Post by Katra on Dec 11, 2004 20:46:12 GMT -5
Uninvited Guest
All that could be heard in the library was the quiet crackle of flames in the stone fireplace. In front of it sat Miss Katra, her nose dug deeply into the bindings of an old worn book. It tickled her fancy so to read of the adventures and daring escapes of lore, often feeding her already peaked curiosity. "Katarina, darling..." her mother's voice echoed from the hallway.
"In here mother. The Library." she responded, her eyes never missing a word. A slight creak reasonated from the door as Lady Sibyl Withinghall stepped in, her petit frame sauntering slowly over to her daughter, stopping halfway. Her thick, black hair was arranged delicately into a bun, and she was dressed in her usual traveling attire. "My dear, your father and I must be off. We shall return within the week."
"Yes, mother..." she answered, still captive to her book.
"Oh, dear child," Briskly, her mother walked over to her side, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "Can't you put that book down, just for a minute? Perhaps you should go riding on Merriweather, or take a stroll with that Ian fellow."
"Oh, mother, do you ever cease?" she said, her attention broken from the frail pages of her book. "Fine, I'll go to the garden. If it will make you happy." a plastered smile adorned her fair skinned face.
"That's the spirit, love. Well, I'm off." her mother contorted, walking out of the door, closing it behind her.
"Finally," Miss Katra said with a sigh before sitting back on the chair. Suddenly, there was a loud thud, echoing in the hallway. The sound startled her from her book. "Mother?"
No answer.
"Mum?"
Still no answer.
"Well what in the duce could this be?" she said, closing her book and putting it securely under her arm as she walked to the door. There was no way it could be her mother, for she and Katra's father were outside, preparing themselves for their long trip to visit her mother's incorragable relatives outside of the province.
Her steps began to slow as she cautiously stepped toward the large wooden door. Even the fire had died down to a low crackle, as if trying to be just as silent as she. Katra placed her small, alabaster hand firmly on the door, trying with all her might not to be conspicuous to whomever was awaiting on the other side.
Despite her intentional effort to keep silent, the old door creaked loudly, even louder than when her mother had entered. "Damn you...." she whispered, peeking around the corner and down the massive corridor. Just then, there it was agian. This time, lighter, and more similar to a heavy footstep. In fact, she thought, it was more like a boot.
"And a boot belongs on a foot. And a foot belongs to a person..." she said, almost chuckling to herself. "Those blasted books."Yes, those blasted books were aiding and abetting her already run-away imagination. But, the pressing question wasn't what anymore. Rather, it was...who?
All that could be heard in the library was the quiet crackle of flames in the stone fireplace. In front of it sat Miss Katra, her nose dug deeply into the bindings of an old worn book. It tickled her fancy so to read of the adventures and daring escapes of lore, often feeding her already peaked curiosity. "Katarina, darling..." her mother's voice echoed from the hallway.
"In here mother. The Library." she responded, her eyes never missing a word. A slight creak reasonated from the door as Lady Sibyl Withinghall stepped in, her petit frame sauntering slowly over to her daughter, stopping halfway. Her thick, black hair was arranged delicately into a bun, and she was dressed in her usual traveling attire. "My dear, your father and I must be off. We shall return within the week."
"Yes, mother..." she answered, still captive to her book.
"Oh, dear child," Briskly, her mother walked over to her side, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "Can't you put that book down, just for a minute? Perhaps you should go riding on Merriweather, or take a stroll with that Ian fellow."
"Oh, mother, do you ever cease?" she said, her attention broken from the frail pages of her book. "Fine, I'll go to the garden. If it will make you happy." a plastered smile adorned her fair skinned face.
"That's the spirit, love. Well, I'm off." her mother contorted, walking out of the door, closing it behind her.
"Finally," Miss Katra said with a sigh before sitting back on the chair. Suddenly, there was a loud thud, echoing in the hallway. The sound startled her from her book. "Mother?"
No answer.
"Mum?"
Still no answer.
"Well what in the duce could this be?" she said, closing her book and putting it securely under her arm as she walked to the door. There was no way it could be her mother, for she and Katra's father were outside, preparing themselves for their long trip to visit her mother's incorragable relatives outside of the province.
Her steps began to slow as she cautiously stepped toward the large wooden door. Even the fire had died down to a low crackle, as if trying to be just as silent as she. Katra placed her small, alabaster hand firmly on the door, trying with all her might not to be conspicuous to whomever was awaiting on the other side.
Despite her intentional effort to keep silent, the old door creaked loudly, even louder than when her mother had entered. "Damn you...." she whispered, peeking around the corner and down the massive corridor. Just then, there it was agian. This time, lighter, and more similar to a heavy footstep. In fact, she thought, it was more like a boot.
"And a boot belongs on a foot. And a foot belongs to a person..." she said, almost chuckling to herself. "Those blasted books."Yes, those blasted books were aiding and abetting her already run-away imagination. But, the pressing question wasn't what anymore. Rather, it was...who?