mandi_tripz13
New Member
Hi everyone..iI'm new..I thought I'd post you a section of something I wrote during the summer holidays. Please let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy reading it! 
Raven,feeling slightly dampened and unelated by the dismal, dreary weather outside, hopped energetically from the window seat and took out her notebook from her desk drawer, hidden in between two school textbooks. She set herself comfortably at her desk and focused.
Raven's desk was made of pine and it stood beneath two wall mounted bookcases,overspilling with books and packed in very tightly.Aunt Rebecca had placed them there deliberately , claiming that words and wisdom of the past and present would inspire her to influence and create those of the future. The desk was cluttered with memorbillia and various parts of Raven's life, a predominant feature was Raven's collections of photographs, amongst the pictures of great novelists and portraits of the past, Marlowe and Shakespeare, were photographs of Scarlett and her other friends, Aunt Rebecca and Sister Rosie Lee. Encompassed by smiling and intellectually inspire eys was a small copy of the famous portrait of England's most tragic queen. Raven stared at it intently for a moment, then lit a rose scented candle. Dusk was fast approaching and and each of the stone walled rooms of the nunnery were not capable of supplying light by the power of electricity.
Raven shut her eyes, breathing in the aroma that was begining to navigate it's way all around her. She imagined burning, flaming torches, illuminating every inch of the space around her, enveloping her in light and the sell of combustion, she then continued on her voyage of vivid creatinon by conceptualizing extravagent rugs and rich tapestriesdisplayed with elegance upon the wood panelled walls and across the oak floorboards.She was in history mode. The anachronistic feeling was returning. She clicked her pen into action. The rose scent began to feel the small space, becoming stonger. It made Raven feel increasingly drowsy, having an instant effect upon the pace at which she was writing. Fatigue was invading, nausea was beginning to preponderate and still the smell intensified.She forced her eyes from closing and focused on the half page of dishevelled scrawl. It was hopeless. Her eyes and body began to shut down, incapable of functioning or withstanding the feeling of sleepiness. Raven's head hit the desk, with her pen still gripped tightly in between her fingers.
Suddenly the sound of the arrival of horses in the yard awoke her from this heavy slumber. She blinked simultaneously, her head still resting on the desk. "Horses?" she wondered aloud not moving. She had no time to dwell on this thought however, she spun herself around to witness a dramatically stunning young women enter her room...but this wasn't her room and that wasn't Aunt Rebecca.
"Raven, are you alright?" pondered the woman with deep, curios, black eyes, standing out like street lamps amid a heavily powdered, fashionably white face. Raven gulped and nodded, sitting up staight, and instantly noticing the velvet cushion of this high backed clawed armrested chair. The desk wasn't hers either. It was oak, highly polished, except for a quill, ink and writing paper. What Raven had been imagining in her mind only moments ago-was it moments? She had lost all sense of time-surronded her.
The elegant lady plaved a jewelled hand gently on Raven's head, "I know, these corsets are postivlely and most frightfully murderous aren't they mon chere?" Raven gave a demure, taut smile. The lady standing right behind her, who by her very appearance commanded such an air of aspiration, was Anne Boleyn.
Thank you for reading,
Mandi
Raven,feeling slightly dampened and unelated by the dismal, dreary weather outside, hopped energetically from the window seat and took out her notebook from her desk drawer, hidden in between two school textbooks. She set herself comfortably at her desk and focused.
Raven's desk was made of pine and it stood beneath two wall mounted bookcases,overspilling with books and packed in very tightly.Aunt Rebecca had placed them there deliberately , claiming that words and wisdom of the past and present would inspire her to influence and create those of the future. The desk was cluttered with memorbillia and various parts of Raven's life, a predominant feature was Raven's collections of photographs, amongst the pictures of great novelists and portraits of the past, Marlowe and Shakespeare, were photographs of Scarlett and her other friends, Aunt Rebecca and Sister Rosie Lee. Encompassed by smiling and intellectually inspire eys was a small copy of the famous portrait of England's most tragic queen. Raven stared at it intently for a moment, then lit a rose scented candle. Dusk was fast approaching and and each of the stone walled rooms of the nunnery were not capable of supplying light by the power of electricity.
Raven shut her eyes, breathing in the aroma that was begining to navigate it's way all around her. She imagined burning, flaming torches, illuminating every inch of the space around her, enveloping her in light and the sell of combustion, she then continued on her voyage of vivid creatinon by conceptualizing extravagent rugs and rich tapestriesdisplayed with elegance upon the wood panelled walls and across the oak floorboards.She was in history mode. The anachronistic feeling was returning. She clicked her pen into action. The rose scent began to feel the small space, becoming stonger. It made Raven feel increasingly drowsy, having an instant effect upon the pace at which she was writing. Fatigue was invading, nausea was beginning to preponderate and still the smell intensified.She forced her eyes from closing and focused on the half page of dishevelled scrawl. It was hopeless. Her eyes and body began to shut down, incapable of functioning or withstanding the feeling of sleepiness. Raven's head hit the desk, with her pen still gripped tightly in between her fingers.
Suddenly the sound of the arrival of horses in the yard awoke her from this heavy slumber. She blinked simultaneously, her head still resting on the desk. "Horses?" she wondered aloud not moving. She had no time to dwell on this thought however, she spun herself around to witness a dramatically stunning young women enter her room...but this wasn't her room and that wasn't Aunt Rebecca.
"Raven, are you alright?" pondered the woman with deep, curios, black eyes, standing out like street lamps amid a heavily powdered, fashionably white face. Raven gulped and nodded, sitting up staight, and instantly noticing the velvet cushion of this high backed clawed armrested chair. The desk wasn't hers either. It was oak, highly polished, except for a quill, ink and writing paper. What Raven had been imagining in her mind only moments ago-was it moments? She had lost all sense of time-surronded her.
The elegant lady plaved a jewelled hand gently on Raven's head, "I know, these corsets are postivlely and most frightfully murderous aren't they mon chere?" Raven gave a demure, taut smile. The lady standing right behind her, who by her very appearance commanded such an air of aspiration, was Anne Boleyn.
Thank you for reading, Mandi
