Post by narumei on Mar 12, 2008 3:15:11 GMT -5
Quick Blurb: 1703 London is at it's social prime, but young Abigail Bryan is trapped. The youngest member of one of the richest and most well known families in London, she dreams of more than what she has. But when her warped mother sends her to Lady Maxine's Acadamy for girls, Abigail is trapped more than ever. Giving up on her dreams of a life on the high seas, she gives in to her fate, in to God's will.
But she soon realises her predicament...Is she trusting God? Or blaming him?
Chapter 1 Clothes for a Boy
1703A.C Thursday, July 12th
There was a loud thump as the pianoforte lid crashed down and the dull humming of the strings as they resumed stillness. The young lady sitting on the stool looked to be about fourteen years of age. Her hair was loose at the front and framed her face, but cascaded down her shoulders at the back. It was a deep ebony but with a violent red streak on the right. She stared at the piano for a moment, and then glanced at the instructor. Her crystal eyes met his and she gave him a look of fire, filled with frustration and anger. All of a sudden, her eyes dulled and she struck a pose, her hand at an invisible would-be cutlass at her hip, her tongue poking out at him. Then she resumed her murderous look and stood up quickly. She sidestepped the piano stool and walked out the room casually. Her instructor stared at her in shock, mouth hanging open, over his silver rimmed glasses. Finally finding his voice he called after her,
“Miss Abigail! I say, Miss Abigail! You are not to treat pianos like that! These are sacred instruments to be treated with the highest respect! How dare…”
The rest of his words were drowned out as she got further and further from the room. She stalked past her bewildered father and continued up the stairs, ignoring his attempts to talk to her. She was so full of rage that she hardly noticed where she was going. Finally she walked into her brother’s room and sat on the battered red divan, feeling instantly more relaxed at the familiar setting. She sat up straighter and reached for the first hook on the side of her clothes. Her brother watched her, devoid of interest, as she struggled with the zips and buckles of her elaborate dress. The dress was one of the finest Chinese silk in a pale yellow colour. Covered in frills and ruffles and lace, it was one the most expensive dresses available in London. She yanked the clips out of her hair and shook her hair with her hands violently. The black powder her mother put in her hair to cover the streak flew out and the red streak was clearly visible but lacking in its usual shine. She tied it back with a single black ribbon she kept in her pocket for such emergencies. Then, with her dress hanging loosely from her small frame, she jumped to closet and started pulling out her brothers clothing.
With and exasperated sigh, he turned back to his book and asked her,
“Do I even want to know what your doing?” She answered without turning,
“I need something of yours. The stable boys refuse to give me their clothes after what happened last time” She turned and caught him trying to suppress a laugh, “It was not funny, Nathaniel Bryan! Do you remember how Mama reacted when she saw me in boys clothing?” He smiled at the memory of his mother fainting, and his father running at her with a whole box of smelling salts to wake her.
“So why are you going to wear them now? You know she’ll just get angry again.”
“I don’t really care. I’m sick of wearing dresses and I will never wear something so…so…” She struggled to find a word that suited the horrible dress she was wearing.
“Repulsive?” He offered. She smirked at him,
“Yes. That is perfect.”
“Ghastly?” he said to her.
“Yes, thank you. That’s fine too.”
“Nauseating?” He dodged as she went to hit him. Nathaniel was Abigail’s older brother. He would turn nineteen in a few months, although he acted as though he was ten most of the time. His personality was different to Abigail’s; he possessed the ability to remain calm in trying situations where she did not and he often showed sensibility when the occasion called for it. In looks he was also different to his younger sister with a tall, broad build. His face was sprinkled with light freckles that made him look younger. He had a handsome face with sharp features that frequently made the girls of London sigh after him. However, his hair was the same jet black, without the red streak, and his eyes the same piercing blue as his sister. The Bryan children’s eyes were common knowledge around the town as both their parents and grandparents had brown eyes. Not only uncommon but biologically impossible, their eyes matched no-ones in their family and the fierce colour was easily noticed. They’re eyes seemed to almost change colour, sometimes, so light that they were almost grey but other days they were such a deep blue they looked like sapphires or the deepest part of the sea. Both Nathaniel and Abigail were able to convey their feelings through their eyes with out needing to say what they felt. They could keep emotions hidden and refrain from crying but their gaze turned menacing easily.
“No matter, I just need something to wear.” She left him and returned to the closet, this time pulling out drawers and scattering their contents onto the floor. He winced as she emptied drawer after drawer.
“Move, for heavens sake, and I’ll find something. You need only ask you know.” He said as he jumped up and walked over to her. It took him a mere four strides to cross the whole room when it took her near eight. “You cannot wear something new, as you’ll only wreck it, try these, they don’t fit me so well anymore. They are my old riding clothes.” He held up a pair of expensive looking black pants and a white shirt.
“But Nat, you hardly wore them!” She exclaimed with horror. “How can you waste something so expensive?” His eyebrows went up. Way up.
“Since when did you care about waste? They do not fit me, and that is that! Do you want them or not?” He asked her, choosing now as one of his serious moments.
“Fine, they’ll do, I suppose. But they are entirely too…pretty.” She snatched the clothes away from him and went into the dressing room. He heard her rip off the dress and stomp on it a few times. He smirked to himself and returned to his chair to read. Seconds later she emerged, clad in her brother’s clothes and looking remarkably more relaxed, even managing to smile warmly at her brother.
“Nat, thank you so much, I feel so much better.” She gushed out, appreciatively.
“No problem,” he smiled back, “just don’t tell Mama where you got the clothes ok?” he turned back to his reading, knowing that she would go in her own time. She watched him reading for a few seconds, marvelling at the speed he read at and then turned back to the divan, sinking into its plush cushions. She looked around the room, at all her brother’s possessions. Her eyes swept over his riding trophies, family pictures and books. Nathaniel had more books than anyone she knew, not that she had seen many other people’s rooms, however. He owned an array of different books, most being books about science and facts and figures that Abigail couldn’t hope to understand, but also possessing books filled with adventures and love and magic, which reflected his childish streak. She longed to own such books and to read them at her leisure, but such things had been forbidden for her by her mother. Instead she had books on math, Latin, science, French and any number of boring subjects piled up in the corners of her room. Abigail resorted to sneaking into her brother’s room while he was out and reading his books, keeping them hidden under the floorboards, should one of the many maids spot it and report it to her mother. How Abigail hated those maids. Her eyes scanned the titles of his books, Othello, the Faerie Queene, Robinson Crusoe, Arabian Nights and so many more. Abigail didn’t like reading, she almost hated it, but she loved the stories of remarkable escapades and treasure islands. When she was reading, she got so lost in the story that she forgot she was reading. Occasionally after reading for a while, Abigail would start to voice the characters, and shout in indignation or fear, sometimes gasp and sometimes she would get angry. The one time she could not keep her feelings hidden was when she was reading. Several times, the maids would have to rush out to see if she was being abducted because she would grow so loud. After her most recent attempt to read by herself, her mother banned her from reading anything fictional, in the hopes that her spirit would be calmed. She hated her mother so fiercely for taking away everything that she loved, but she knew that she also loved her mother, no matter how hard she tried to suppress those feelings. She continued to look around his room, at the neatly made up bed to the desk where he did his calculations and study, then to look at the one messy spot in the room, the mess she’d caused. The colour rose to her cheeks instantly as she realised how childish she had behaved. She started to stand so she could put everything to rights again when a low voice stopped her,
“Just leave it Abby,” Nathaniel said, without turning his head
“But, look at what I did...” she started,
“Yes, and look how many times you’ve done it before, you know it will happen again, so just leave it and I’ll get one of the maids to clear it.” He said quickly
“But that’s not fair! It was my doing, and it should be me to clean it up!” she cried in protest
“You just feel guilty about it; the maids have nothing better to do than gossip anyway, so it won’t be a problem for them.” He smiled up at her, “So leave it. Please?” She gave a last distressed look at the pile of muddled clothing on the floor, and then turned to face her brother. He saw that she was genuinely upset by the way she had acted. Nathaniel took pride in the fact that he knew his sister better than anybody, even their parents, having spent so much time with her and he knew that the mess she’d caused was not the thing that was bothering her so. But he didn’t know what was. He racked his brain frantically trying to remember the last few days, wondering what could have made her so upset. At a loss at how to comfort her, he changed the subject.
“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your abrupt visit?” he asked
“Oh,” she struggled for a moment finding the words, thrown off by the sudden change in subject, “I, uh, piano lessons.” She said, knowing that her brother didn’t need further explanation.
“Ahh,” he said, knowingly, “Couldn’t get you’re scales right?”
“No, he wanted me to play some feathery, tedious song. Something by Beethoven, I think. I wasn’t really listening.” She said to the floor
“So what... you didn’t play it right?” He asked, confused.
“No. Well, I sort of made up some music of my own, and added it in. It was jig-like music.” She said, again to the floor, having trouble meeting his gaze. He stood up so he could talk to her better.
“Oh, well there’s your problem.” He said lightly, trying not to offend her too badly. Her hands curled into fists at her side and she went red. He stood up to talk to her more easily, and stared at the wall.
“I don’t have a problem!” she near shouted, “I don’t want to learn this boring music, and I don’t want to play it in front of all those people!”
“Abby, it’s traditional that the birthday girl plays something on the piano. It’s the mark of being an accomplished woman. You’ll need to learn how to play if you want a husband you know.” His gaze left the wall and turned to her. He took a step back in surprise and a little fear. He was astounded to find rampant hatred and pure fury in her eyes. Whatever angered her so much had also caused her to forget to hide her feelings and they showed in the intense glare. She did nothing but stand there shaking for several minutes with her head down. He started to walk towards her but she looked up at the last second. Seeing the tears blanketing her eyes stopped him short in a half stride. Her eyes warned him to stay where he was and to not say anything. He resumed his regular stance while she composed herself. After another long pause she coughed quietly and he knew that she was choking on her own tears in an attempt to stop them.
“Never say that again.” She said so quietly it was hard for him to hear. Taking a step towards the door, she continued, “I will never be married. I do not wish to be accomplished and be a house-wife like Mama. I will not live my life like that.” Before she turned the doorknob, she added, “I refuse.” Then she threw open the door and heard the satisfying bang as it slammed behind her. Again she found herself in the rich halls of Bryan Manor without knowing where to go. She glanced about her and felt the fury rise up again as she looked upon elaborate paintings and vases. She walked down the hall and surveyed her surroundings. There were mirrors that went all the way to the ceiling and intricate door frames and skirting boards, rugs imported from places like India and Egypt and statues by famous artists. She turned a hall and made her way to the servant stairs but stopped in front of one of the huge mirrors and she stared at herself. The hair that most thought stunning, she found annoying, and the heart-shaped face she saw as chubby, others thought elegant. She looked at the clothes she took from her brother and found that she suited them. The dresses that she was so often forced to wear gave her shape that she knew she didn’t have, they hurt her when she sat down and she tripped on them when she walked. In Nathaniel’s attire, she was completely comfortable. She could move, jump and handstand without any difficulty. To prove this to herself she attempted all in front of the mirror and with minimal sound cart wheeled across the hall ending with a jump and back roll. She marvelled at the grace and dexterity she possessed in his clothes that she didn’t have when she was in her own. She stepped and jumped lightly, hardly hearing her own movements. Abigail glanced around to make sure that no-one was watching, tip toeing to the staircase and peering down then lightly running to the servants stairs and watching down there too. Hearing the busy sounds of the kitchen below and feeling satisfied that no-one could hear her, she moved back to the mirror. She glared at the mirror, not really seeing what was there. She focused her movements and drew upon her energy, then, with a final glance at her surroundings; she made them all melt away, until there was nothing but her and white space. She drew an invisible sword from an invisible scabbard at her right hip and pointed it forwards.
“At your leisure.” She said. She had once, many years ago, read that phrase in one on Nathaniel’s books. The hero of the book was fighting the villain in the main battle. The hero was ready to go while the villain was struggling to get prepared. In a moment of wit, the hero took a polite attitude and said to the villain, “At your leisure.” This served to infuriate the villain and he attacked, and swiftly died. Abigail dreamed of those words and of saying them to someone in real life. She practised the words when she first read the book. She tried to imagine how they would sound in real life and she tried them in front of her mirror, in different ways and accents and tones. She never felt that she could get it right. It never had the brilliant irksome flair that the hero had, but she always tried. When she said it to herself in the mirror hall of Bryan Mansion, nothing had changed, it still didn’t sound right. It annoyed her so much that she was losing her grip on blocking out reality. Abigail got angrier at herself and stretched her mind to the limit, bringing back the white void she had brought before. She knew the whiteness was only her thoughts and that she was still in the hall, but her imagination was not yet advanced enough to bring a full scene into her head. She had to make do with blocking out everything for now. Content, she brought back her fantasy sword to eye level of her make-believe enemy. She decided against speaking anymore, in case someone should hear and she thrust the sword to where her enemy would be. Abigail stared down the length of her sword. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was very thin and light and the sleek metal caught the surrounding light and reflected it brilliantly. The handle was black with gold lining and had beautiful jewels covering it. She did not know the rules of sword fighting, or how it was done or the movements that should be made, she only knew of swords and fighting from the stories she had read and the tales her grandfather told her when she was only very very small. But, even with her small knowledge of fighting, she moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. She twirled and leapt and thrust and dodged and fought with precise movements against her opponent. She had always tried to build up her imagination, since she was five years old and found the need to escape problems in her life, mostly her lessons and her mother. She had advanced enough to drown out everything in her world, but only to the point of the white void. Years of practising had still not got her any further, however she was proud and grateful for the temporary escape of white she had managed. Her hold on the whiteness took emotional strength from her as she fought to hold the dream up. This time was no different. Abigail couldn’t say how long she was in her world of white, or how long she fought, but everything real to her was lost as she grew hot and tired from fighting. The sword, although imaginary, took physical strength from her, and for an instant she lowered it, keeping her enemy real and ready to attack. When she glanced up again, she forgot her sword and her fighting and stared in open-mouthed shock. Abigail stared at the shimmering image of a man against the white. She desperately tried to make him more solid, to bring him into her dream, and he took shape. She could almost make out his features when a sharp, familiar noise shattered the still white around her. She looked ahead, and saw the mirror once again, the same mirror, in the same place and the background was the same. But she was not. Colour had risen to her cheeks and she was sweating lightly. Her hair was messy and wisps that had fallen out of the ribbon stuck to the side of her face. She could see, even from such a distance, her chest rising and falling as she gasped in air. Abigail was still trying to get grips with the reality she had been brought so harshly back into when the noise ripped through her again.
“Abigail Marie Bryan! Do not ignore me!” The voice, still sounding distant, made Abigail turn her head slowly and when she located the speaker her face drained of colour and she shrunk back. Abigail knew that her mother would never bodily harm her, she was too worried about her image in society to do anything like that, but her mother’s words and threats were just as bad, if not worse, than physical punishment.
“Mama!” Abigail’s mind was reeling, trying to make up some sort of excuse, “I did not see you there. How long have you been standing so close?”
“Long enough!” Replied the same harsh voice that made Abigail wince, “I saw what you were doing. Prancing about like a...a...one of them” She spat out, unable to say what she felt.
Anger returned to Abigail and she rolled her eyes,
“One of whom, Mama? I’m allowed to pretend in our own house aren’t I?” the instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
“How dare you! You cannot talk to me like that! And look at what you are wearing! Which stable boy was it this time? Wait a minute,” She said, before Abigail could lie, “those are Nathaniel’s aren’t they? Did he give them to you? You stole them didn’t you? You would steal from your own brother?”
“No Mama! I didn’t steal them! And if you would let me get a word in edgeways, I could explain.”
Her mother gasped in disbelief.
“You still speak with disrespect! I am your mother. I will not have my own daughter pretend sword fighting in the halls and wearing such unsuitable clothing. You aren’t even wearing shoes!” Her voice rose in both volume and pitch as she got angrier and angrier. Abigail stared uninterestedly down at her bare feet, she wiggled her toes and grinned. When she looked up again her mother was staring at her intensely, but not nearly as fierce as Abigail or Nathaniel could do. It was well known within the house that Victoria Bryan had a temper. She had almost always had it, but few would deny that it worsened after the birth of Abigail. Victoria was very tall and sophisticated in her manner and most women would’ve given up everything to be like her. She only wore clothing of the finest material, and altered by the best, and most expensive, tailor in town. Her family name, Bristol, was also well-known in London, and her parents were still one of the richest couples in town. Adding their family wealth to the Bryan name was social dynamite, making the newest Bryan family, the fourth richest in all of London and the fourteenth richest in all of England.
Continue to Chapter 1 end if u like it! ^_^
But she soon realises her predicament...Is she trusting God? Or blaming him?
Chapter 1 Clothes for a Boy
1703A.C Thursday, July 12th
There was a loud thump as the pianoforte lid crashed down and the dull humming of the strings as they resumed stillness. The young lady sitting on the stool looked to be about fourteen years of age. Her hair was loose at the front and framed her face, but cascaded down her shoulders at the back. It was a deep ebony but with a violent red streak on the right. She stared at the piano for a moment, and then glanced at the instructor. Her crystal eyes met his and she gave him a look of fire, filled with frustration and anger. All of a sudden, her eyes dulled and she struck a pose, her hand at an invisible would-be cutlass at her hip, her tongue poking out at him. Then she resumed her murderous look and stood up quickly. She sidestepped the piano stool and walked out the room casually. Her instructor stared at her in shock, mouth hanging open, over his silver rimmed glasses. Finally finding his voice he called after her,
“Miss Abigail! I say, Miss Abigail! You are not to treat pianos like that! These are sacred instruments to be treated with the highest respect! How dare…”
The rest of his words were drowned out as she got further and further from the room. She stalked past her bewildered father and continued up the stairs, ignoring his attempts to talk to her. She was so full of rage that she hardly noticed where she was going. Finally she walked into her brother’s room and sat on the battered red divan, feeling instantly more relaxed at the familiar setting. She sat up straighter and reached for the first hook on the side of her clothes. Her brother watched her, devoid of interest, as she struggled with the zips and buckles of her elaborate dress. The dress was one of the finest Chinese silk in a pale yellow colour. Covered in frills and ruffles and lace, it was one the most expensive dresses available in London. She yanked the clips out of her hair and shook her hair with her hands violently. The black powder her mother put in her hair to cover the streak flew out and the red streak was clearly visible but lacking in its usual shine. She tied it back with a single black ribbon she kept in her pocket for such emergencies. Then, with her dress hanging loosely from her small frame, she jumped to closet and started pulling out her brothers clothing.
With and exasperated sigh, he turned back to his book and asked her,
“Do I even want to know what your doing?” She answered without turning,
“I need something of yours. The stable boys refuse to give me their clothes after what happened last time” She turned and caught him trying to suppress a laugh, “It was not funny, Nathaniel Bryan! Do you remember how Mama reacted when she saw me in boys clothing?” He smiled at the memory of his mother fainting, and his father running at her with a whole box of smelling salts to wake her.
“So why are you going to wear them now? You know she’ll just get angry again.”
“I don’t really care. I’m sick of wearing dresses and I will never wear something so…so…” She struggled to find a word that suited the horrible dress she was wearing.
“Repulsive?” He offered. She smirked at him,
“Yes. That is perfect.”
“Ghastly?” he said to her.
“Yes, thank you. That’s fine too.”
“Nauseating?” He dodged as she went to hit him. Nathaniel was Abigail’s older brother. He would turn nineteen in a few months, although he acted as though he was ten most of the time. His personality was different to Abigail’s; he possessed the ability to remain calm in trying situations where she did not and he often showed sensibility when the occasion called for it. In looks he was also different to his younger sister with a tall, broad build. His face was sprinkled with light freckles that made him look younger. He had a handsome face with sharp features that frequently made the girls of London sigh after him. However, his hair was the same jet black, without the red streak, and his eyes the same piercing blue as his sister. The Bryan children’s eyes were common knowledge around the town as both their parents and grandparents had brown eyes. Not only uncommon but biologically impossible, their eyes matched no-ones in their family and the fierce colour was easily noticed. They’re eyes seemed to almost change colour, sometimes, so light that they were almost grey but other days they were such a deep blue they looked like sapphires or the deepest part of the sea. Both Nathaniel and Abigail were able to convey their feelings through their eyes with out needing to say what they felt. They could keep emotions hidden and refrain from crying but their gaze turned menacing easily.
“No matter, I just need something to wear.” She left him and returned to the closet, this time pulling out drawers and scattering their contents onto the floor. He winced as she emptied drawer after drawer.
“Move, for heavens sake, and I’ll find something. You need only ask you know.” He said as he jumped up and walked over to her. It took him a mere four strides to cross the whole room when it took her near eight. “You cannot wear something new, as you’ll only wreck it, try these, they don’t fit me so well anymore. They are my old riding clothes.” He held up a pair of expensive looking black pants and a white shirt.
“But Nat, you hardly wore them!” She exclaimed with horror. “How can you waste something so expensive?” His eyebrows went up. Way up.
“Since when did you care about waste? They do not fit me, and that is that! Do you want them or not?” He asked her, choosing now as one of his serious moments.
“Fine, they’ll do, I suppose. But they are entirely too…pretty.” She snatched the clothes away from him and went into the dressing room. He heard her rip off the dress and stomp on it a few times. He smirked to himself and returned to his chair to read. Seconds later she emerged, clad in her brother’s clothes and looking remarkably more relaxed, even managing to smile warmly at her brother.
“Nat, thank you so much, I feel so much better.” She gushed out, appreciatively.
“No problem,” he smiled back, “just don’t tell Mama where you got the clothes ok?” he turned back to his reading, knowing that she would go in her own time. She watched him reading for a few seconds, marvelling at the speed he read at and then turned back to the divan, sinking into its plush cushions. She looked around the room, at all her brother’s possessions. Her eyes swept over his riding trophies, family pictures and books. Nathaniel had more books than anyone she knew, not that she had seen many other people’s rooms, however. He owned an array of different books, most being books about science and facts and figures that Abigail couldn’t hope to understand, but also possessing books filled with adventures and love and magic, which reflected his childish streak. She longed to own such books and to read them at her leisure, but such things had been forbidden for her by her mother. Instead she had books on math, Latin, science, French and any number of boring subjects piled up in the corners of her room. Abigail resorted to sneaking into her brother’s room while he was out and reading his books, keeping them hidden under the floorboards, should one of the many maids spot it and report it to her mother. How Abigail hated those maids. Her eyes scanned the titles of his books, Othello, the Faerie Queene, Robinson Crusoe, Arabian Nights and so many more. Abigail didn’t like reading, she almost hated it, but she loved the stories of remarkable escapades and treasure islands. When she was reading, she got so lost in the story that she forgot she was reading. Occasionally after reading for a while, Abigail would start to voice the characters, and shout in indignation or fear, sometimes gasp and sometimes she would get angry. The one time she could not keep her feelings hidden was when she was reading. Several times, the maids would have to rush out to see if she was being abducted because she would grow so loud. After her most recent attempt to read by herself, her mother banned her from reading anything fictional, in the hopes that her spirit would be calmed. She hated her mother so fiercely for taking away everything that she loved, but she knew that she also loved her mother, no matter how hard she tried to suppress those feelings. She continued to look around his room, at the neatly made up bed to the desk where he did his calculations and study, then to look at the one messy spot in the room, the mess she’d caused. The colour rose to her cheeks instantly as she realised how childish she had behaved. She started to stand so she could put everything to rights again when a low voice stopped her,
“Just leave it Abby,” Nathaniel said, without turning his head
“But, look at what I did...” she started,
“Yes, and look how many times you’ve done it before, you know it will happen again, so just leave it and I’ll get one of the maids to clear it.” He said quickly
“But that’s not fair! It was my doing, and it should be me to clean it up!” she cried in protest
“You just feel guilty about it; the maids have nothing better to do than gossip anyway, so it won’t be a problem for them.” He smiled up at her, “So leave it. Please?” She gave a last distressed look at the pile of muddled clothing on the floor, and then turned to face her brother. He saw that she was genuinely upset by the way she had acted. Nathaniel took pride in the fact that he knew his sister better than anybody, even their parents, having spent so much time with her and he knew that the mess she’d caused was not the thing that was bothering her so. But he didn’t know what was. He racked his brain frantically trying to remember the last few days, wondering what could have made her so upset. At a loss at how to comfort her, he changed the subject.
“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your abrupt visit?” he asked
“Oh,” she struggled for a moment finding the words, thrown off by the sudden change in subject, “I, uh, piano lessons.” She said, knowing that her brother didn’t need further explanation.
“Ahh,” he said, knowingly, “Couldn’t get you’re scales right?”
“No, he wanted me to play some feathery, tedious song. Something by Beethoven, I think. I wasn’t really listening.” She said to the floor
“So what... you didn’t play it right?” He asked, confused.
“No. Well, I sort of made up some music of my own, and added it in. It was jig-like music.” She said, again to the floor, having trouble meeting his gaze. He stood up so he could talk to her better.
“Oh, well there’s your problem.” He said lightly, trying not to offend her too badly. Her hands curled into fists at her side and she went red. He stood up to talk to her more easily, and stared at the wall.
“I don’t have a problem!” she near shouted, “I don’t want to learn this boring music, and I don’t want to play it in front of all those people!”
“Abby, it’s traditional that the birthday girl plays something on the piano. It’s the mark of being an accomplished woman. You’ll need to learn how to play if you want a husband you know.” His gaze left the wall and turned to her. He took a step back in surprise and a little fear. He was astounded to find rampant hatred and pure fury in her eyes. Whatever angered her so much had also caused her to forget to hide her feelings and they showed in the intense glare. She did nothing but stand there shaking for several minutes with her head down. He started to walk towards her but she looked up at the last second. Seeing the tears blanketing her eyes stopped him short in a half stride. Her eyes warned him to stay where he was and to not say anything. He resumed his regular stance while she composed herself. After another long pause she coughed quietly and he knew that she was choking on her own tears in an attempt to stop them.
“Never say that again.” She said so quietly it was hard for him to hear. Taking a step towards the door, she continued, “I will never be married. I do not wish to be accomplished and be a house-wife like Mama. I will not live my life like that.” Before she turned the doorknob, she added, “I refuse.” Then she threw open the door and heard the satisfying bang as it slammed behind her. Again she found herself in the rich halls of Bryan Manor without knowing where to go. She glanced about her and felt the fury rise up again as she looked upon elaborate paintings and vases. She walked down the hall and surveyed her surroundings. There were mirrors that went all the way to the ceiling and intricate door frames and skirting boards, rugs imported from places like India and Egypt and statues by famous artists. She turned a hall and made her way to the servant stairs but stopped in front of one of the huge mirrors and she stared at herself. The hair that most thought stunning, she found annoying, and the heart-shaped face she saw as chubby, others thought elegant. She looked at the clothes she took from her brother and found that she suited them. The dresses that she was so often forced to wear gave her shape that she knew she didn’t have, they hurt her when she sat down and she tripped on them when she walked. In Nathaniel’s attire, she was completely comfortable. She could move, jump and handstand without any difficulty. To prove this to herself she attempted all in front of the mirror and with minimal sound cart wheeled across the hall ending with a jump and back roll. She marvelled at the grace and dexterity she possessed in his clothes that she didn’t have when she was in her own. She stepped and jumped lightly, hardly hearing her own movements. Abigail glanced around to make sure that no-one was watching, tip toeing to the staircase and peering down then lightly running to the servants stairs and watching down there too. Hearing the busy sounds of the kitchen below and feeling satisfied that no-one could hear her, she moved back to the mirror. She glared at the mirror, not really seeing what was there. She focused her movements and drew upon her energy, then, with a final glance at her surroundings; she made them all melt away, until there was nothing but her and white space. She drew an invisible sword from an invisible scabbard at her right hip and pointed it forwards.
“At your leisure.” She said. She had once, many years ago, read that phrase in one on Nathaniel’s books. The hero of the book was fighting the villain in the main battle. The hero was ready to go while the villain was struggling to get prepared. In a moment of wit, the hero took a polite attitude and said to the villain, “At your leisure.” This served to infuriate the villain and he attacked, and swiftly died. Abigail dreamed of those words and of saying them to someone in real life. She practised the words when she first read the book. She tried to imagine how they would sound in real life and she tried them in front of her mirror, in different ways and accents and tones. She never felt that she could get it right. It never had the brilliant irksome flair that the hero had, but she always tried. When she said it to herself in the mirror hall of Bryan Mansion, nothing had changed, it still didn’t sound right. It annoyed her so much that she was losing her grip on blocking out reality. Abigail got angrier at herself and stretched her mind to the limit, bringing back the white void she had brought before. She knew the whiteness was only her thoughts and that she was still in the hall, but her imagination was not yet advanced enough to bring a full scene into her head. She had to make do with blocking out everything for now. Content, she brought back her fantasy sword to eye level of her make-believe enemy. She decided against speaking anymore, in case someone should hear and she thrust the sword to where her enemy would be. Abigail stared down the length of her sword. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was very thin and light and the sleek metal caught the surrounding light and reflected it brilliantly. The handle was black with gold lining and had beautiful jewels covering it. She did not know the rules of sword fighting, or how it was done or the movements that should be made, she only knew of swords and fighting from the stories she had read and the tales her grandfather told her when she was only very very small. But, even with her small knowledge of fighting, she moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. She twirled and leapt and thrust and dodged and fought with precise movements against her opponent. She had always tried to build up her imagination, since she was five years old and found the need to escape problems in her life, mostly her lessons and her mother. She had advanced enough to drown out everything in her world, but only to the point of the white void. Years of practising had still not got her any further, however she was proud and grateful for the temporary escape of white she had managed. Her hold on the whiteness took emotional strength from her as she fought to hold the dream up. This time was no different. Abigail couldn’t say how long she was in her world of white, or how long she fought, but everything real to her was lost as she grew hot and tired from fighting. The sword, although imaginary, took physical strength from her, and for an instant she lowered it, keeping her enemy real and ready to attack. When she glanced up again, she forgot her sword and her fighting and stared in open-mouthed shock. Abigail stared at the shimmering image of a man against the white. She desperately tried to make him more solid, to bring him into her dream, and he took shape. She could almost make out his features when a sharp, familiar noise shattered the still white around her. She looked ahead, and saw the mirror once again, the same mirror, in the same place and the background was the same. But she was not. Colour had risen to her cheeks and she was sweating lightly. Her hair was messy and wisps that had fallen out of the ribbon stuck to the side of her face. She could see, even from such a distance, her chest rising and falling as she gasped in air. Abigail was still trying to get grips with the reality she had been brought so harshly back into when the noise ripped through her again.
“Abigail Marie Bryan! Do not ignore me!” The voice, still sounding distant, made Abigail turn her head slowly and when she located the speaker her face drained of colour and she shrunk back. Abigail knew that her mother would never bodily harm her, she was too worried about her image in society to do anything like that, but her mother’s words and threats were just as bad, if not worse, than physical punishment.
“Mama!” Abigail’s mind was reeling, trying to make up some sort of excuse, “I did not see you there. How long have you been standing so close?”
“Long enough!” Replied the same harsh voice that made Abigail wince, “I saw what you were doing. Prancing about like a...a...one of them” She spat out, unable to say what she felt.
Anger returned to Abigail and she rolled her eyes,
“One of whom, Mama? I’m allowed to pretend in our own house aren’t I?” the instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
“How dare you! You cannot talk to me like that! And look at what you are wearing! Which stable boy was it this time? Wait a minute,” She said, before Abigail could lie, “those are Nathaniel’s aren’t they? Did he give them to you? You stole them didn’t you? You would steal from your own brother?”
“No Mama! I didn’t steal them! And if you would let me get a word in edgeways, I could explain.”
Her mother gasped in disbelief.
“You still speak with disrespect! I am your mother. I will not have my own daughter pretend sword fighting in the halls and wearing such unsuitable clothing. You aren’t even wearing shoes!” Her voice rose in both volume and pitch as she got angrier and angrier. Abigail stared uninterestedly down at her bare feet, she wiggled her toes and grinned. When she looked up again her mother was staring at her intensely, but not nearly as fierce as Abigail or Nathaniel could do. It was well known within the house that Victoria Bryan had a temper. She had almost always had it, but few would deny that it worsened after the birth of Abigail. Victoria was very tall and sophisticated in her manner and most women would’ve given up everything to be like her. She only wore clothing of the finest material, and altered by the best, and most expensive, tailor in town. Her family name, Bristol, was also well-known in London, and her parents were still one of the richest couples in town. Adding their family wealth to the Bryan name was social dynamite, making the newest Bryan family, the fourth richest in all of London and the fourteenth richest in all of England.
Continue to Chapter 1 end if u like it! ^_^