MEADOWS STRETCH BEYOND THE HORIZON, The tranquility of the morning gaze, of an orange hue and the songs of birds. There laid somewhere deep within the meadow— a girl with a curios mind and a wicked tongue, silenced with a quill and paper.
Her hand was furiously scribbling the epilogue of a mystery of a murdered husband, leaving millions in fortune to his dear-young- wife. Once finish, a smile enrich with purity of bliss came to view. Holding up the parchment within grasp, she rose. Folding the paper with a satisfied curl.
Agatha and Sophie would love this. They always did. Embodied with a fanatical mind, the two friends had always loved to hear whatever she had in store.
Stories was an escape for her treacherous life. To be gone of such dreadful fate even for just an afternoon, to feel the flourishing freedom stories of heroes and villains entails. The three girls— Agatha, Sophie and Evangeline mourned their awful life with stories they knew all too well to be fiction. For maybe it brings the strength to live through it all, and give them the window to live a thousand lives.
Over the years, her vocabulary and idealistic fantasy had expand quite somewhat astronomically. An accomplish she would take pride on with a smug smirk. Her stories would branch from one genre to another. Woven with love, mystery and hatred together for that perfect story for a classic remembrance.
The three girls always set to walk together towards the town, ending up together by the bookstore— Deauville's to search for more stories to spend time on. Alas, she was once again lost in words of folklore, time had lost sense as she laid by the flowers. Tickled by the fresh scent of nature, she was in dazed.
It was without doubt they would've continued they're journey just fine without her, at the end of the day—their rendezvous point had always been the Deauville's. A home for witches some would say.
Set foot with the ink and quill packed in her bag, off she went down from the hill of meadow towards the dull village of Gavaldon, where apparently hygiene wasn't a necessity to be viewed presentable.
Soon, ducking away from a rather distasteful group of teens, she had scurried inside the crooked building and into a place of old books and stories hidden to find. The store was afloat with vast arrays of tales. Long overdue for her eyes to read and her mind to imagine. A smile of pure merriment began to rise. Mrs. Deauville's hadn't troubled herself with a pursuit of decorations. No one really entered if not for a single book to search for their work or their masters needs, It seems only them could take time to stop and entertain themselves with the classics.
