair with a tedious look of concentration on her face. Normally, she hurried through the procedure, but tonight she took all the time she could in getting ready. He would be there.
He would be William Townsend, her childhood friend, and the man she had admired for several years. Upon her mother's death, she had been returned to her birth country France for the past four years. Now, on her sixteenth birthday she was being temporarily established to her father's country under his order to find a husband. She had at first been terribly lonely in only her governess Glinda's care, but after a while found herself suited to the older, homey, aunt-like figure.
A bell tolled, and a candle blew out, leaving the room in little light and blanketed in the heavy feeling of impending darkness. She shuddered, and quickly felt her way to the balcony doors, and heaved against the small, ornate latch. It snapped open, and the door creaked its way to a full span letting the moon's light rain down on her. Such a crisp, watery feeling of nighttime there was, she couldn't help but to step outside a little more, drawing her warm chenille shawl about her bare shoulders tighter as she bathed herself in the light of the dark sun of the night. Not even self- aware of the simple shift she wore under the shawl, her bare feet padded to the rail, then looked down to the bustling London street below.
William would make a poem of this night. And just like when we were younger, he would read it to me in the parlor, and I would arrange tea and biscuits on the tray just so, and we would delightfully make an afternoon of each other's company playing husband and wife like grown lords and ladies just a few years our senior.
She smiled to herself as she remembered times past. They almost seemed untouchable, as if they had never even happened, but were just a faint memory. However, they were her fondest.
Turning to the room, she found the door by the light of the full moon, turning the handle to sliding the heavy door open. There stood her governess, true to time and frowning at her appearance. "My maid, only a half of the hour left before we must leave for this ball at the Netherfields, and you have yet to finish your hair, lace the corset, or apply the garment? We shall be late! Better hurry up the ante, and quicken your pace!" She shooed at the girl, and handed her a small hallway candle to light her own that had blown out. "And don't you dare try to blame the iron this time!"
Lizzy shrugged, her eyes in pondering. "My governess, I apoligise- my candle blew out rather strangely and it frightened me so." She shuddered remembering the strange coincidence of the bell toll and the disappearance of light.
Glinda eyed her suspiciously. "They say that candles are the gateways to other worlds, and lead you to them. Do not tamper with candles- they hold immense power." With that, the governess closed the door, leaving the girl with her back to the moon, holding the soft, slim reminder of delicate light.