Fantasy-Mystery
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Carmiabell Goldmoon Locks is under an ancient curse that threatens to collapse her existence if she does not source the creature that laid it upon her.
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On an easy-going autumnal Monday morning, the last thing Carmiabell's ill...
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Alma Umbermoon White was an early bird. She was one of the twelve students who had been rewarded for their effort to get to school early and engage in constructive studying. If constructive studying was a synonym for flirting then the principal was quite right.
The last time Carmiabell woke up while the sun had not yet peeked was during the previous year’s annual Neporian holiday —just because she had to put on a new dress. Who knew the next time after that she would be spying on someone like a psychopath? Wonders shall never end, they say.
The night seemed to be extending its roots and burrowing into the day’s solitude, or at least she thought so.
Peeking through her window, the weakly glowing liquid in the liquid-timer had barely struck a third.
She shifted her eyes to Mr Tom’s roof, but there was no one to be seen. The gloom enveloping the house amplified that neither were they awake.
Her other neighbors' houses were not on her point of view, but she didn't expect anyone to be awake drops after midnight —unless they were up to something— not even Mrs Tuth, one of her neighbors she recently realized was a senior year Alchemy teacher in her school.
Frankly, it was a relief knowing that she had two close targets she could be spying on at school, but the remaining lose knots would need extra effort.
She went back to her bed and forced herself to sleep.
She could fool everyone but not herself. There was no way she was going to get any sleep knowing that she was under an ancient curse that would blow up any time into a detrimental illness.
So far she could say she was in one piece. Nothing out of her normal body pattern had played, but unease which she supposed was a side effect of poking her nose where its belonging was unwelcomed. Her skin had not changed —its fairness and brown color was still intact.
Maybe the curse was insidious, like a venom that would eat her up without her concern and leave her hanging one foot in the afterlife, if not both. She shook off Ya albeit she knew this time she could be telling the truth.
To clear the air, she had to do research on books from the medieval diseases, and that was what she was going to do before leaving the school on Monday.
The pick of the sun's eye shot up, calling Carmiabell.
Everything was all set. For a low profile she had isolated a casual green skirt, a pinkish, faded blazer —with some missing buttons— and a pair of brown boots.
She ran down the stairs to meet her mother. “You are up early today.” She knew her timing, and her terrible view of the concept of time.
“I want to catch up with some notes,” she lied.
“Okay then Mrs Books.”
Carmiabell chuckled at her broken humor.
“You should take break-fast,”she pointed her finger at the dining table. Carmiabell nodded, anything not to argue with her ON A MONDAY when she had a SECRET MISSION.
