Guys im not sure if you are liking this? Are you?? Im not sure if i should continue?!?!
anyways heres chapter two
-Isabella-
Chapter Two
By the end of our dinner our white candles wicks were very nearly touching the bottom of the candle itself, the wax dripping onto our black candelabras.
“So, Miss Wilson,are you not liking the cold weather?” Sir. Bransteeds Half interested tone questioned, trying to make the small talk i was not interested in.
“Not liking it at all, what about yourself?” I replied, even less interested.
How i hated when Aunt May invited all these men over, trying to match me with men i did not see eye to eye with.
“Did you know Miss Wilson reads, and quite alot i must say!” Mother interrupted, trying to start a conversation between us.
“Oh, i read also, but the quantity is not mutual, unfortunately” Sir. Bransteed was extremely un-interested now. “I think i must go, there is snow rumored to be falling tonight”
“You must go then, our spare room currently has no bed, also your Mother and Father would not be happy if you kept them up” Father smiled kindly
We shared our goodbyes and Sir. Brandsteed left swiftly and quickly his carriage going through the grand gates and into the blackness of the night.
“You were so very rude Willow! He was a welcomed guest and you looked as though you thought he had the black plague!” Mother scolded me.
“I am sorry but its not as though he was interested in anything but himself!” I quickly defended myself.
Soon enough Mother and Father went to bed and not long after did I do the same.
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“Never! Jane Austen books are classics!” I argued with Leon
“I guess I cannot argue with that valid point, but my writings are still truly amazing!” Leon heartily grinned.
“May I read a poem of yours?” I pleaded
Leon sighed, getting up to go into the stores back-room coming out with a heavy, thick, tattered book. Flicking through the many pages I decided to go to the most recent entry; Beauty.
Real beauty comes in the shape of the girl,
with the blue eyes and golden hair.
The real beauty hurts to not have,
and the lust and cravings linger there.
Her beauty burns to my inner core,
will i ever have more?
Quickly i averted my eyes flicking through to the pages in the front pretending i had not read his poem. Was it about me? Was i the girl he lusted with golden hair and blue eyes?
