Another excerpt from Mirror Image

*Okay, this will probably confuse you as well. It's kind of short, but I thought it would make for another good cliff-hanger, so here's something I just added to Mirror Image :D*

“Come in, Kara. There’s no need to stand there as if you were on trial,” issued the Queen’s voice from behind a curtain. The lady whose presence was so demanding and regal walked out from behind the satin curtain, shocking Kara by just how short she was. The small woman stood there proudly, but kindly, her black hair that was streaked with silver wound upon her head in an intricate bun. She smiled sternly at Kara and said, “You may close the door.” Kara did as she was told and entered the room further.

It was impeccably styled, with four brown chairs arranged around one small, crimson chair. Silver curtains lined the wall opposite the door, hiding the windows and whatever else upon that wall and making the room dark. Another silver curtain hung to the right, hiding the Queen’s private chambers where she had been sitting before. A dark, warm rug was upon the floor and Kara had the urge to lie upon it, it appeared to be so soft and comfortable. A large fireplace, bereft of actual fire, was the center piece of the left side of the room, near to the five chairs, with large, brown chests lined with silver on either side of it.

Queen Cecilia smiled as she watched Kara examine her room and asked, “Does my room meet your approval?” Kara blushed and nodded in response. “Unfortunately, my dear young lady, I did not ask you here to inspect the condition of my living chambers. I have very important matters to discuss with you.” Kara nodded again. “Please, take a seat in one of those brown chairs,” the Queen instructed, gesturing to the grouping of chairs by the fireplace. Kara sat in the smallest of the four, and the Queen smiled. “That is Coran’s. It’s a good thing you chose his. He’s the only one who will not mind you sitting in his chair,” the Queen said, taking a seat in her own petite, red chair.

The two women sat silently a moment, staring at each other and saying nothing. The Queen’s gaze was stern and scrutinizing, without being harsh, whereas Kara’s was weak and embarrassed, afraid to hold her gaze.
The Queen finally broke the silence, bluntly saying, “You look much better now that Genevieve has cleaned you up and gotten you some proper clothes. Indeed, I would say that you look quite lovely. You have a very pretty face.” Kara blushed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she muttered.

“Oh, please. Don’t you dare ‘Your Majesty’ me. I will have none of that groveling in my land,” the Queen proclaimed. Kara could not resist a laugh at the Queen’s frankness and the Queen allowed herself a smile. “Again, I am allowing myself to be distracted. I apologize. What you are here for is to discuss the mirror that you arrived here in. For you see, my dear, I came here through that very same mirror.”

Excerpt from an as of yet untitled book

*Okay, so I got this story from a dream I had that was soooo realistic. Jackie (the main character) is a modern day girl who goes to sleep one night and wakes up in a prairie in the 19th century Colorado. Enjoy!!*

Jackie was in the middle of a prairie. Yellowing grass was spread out all around her, and large clumps of dirt were plainly seen. Clouds of dust churned across the wide expanse of land that was almost completely bereft of trees. Fear gripped at Jackie’s mind and she hoped with all her heart that she was dreaming.

The sound of a fire crackling caused her to turn around. Part of her wasn’t surprised at all to see a young cowboy around Jackie’s age crouched by a campfire stirring a liquid in a tin pot with a black horse standing behind him. The cowboy looked up and met her gaze with a kind, friendly smile.

“Mornin’, miss,” he said with a Western accent. His bright blue eyes twinkled with humor and his tanned face crinkled with a smile. Jackie was in shock, but decided that she had to be in a very realistic dream and would wake up within minutes. She might as well play along.

“Um, good morning,” she replied. The cowboy stood up, a tin cup in his hand, and ladled the brown liquid from the pot into it.

“Want some?” he asked in his slow, deep voice.

“What is it?”

“Coffee, miss. What else?” the cowboy replied, appearing to be amused by the question.

“Oh, um, okay, yeah, I’ll have some. Thanks,” Jackie said. The cowboy smiled amiably and handed her the cup. Jackie returned the smile, but made a face as soon as she tasted the coffee. “Ugh, this definitely isn’t Starbucks material,” she muttered, handing the cup back to the cowboy who laughed.

“You sure do talk funny,” he said with a chuckle.

“My New York accent isn’t that bad!” Jackie protested.

“Is that how New York people talk? I was thinking they’d be more smart soundin’ an’ all,” the cowboy said with a grin.

“Are you implying that I don’t sound smart?” Jackie asked, glaring at the stranger.

“Nah, ‘course I ain’t sayin’ that. I only meant I thought they’d be more high an’ mighty like,” the cowboy smiled. His smile was so infectious that Jackie couldn’t help but reciprocate the action. They were silent a moment as Jackie pondered when she would wake up from this odd dream and the cowboy fed his horse. “Whoa, boy”, “easy there”, and “Now don’t you want some a these tasty oats?” could be heard from where he was standing, and Jackie felt somewhat soothed by it.

As the boy finished feeding his horse, he turned to Jackie and asked, “So what are you doin’ way out here all alone anyways?”

“Um, well, I don’t really know,” Jackie said, unable to come up with a suitable answer. The cowboy didn’t look convinced that she really didn’t know.

“If you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine. Ain’t none of my business, anyway, I guess,” the cowboy said nonchalantly. Jackie felt bad that she couldn’t come up with a good excuse. “I’m Sam, by the way.” Jackie smiled.

“I’m Jacqueline Forger, but you can call me Jackie.”

“Miss Forger is jus’ fine for me,” the cowboy grinned. Jackie laughed, thinking that Miss Forger was probably the proper thing for a cowboy to call a young lady. “D’ya need a ride somewhere, Miss Forger?”

“I guess to the nearest town, if you don’t mind.”

“Course I don’t. I’m going there myself.”

“Okay, awesome. Thanks!” Jackie said. The cowboy chuckled when she said awesome, amused by her ‘New York slang’. Jackie stood up, brushed the dust off her clothes, and suddenly realized that she was wearing an old, 19th century style dress.

“Somethin’ wrong, Miss Forger?” Sam asked, observing Jackie’s shocked expression. Jackie reminded herself that she was in a dream where anything could happen and shook her head.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

“Alrigh’, then. Let’s git goin’,” Sam urged gently in a cheerful manner. Jackie walked over to Sam, who easily lifted her up onto his horse. Jackie clutched the saddle-horn and swallowed hard. Her cowboy grinned, kicked dirt over the fire, then swung himself onto his horse in front of her, so that Jackie had to hold on to Sam’s waist in order not to fall off. “Miss Forger, this is Solomon the Wise. Solomon, this is Miss Forger; be nice to her, ole boy,” Sam said formally. Jackie laughed.

“Solomon the Wise? You named your horse ‘Solomon the Wise’?” she asked with a laugh. Sam spurred his horse forward and stroked his horse’s mane fondly.

“Sure I did. I got great respect for Mister Solomon the Wise from the Bible.”

“And what better way to show your respect for him than to name your horse after him?” Jackie giggled.

“That’s jist what I thought,” Sam said good-naturedly. The cowboy tugged his hat a little further over his head, glanced back at Jackie, then suddenly spurred his horse into a canter. Jackie let out a small scream and held onto Sam tighter. He laughed and as he slowed his horse down, said, “What’s the matter, Miss Forger? Ne’er been on a horse afore?” Jackie took a deep breath and shook her head.

“No, I haven’t. So don’t you dare do that again.” Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“New York people sure are strange, yesiree.”

Another excerpt from November Skies

*If you read and remember the first excerpt from November Skies, you'll probably be confused after reading this one and wonder how on earth it jumped from that to this. But don't worry. I meant to confuse you. So just sit back, relax, and read and enjoy your confusion while you still can, before everything becomes explained :)*

We woke up to light. A blinding light that was so powerful and so gentle at the same time. A light that radiated from a man, or perhaps he was a boy. He looked to be eighteen, and yet he had an indescribable aura around him that emanated wisdom and strength. Suddenly, the light faded and the boy could be seen more clearly. Blonde curls fell to his chin, and crystal blue eyes peered down at us from a finely sculpted face. I glanced around us, and saw white everywhere. Lightness and brightness were the two words that came to my mind as I examined my surroundings. We seemed to be lying in some sort of large, white castle. I sat up and felt the soft material beneath me, which was thick and soft, the kind of material one would think a cloud to be made of. Off in the distance, darkness swelled in the form of a rain-cloud and the realization of where I was dawned upon me. I was sitting in a castle made of clouds. I looked back to the boy in front of me in shock.

“Hello,” he said. His voice was deep and strong, and it echoed about the cloud room with haunting, resonating tones that somehow comforted me and put my bewildered mind to rest. Then I remembered that we were on a cloud, thousands of feet up in the sky and began to panic.

“Who are you? Where are we? Why are we here? How can we get back?” I asked in a rush, eager for answers. My frenzied voice alerted my friends and they realized where they were. Claire’s mouth dropped open in surprise, Will moved closer to me, and Beth, Rose, and Kathleen looked just about ready to cry.

“I am Michael, and you need not be afraid,” said the boy in a soothing tone with a gentle smile. His voice immediately comforted us, and we all managed to calm ourselves.

“This is the realm of the Caeli Custodes, or the Sky Guards, if you are not familiar with Latin. You are here because the sky has chosen you for an important mission, and you will return to your homes when that mission is completed,” Michael explained. We all smiled when we heard the gentle tone of Michael’s voice, and none of us seemed to fully grasp the meaning of what had just been told us. But Claire seemed to be able to hear past Michael’s voice and comprehended the actual words that the rest of us had been practically oblivious to.

“Wait, what mission? And how are we to know that you are telling the truth? Please, explain yourself further,” she demanded. Michael smiled.

“You are right to be concerned. I suppose if I were human and in your situation, I would be concerned as well.”

Rose’s eyes almost popped out of her head as she stared in astonishment at Michael. “Y-you mean you a-aren’t h-h-human?” she stuttered. Michael shook his head gently, and large, golden wings suddenly unfolded from his back. Rose nearly fainted, and Beth and Kathleen gasped. Claire’s mouth once again dropped open and I fell back into Will with shock. Michael quickly folded his wings back in.

“I am sorry, that was uncalled for,” he apologized. He cleared his throat, and then continued, “Every November, a ceremony in the skies honoring the Caeli Custodes takes place, changing the color of the skies. Humans have created scientific explanations for this changing color in the skies, something you do for everything mysterious and beyond your understanding. During this ceremony, a group of humans are chosen to pass onto their world belief, hope, and faith, without revealing the secrets and mysteries of what lies beyond their world. You have been chosen this year to fulfill this calling.”

Mother's Day Poem

*So, for my gift for my loving mater, I decided to write her a poem, for lack of money to buy her a real gift with ;) Anyway, this is it. If any of you are lacking gifts for your mamasitas, feel free to use my poem :)*

The one to clean, to cook, to scrub is my Mother.
Who else will do it? There is no other.
She spends day after day with these things in mind:
To love, to care, to teach, to help me to shine.

The one to read aloud, to sing songs, to talk with is my Mother.
Who else will do it? There is no other.
She spends day after day with these things in mind:
To love, to care, to teach, to help me be kind.

The one to teach me, to feed me, to guide me is my Mother.
Who else will do it? There is no other.
She spends day after day with these things in mind:
To love, to care, to teach, to help me to shine.

The one to give me life, to make me who I am is my Mother.
Who else could do it? There is no other.
She spends day after day with these things in mind:
To love, to care, to teach, to help me be kind.

There can never be another
To take the place of my Mother.
I love her, and will love her forever,
The only thing a Mother asks from her Daughter.

Excerpt from Giselle: A Ballet Re-told

*When I was little, my mom bought me a book of classic ballets. I was just re-reading it lately, and decided that the ballet "Giselle" would make a really interesting story. So here's the prologue for my retelling of this story. BTW, you don't have to be familiar with the ballet to understand the story, it will all be explained soon enough in the book :)*

Prologue

Cold, wispy tendrils of fog wrap around my ankles as I walk lifelessly through the graveyard. I stare at my white, frozen hands and mourn the warmth they once possessed. Haunting peals of sad laughter echo all around me, and I feel a strong, feminine arm wrap around my shoulders.
"Giselle, my dear, wait over there for me to introduce you to the other wylies," instructs Queen Myrtha, ruler of the wylies. I want to run away from her, from all the wylies, from my gloomy fate. But I cannot. I am destined to live as a broken-hearted ghost forever. I look at the Queen once, then slowly turn and walk to the brink of the lake at the edge of the forest where the Queen had pointed. As I silently wait to be introduced, I listen to the Queen and the wylies speak.
"My dears, my dears, let us all settle down," begins Queen Myrtha. Silence ensues. "Let us remember who we are and why we are here. Who broke our hearts and caused us to die?" she questions.
"Faithless men!" the wylies respond enthusiastically, tears in their eyes. I feel tears in my own eyes as I think of Albrecht.
"And what happens to those despicable men who dare trespass upon our land?"
"We kill them!" the wylies shrill, tears dissipating and eyes flashing with anger instead. All my life, before I died that is, stories have been told in a warning manner, telling of the heartbroken women who haunt the woods at night from sunset to sunrise. Any man foolish enough to cross paths with a wylie was never seen of or heard of again. I had never believed in the wylies, those ghostly women who had been victims of faithless men. And now I am one of them.
"Good, good! I am glad to see that you have not forgotten your purpose. Now, I would like to introduce our newest member, Giselle," says the Queen. Right on cue, I step forth from the mist that had previously enshrouded me, and stare at the countless number of wylies before me. They are all clothed in white, their skin cold and pale, their eyes lifeless and sad, their faces pained and angry. I wonder if I look the same way.
"Tell us a little about yourself, dear," the Queen prods. I know what she wants. She wants me to be spiteful and and furious, to shout in agony my story, to bitterly swear that I hate all men and will wreck my vengeance on them all. But that is not how I feel. I may be broken-hearted, but I am not bitter.
So instead, I say softly, "I loved to dance." The Queen's eyebrows raise.
"Ah, is that so? Well, then, fortunately for you the wylies dance often," she tells me. I nod.
"I was quite good at it, too. But Mother didn't like it because my heart is-...was too weak. That's how I died," I explain, my eyes growing moist as I think of my mother and my last moments alive. The Queen smiles, sensing a good heart-break story for her to grow even more bitter upon.
"Why don't you just tell us the whole story, dear." I sigh. I know I'll have to do it sooner or later anyway. I have all eternity. But part of me wants to share my misery, my sadness, my heartbreak...the wylie part.
"It all started when I was dancing in the meadow, the one on the other side of this lake," I begin. This is my story.

Questions

Does a name define a person, or does a person define a name?

Do we really know as much as we think we know, or do we only know what we think?

Do we see what we want, or do we only want what we see?

Are we what we seem to be, or do we seem to be what we are?

Is hope really imagination, or is imagination really hope?

What is better to have: love of knowledge or knowledge of love?

Do we really know ourselves as well as we assume, or do we assume to know ourselves as well as we know everybody else?

Do we want what we need, or do we need what we want?

Are there ever any answers to questions such as these? Or do we remain ignorant until death and perhaps even beyond? Will we ever know the answer at all?

Ode to Andrew

Tears have streamed down the face of many a person since you've left this world. I don't think anybody realized that when we said good-bye, it would be our last good-bye to you. Is there anyway for you to know how greatly you're missed? Anyway for you to know how many people's lives you've touched? I really hope you do. I really hope you know how much everyone loved you, how much everyone still loves you, how much everyone will always love you.

You made mistakes. We all make mistakes some time or other. I just wish the price hadn't been so great. I never knew you that well. I only remember that you were always kind. When all the cousins were gathered together, you made sure I wasn't forgotten. When I complained of boys who pulled on my pigtails, you taught me how to punch. Perhaps not the greatest solution to the problem, but it was much appreciated. And it was never forgotten. It wasn't that I could now defend myself because you taught me how to punch someone correctly, but that you had taken the time to even teach me at all. You cared. You cared about everyone. And people remembered that you cared. At your wake, the line of people to say their last good-byes to you continued out the door. And people didn't stop coming until the very end. You cared, and people cared in return. And so your legacy will live on. People will always remember you. Remember your passion for art and music. Remember the small acts of kindness you did. Just know, Andrew, that you will always be remembered with love by all who knew you. I will always remember you.