1. Introduction

337 5 1
                                    

1. Introduce yourself as a character in the first person

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

1 Year Before the Rebellion.

My eyes, heavy with a great lack of sleep glanced slowly out of the window on the right of my bed were I lay, entwined with various sheets and pillows of the highest quality. The darkeness that flooded the vast city would be perfect for my escape, the night would concile a mulitude of actions.

Quietly I rose from the comfortable bed, knowing in my heart that it could possibly be the last time that I would experiance true comfort and gracefully reaced for the candle that was placed on the bedside table, lighting it with the only match I could find. It's amber glow lit the room so that I was able to prepare the last few things for my absence.

I padded slowly across the floor, taking extra caution in an attempt to not wake the sleeping house. As I reached the large, oak wardrobe I opened it to see the multitude of expensive dresses before me and choosing one, I changed with hast. Once this task was complete I stood on the tips of my toes and reached to the top shelf of the wardrobe for the large, deep suitcase which I had taken from the attic the day before. As soon as I had placed it onto the floor I unclasped the lock and threw a number of dresses and nightgowns into it, snappping it shut and locking it once more.

Leaving the case on the floor, I ran over to the perfectly polished mirror that stood above the desk on the opposite side of the room. Being born into the Pontmercy family had served me well for the eighteen years that I had been on this earth. My skin was tainted pink at the cheeks, a sign of the lack of sickness I had experianced, my lips were perfectly smooth, there was no sign of chapping, I had never had to live on the streets like so many and the skin on my hands had no breaks from a hard days labour instead they were soft and pleasing to touch. I had been lucky so why was I running? Deep in my heart I knew why.

On the night of my eighteenth bithday, only three months ago, my grandfather, a rich nobleman whom I have lived with my whole life, annonced my engagment to a man that I had never laid eyes on. Although I knew that the day in which he would arrange my marriage was luming, the idea still repulsed me.

The people around me tried to convince me that I could learn to love this man. I still refused. After my first meeting I was repulsed by every one of his triats. The people around me tried to convince be that I could learn to tolerate the vile creature. I still refused. The news that I had rejected his 'love' reached my grandfather after weeks of meetings with the man. My grandfather then tried to convince me, although he had his own way. After what felt like hundreds of black eyes and blows to the head, I agreed.

However, yesterday morning, twenty four hours before the wedding day, I began to panik. I knew that I could not marry a man whom I didn't love, even if it was our families tradition. So therefore I stand in the bitter cold of my bedroom in the early hours of the morning, brushing through my blonde hair, each curl cascading down my back as I went over the plans of my escape in my head.

My hands shook violently as I fastned the buttons of my coat, each finger weak although I wasn't sure why. This was what I had longed for, to escape my grandfather and now I had the chance to. Why must my hands shake, it makes ever task so much harder? I cursed in the privacy of my own thoughts, for fear that if I spoke aloud I would be heard by any number of the guests who were staying at the grand house in preperation for the wedding which they thought was happening later on today.

Knowing that the light of the morning was promptly approaching I took once last glance at the room before me, the room where I had spent so many of my joyous childhood days was now nothing more than a prison that I longed to be away from. In one swift movement I fixed my coat, snatched the suitcase from the floor and blew out the candle before leaving, snapping the door shut behind me.

Eloise's Story ~ The Les Miserables ChallengeWhere stories live. Discover now