Post by Rosalind Decor on Mar 8, 2009 15:13:11 GMT -5
The Daae dorm was deserted and with usual grace Rosalind travlled across the room to her bed, her feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Quietly she lifted up her matress hoping no-one would come in now and see her. Her eyes sook the familiar corner where the brown paper envelope lay and she picked it up and then guided the mattress down so it would not make a sound.
Once done she checked again for any incomming sounds before walking over to her bed and lying stomach down on her bed, she gently slid the envelope of and held the thick bundle of papers in her hand. She wondered how many stories there were, or if there was even 1, her fathers srories always ranged greatly in length, but his high quality always was the same.
She had taken these recently from her house, it had not been sold yet, most likely due to the rumour that it was haunted. it was understandable that they thought it was, someone did die there, her father drank a lot there. Some people, for example whispering neighbours, said that he drank himself crazy, and Rosalind could do nothing to defend him because she did not know whether it was true. She turned her attention back to the stories and plays that lay in her delicate hands
The first one, was called La lune tragique Rosalind suspected her father wrote this after her mother died. HEr eyes scanned the page of her fathers small neat writing, and she saw little similarities, to her small and elegant writing that resembled her mothers greatly.
Tears could have filled her eyes as she read phrases like "Le garcon, son coeur a été cassé" and she knew it was written about her mother. The male was then haunted by the ghost throughout the play and Rosalind traced the letters and wished someway, somehow her mother would comeback. She wished everything was back to normal.
She missed her father, yet she never wanted to see him. She loved him, yet hated him for leaving his daughter to pick up the peices of the broken family, to hold back her emotions. And yet, here she was, her fathers plays in her hand wondering if someway she could have it performed. Maybe even have Monsiour le Fantom, write the songs, maybe then her father would return and she could see her sisters again.
Thenb she realised that she was not alone and someone was standing over her, she jmuped violently and the papers flew everywhere.
Once done she checked again for any incomming sounds before walking over to her bed and lying stomach down on her bed, she gently slid the envelope of and held the thick bundle of papers in her hand. She wondered how many stories there were, or if there was even 1, her fathers srories always ranged greatly in length, but his high quality always was the same.
She had taken these recently from her house, it had not been sold yet, most likely due to the rumour that it was haunted. it was understandable that they thought it was, someone did die there, her father drank a lot there. Some people, for example whispering neighbours, said that he drank himself crazy, and Rosalind could do nothing to defend him because she did not know whether it was true. She turned her attention back to the stories and plays that lay in her delicate hands
The first one, was called La lune tragique Rosalind suspected her father wrote this after her mother died. HEr eyes scanned the page of her fathers small neat writing, and she saw little similarities, to her small and elegant writing that resembled her mothers greatly.
Tears could have filled her eyes as she read phrases like "Le garcon, son coeur a été cassé" and she knew it was written about her mother. The male was then haunted by the ghost throughout the play and Rosalind traced the letters and wished someway, somehow her mother would comeback. She wished everything was back to normal.
She missed her father, yet she never wanted to see him. She loved him, yet hated him for leaving his daughter to pick up the peices of the broken family, to hold back her emotions. And yet, here she was, her fathers plays in her hand wondering if someway she could have it performed. Maybe even have Monsiour le Fantom, write the songs, maybe then her father would return and she could see her sisters again.
Thenb she realised that she was not alone and someone was standing over her, she jmuped violently and the papers flew everywhere.