NB: Very short 2nd chapter. Shall check it or re do it later.
2nd NB: This is where the children should stop reading. i did mention this story being slightly more dark.... so here is darker stuufff
please comment XD Thank you for all the lovely comments (I hope this chapter Is also ok (its very late))
Somewhere a piano was playing. It's nostalgic melody chimed across the room, its high vaulted walls drifting the melody through the place. Suddenly the moon appeared in a far window, illuminating the room. It was finely furnished. Satin drapes hung around the monochrome window frame, which looked somewhat oddly twisted. An assortment of strange, but beautiful objects littered the room. A grandfather clock was lying on the floor, is pendulum sill moving, despite it been complete horizontal, a chess board lay open some of the pieces smashed, some standing tall with glory. The piano stood before the window, the moonlight illuminated its player. A young man was bent over the piano. His hair fell before his face, and he was dressed as though he where some noble prince. As his long fingers swept across the piano, something stirred on his lap. A purple cat lay lounging on this mans knee. Suddenly the man stopped playing, and the cat stood up. They both looked out of the window. Somewhere in the distant City landscape, an old man was walking through a park, a wet hand holding a beautiful ornate watch. The man and cat turned their heads back around, and he began played another melody. Both man and animal; grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Somewhere a man stands laughing. His dark clothes hung about his emaciated frame, his dark hair lifeless and wild falls near his eyes. But where have has eyes gone? A bandage bloodied, covers his eye sockets, fresh blood coming to the surface. He begins to smile satanically, and outstretches his hand. In his palm, lays his eyeballs. He must have worn many mercury hats in his time. The Laughter is replaced by a sobbing sound, but no tears come. How could they? He brings a cup of tea to his lips, his hands now shaking. He scolds his face with boiling water and screams in agony. A sleepy mouse on his shoulder stirs and strokes his neck with a small paw, trying to comfort his friend. What has the Hare seen, to make him want to never see again?
Somewhere in the area of Lime house, on old man lies on cushions, smoke clouds swirling above him. He brings a Hookah to his lips, and sucks in the opium fueling him. A bottle of Absinthe lays next to him, green Fairies dancing in the air. He opens his eyes, they are empty, gone is his mind with the drugs. He has chased the dragon for many years; those very years have etched themselves on his face. He imagines a small girl, with blond hair looking quizzically at him while he sits on a mushroom, smoking his vice. But he has not time for people who cannot think for themselves. She had a grinning cat behind her all the way. She just had to look and then he would have gladly helped her. He outstretches his hand, and his fairies come closer to sit on his finger. His eyes close as he inhales once more.
Somewhere a young girl sits on a golden chair in a room of red silk. A red band, a single red rose in her hair, neatly pulls her long black hair back. She soothes out her long satin red shimmery dress of Aristocracy. Her purple eyes scan the room and glare at a man holding up the camera light. He pulls back and bows, looking worried. Her red lips move slightly and she pulls a small dagger of ivory from behind her back, and looks annoyed at something. A girl in white appears by her side, her hair is white, like her dress and her eyes a monochrome Grey. The beautiful sisters pose for a second. The girl in white brings forth a white rose and places it in her hair, as another picture is taken. A chessboard lies across the room, its pieces scattered across it.
Somewhere in the district of Whitechapel, a doll maker stood in his shop, delicately painting a face of porcelain onto his new creation. Dolls hung about him, swaying to and fro, clinking ever so slightly. The man smiled, as he heard the sound of the kettle. Steam filled the room as his wife hobbled in to take the kettle off the fire. His weathered face met hers and they smiled. He had known she was the one that he would grow old with; and here they were. He turned back to his work and pushed the spectacles up his nose. His wife left with the kettle. A clock in the corner chimed. 9 O'clock. He turned his misty eyes to the window. The snow was falling thicker and faster than it had ad the Twilight hues darkened, into night. The doorbell of the shop chimed and the man turned, a frown on his face.
"Shops closed." He called.
He heard no reply, so he limped towards the curtain patrician that separated the shop from the small workshop and opened them. His wife entered the room in time to get splattered with her husband's guts. Her scream echoed on the walls, the tea tray crashing to the floor. No one would hear her screams, of the horror of the next few minutes. Her tears stained her face as her head rolled across the threshold. Her limp, used body fell to the floor. The figure loomed over their bodies. It began to laugh manically, bending over double, a white rose falling. The dolls watched, their once clean faces splattered in blood, eyes wide with the madness they had just seen. The person hung a small doll on the wall. She had a face as white as snow, eyes of green and short dark hair. It laughed longer and harder than it had done ever before.
Shall try and update soon :)
Don't forget to review!