"Are you still upset with me?" He asked, tying the first bow slowly.
"No, I'm not." She said back. "Ares taught me how to control my temper." She smiled at the thought of her boyfriend. Pan, however, grew jealous and decided it would be fun to tug...
The storm was raging, rain coming down in buckets, lightning striking everywhere starting fires, the wind was constantly getting stronger, blowing away the wooden fence outside of an old farmhouse.
This house belonged to Anastasia and her baby daughter Y/n. Y/n was no more than 9 months old, crying in her cot, wishing the storm would let her go back to sleep.
Anastasia suddenly came running into her baby's room, tears almost falling.
"Come on, sunshine," the mother tried to calm her child whilst picking her up. But Y/n continued to cry. "We have to get to the cellar, okay, your daddy will meet us there," the mother assured,
With her baby in arms, she ran down the short flight of stairs, but lightning struck ahead of her, missing Anastasia and her baby by inches. The lightning caused the girls to scream, and a hole to form in the roof. Nonetheless, Anastasia continued to run out the back door, of course, she held her daughter's head into her shoulder, shielding her eyes from the terror.
Anastasia ran out the back door, her dress blowing to the left due to the wind. She ran across the long, muddy grass and to the storm cellar, but the cellar flew open after two strong yanks of the door.
Anastasia swiftly jumped in after her bonnet flew off. And just before she closed the cellar door, she could see her house burning down. Lightning must have hit again. But Anastasia couldn't worry about this now, she had a baby to take care of. So she struggled to close the door to the storm cellar. Her baby continued to cry, Anastasia tried calming and shushing the baby, but it was no use. The baby was scared, and Anastasia would be lying if she wasn't too.
—Y/n's POV—
No, no, no, no. I overslept again. I am so, so dead.
I ran down the stairs of my shared apartment, the other inhabitant was Mary Margaret Blanchard, she must have left to work earlier than me. My roommate, Mary Margaret, also happened to be my boss, I'm her assistant at the school. I do the little jobs like hand out papers, erase the chock board, answer some questions, etc. Occasionally I would help with lessons, and now, I was late for work. I stumbled as I tried to put my left sneaker on.
Note to self: do not put shoes on standing up, it's surprisingly difficult.
Quickly grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, I ran out the door, biting into the red fruit I called my breakfast. The cold apple knocked away some of the tiredness I still had left in me. How did sleeping make you more tired? Something I will never understand.
