Into The Wardrobe~Peter Pevensie

prologue/introduction

I'm Annabella, I'm 14 and I have light brown hair that falls just to my elbows. My eyes are a rich emerald green that blend with my slightly tanned skin.

Soft freckles scatter randomly across my face, mainly around my nose. I like to think I have nice eyebrows, they're shaped quiet evenly and match the proportions of my face. My lips are soft and pink and I have subtle dimples that appear when I smile.

I also like to think I'm average height, 5'4. but there aren't many people around to compare it. You see I live with my grandfather, professor digory Kirke and his house keeper Miss McCready in a massive mansion in the middle of no where.

I don't go to school. I'm taught by Mr digory himself. He's a great teacher if I'm honest and a very kind man.
Being in my situation means you haven't grown up with many friends, let alone friends your age.

There was George, of course but he was just the mail man, every week day he'd make his way to my mail box and I'd be waiting there for him at 8:00 on the dot. We'd chat for around 10 minutes before he'd hand me the mail and continue with his work.

He was my best friend as sad as it is to say but there was no other children for miles around and professor digory never has any visitors. Most days I read in my free time, walk around the property, or paint.

I love painting, it's my way of escaping. I can create a new landscape, new world, new life, And it's all entirely up to me.

I guess I'm lucky in some sense. Living in the middle of no where gives me more privacy. Our back yard is gigantic and full of bold, sturdy tree's. The house it's self is made out of brick and is quiet wide, the Inside has cold wooden floors and the walls tower high above my head. The emotion the house produces is confusing.

In some instances the house appears cold and unwelcoming but in some other areas  it seems warm and friendly.

It isn't so bad growing up with no proper parents. Mine passed away before I could even crawl hence why I live with Mr digory and Miss McCready. I have no photos nor memories of them so I'm not too affected about their death as horrible as it is to say.

Miss McCready is my closest thing to a motherly figure. She's taught me everything I know. How to cook, make my bed, wash my clothes, just about everything.

Although she seems cold and strict on the outside she's kind hearted and passionate on the inside. She has lots of pride and respect, she takes her job very seriously and I admire that.

Mr digory wasn't to involved with my personal life despite teaching me as a kid but I understand that he's got studies and work to do. The only time I'd ever see him now is for dinner and even then we never really talk. He's not a mean man at all, he's just so invested in what he does.

My daily routine was simple. Wake up, have breakfast, wait for George, chat with George, go back inside, read or paint, help Miss McCready with lunch, eat lunch, sit by the lake or go for a walk, help Miss McCready with chores, make dinner, Eat dinner, read again, get ready for bed and sleep.

It was quiet reapedative. All day, every day.