Saturday, 26 October 2013

Character Encounters-- First Time.

Okay, over at Knitted By God's Plan, Kendra has her monthly link up! Click here for more details! This month is kitchens. Here I go!




It is the usual Tuesday afternoon routine; making dinner for my family. I measure out the eggs and dump in the sticky lump of cream cheese, two ingredients for making salsa corn cakes. After putting in the rest of the ingredients, I start the mixer and start drying dishes.

As I turn from the drainboard, carrying a stack of plates, a small, brown-haired girl confronts me, perched on the edge of the counter, her mouth set in a resolute line.

Annie.

I set down the plates and put my hands on my hips. "Annabelle Reginald, get off that counter immediately! You know better!"

She gives me a sulky look, but slides down to the floor. "You do it all the time."

I pause, confronted by the truth. "True," I finally say, "but this is my house." I sweep by her, trying to think of something else to say.

She doesn't say anything, only follows me around the kitchen, her steady eyes boring holes into my back. I set down the last plate and turn to her. "Annieo, what is it? What's wrong?"

But I don't need to ask. I know. It's Jacob. His drafting. My eyes soften and I pull her into a hug. She collapses into my arms and and I can do nothing but hold her close.

"Oh Molly," she sobs, trembling against me, "I'm so afraid for him!"

"I know," I whisper softly.

She lifts a tear-stained face to me, her eyes flashing. "You know what I want to do, right?"

I nod. "Yes."

"I want to stop loving him. I want to with all my might. But one part of me doesn't want to atop loving him. And he doesn't want me to either."

"Annie," I say slowly, taking her face her my hands. "You can't stop loving your brother. Like he said, it isn't right!"

Her eyes fill again. "But what if-- if he gets killed like daddy and Uncle Frank? I don't want to get hurt like that again! Oh Molly, if he goes off to the war and gets killed, I could never bare it! I can't bare to even think about it!" She bursts into tears again, gripping my shirt with her fingers.

I stroke her hair, my throat getting choky and my own eyes filling. Then I lift her face to look at me again. "Look at me, Annie," I say firmly.

She obeys.

"Jacob needs you to be strong for him. Think about how he feels This isn't any easier for him, you know. You need to be brave for his sake."

She smiles shakily. "I know Molly. But it's so hard!"

I nod, and kiss her forehead. "I know, Annie, I know. But don't worry. Keep praying, and you'll see how things will go in the end."

She smiles and wipes her eyes, her old spark of mischief coming back into her eyes. "Okay. I'll be brave. But only if you start working on our story again soon!"

"I've been busy!" I protest.

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. "Start working!"

"Slave master," I say teasingly, then hold out my hand. "It's a deal."

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

His English Was Perfect.

Okay, so I have decided to do a Beautiful People (which I have been thinking of doing for awhile) on Jacques (yeah, I'm having waaaay to much fun with him right now) from A Matter of Trust, and Amica (A-mih-kah) from Flames Through Rome. Here we go! And here are their pictures; hopefully you can tell which is which. :P



Amica's dress doesn't fit the time period, but the face does, and that's the important part anyway. :)



  • If your character’s house burned down, and they were left with nothing but the clothes on their back, what would they do? Where would they go?
Jacques: He would go to America, preferebly New York City, and get a job at an agency there. He has good friends there, so I've heard.

Amica: She doesn't actually have a home, being a slave of Nero, and coincidentally, in the story, Rome DOES burn, so........ she would try to find her parents, I guess. That was a funny coincidence. :)
  • Are they happy with where they are in life, or would they like to move on?
Jacques: He is very happy where he is, and would not want stuff to change.

Amica: I think she would not try to change where she is, but if something happened to free her, she would be extremely happy.
  • Are they well-paid?
Jacques: Pretty well.

Amica: She doesn't get paid. She's a slave.
  • Can they read?
Jacques: Yes! He loves to read!

Amica: Surprisingly for a slave, yes.
  • What languages do they speak?
Jacques: French, English, German and a little Scottish.

Amica: Hebrew and Aramaic. 
  • What is their biggest mistake? 
Jacques: Ooh, that is tough........ maybe getting a job at the Private Agency Company. That led to some big problems.

Amica: Uhhh......... I'm really not sure. Sorry. :)
  • What did they play with most as a child?
Jacques: Toy planes and trains.

Amica: She didn't get to play much, but she liked making houses out of sticks and making some strands of grass into a person.
  • What are their thoughts on politics?
Jacques: He isn't that interested in politics, actually. He does think that there should be less wars and that the government should turn to God for help instead of relying on their own ideas and plans.

Amica: She wishes that Nero would become a Christian.
  • What is their expected life time?
Jacques: 90 to 100 years. Jacques is really active and healthy.

Amica: 14 years.
  • If they were falsely accused of murder, what would they do? How would they react?
Jacques: He would be probably stunned at first, and then deny it. But he would be praying the whole time.

Amica: She would pray and ask God to show the accusing person that she was innocent. She wouldn't try to deny anything, because no one would believe her, a slave,. and she would probably jus be killed anyway for not agreeing with a person over her.


Mr. Kent was closest, and sprang to open it. He looked slightly disappointed when he saw a young man standing there, dressed not in a uniform but in regular, everyday clothes.
“Are you from the police station?” Mr. Kent asked, trying not to let his surprise and disappointment at not having an older man be standing there at the door show too much.
“I am, monsieur,” replied the young man, and his English was perfect. It was only the French accent, and the fact that he slipped French words into his speech now and then that kept Mr. Kent from thinking that the young man stepping through the doorway was not British. “My name is Jacques Calvet, how may I help you?” ~ A Matter of Trust.



Flames danced before her eyes, leaping and hissing, climbing higher and higher before her. Amica held herself stiffly, trying to keep as still as a mouse. Her fear of fire rose up within her and she pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering. Her head and neck hurt from tensing them so tightly, but she didn’t relax. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, fingernails digging into her palms.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, making her shoulders prickle, but she didn’t take her eyes from the flames. Her tongue felt thick and choking in her mouth, and she cold barely breathe. She could hear the men around her making the brand ready, yet she did not stir. ~ Flames Through Rome.

Monday, 21 October 2013

You Are Wise, My Trusted Lieutenant!

And no, this isn't a post about "Up," it is something completely different. It is just that the "trusted Lieutenant" of Alpha, head dog of Charles Munce's dogs name is Beta. And THAT is what I wanted to talk about. No, not the dog, the word. Or, I mean, what the word is in context with writing.

Still with me? Good. I don't like to loose people. :) Anywhose, I was wondering if any of you are willing (and maybe wanting but I am not expecting that from my lowly status as a writer) to do some Beta reading for me. Meaning, if any of you don't know, that you email me saying you would like to proof read one of the following stories for me and point out spelling mistakes/grammatical errors/inconsistencies/unclear or confusing bits of my stories. This isn't a command or a plea, just a question, and no one has to do it if they don't want to. Just thought I'd ask. :)



  •  Frozen In Time. (Short Story.)
  • Braving the Disease. (Short Story.)
  • First Around the Cape. (Short Story.)
  • Loving Your Enemies. (Short Story.)
  • A Matter of Trust. (Novel.)



If any of you are, by any chance, interested in Beta reading for me, please pick one (or two or three if you wanted! :P) of the stories listed below and drop me a note at writing.justdoit@gmail.com

Thanks so much!

Thursday, 17 October 2013

Hey Cool, I Want To Do That!

Okay, over at Anne-girl's Blog, she did this description of one of her stories using a format that a lot of people (I think) were using when Les Mis was first coming out. Well, I thought it was a marvelous idea, and decided to do it too. My dear sister Miss Dashwood has also done it. Read her post to learn more so you can understand what I am doing. Don't worry, I'll wait. :P

Done? Good. :D Then we shall proceed. Here we go! I will be doing two of my stories here, just so ya know. Introducing first of all........ A Matter of Trust!!



Laura Petrie


goes to France


 and runs away because she is tired of being hemmed in by rules and wants to get away from her companion Marianne Dashwood

who is very annoying and way too perfect. She meets Sherlock


who is a private agent and is hired by her parents, Spode


and Mrs. Hale


 to find her and bring her back.

Meanwhile, an escaped kidnapper named Rupert Steggles 


is in Paris again and Sophie is suddenly in more danger than ever.


The Lost World.

Amelia Earhart



and her brother Marius


are facing some great changes. Amelia is used to always being the best and knowing everything about everything, but that is going to change. They have a move away from the seaside, which ruins Amelia's opportunity to be near the ocean, which she loves more than anything. She also struggles with being kinder and paying more attention to Marius, who she has been pushing aside her whole life. When she finds out that Marius has heart cancer, she tries to make for the lost years. And when she starts high school, she meets the 10th Doctor,


 who becomes rival in knowledge and being the best. Can she deal with all the the change and not lose the world that she knows and loves?



A Matter of Trust

Laura Petrie-- Sophie Kent
Marianne Dashwood-- Margaret
Sherlock-- Jacques Calvet
Spode-- Mr. Kent
Mrs. Hale-- Mrs. Kent
Rupert Steggles-- Louis Banett AKA Armand Freedom


The Lost World.
Amelia Earhart-- Marguerite Cassandra Sanski, or Rita.
Marius Pontmercy-- Richard Whittaker Sanski, or Richard.
Doctor Who #10-- Arthur Perkins.




Monday, 14 October 2013

Chatterbox at Rachel's Blog.

Okay, over at The Inkpen Authoress, Rachel has started a new event. Go here to learn more, please!

This month's theme is coffee, so here I go, using.... well, I considered using Jacques and Sophie, but since coffee is not exactly a primary but still a bigger than small part of the story, and they already have had a conversation about it, I am not going to use them, because this conversation is supposed to be new. :) Whew, long sentence! :P

ANYWAY. I will be using Helena and Peter from a new story I JUST thought of about the English Civil War. Yes indeed, good idea. Must start post haste. :)



      The tablecloth was spotlessly clean, and so white it hurt her eyes to look at it. She rubbed her dirt-stained hands on her apron, suddenly ashamed of her jagged haircut. Why couldn't she have been more careful about her appearance? 

A step sounded in the doorway and she whirled instinctively, clenched fists flying up towards her face to ward off any coming blows. A boy about her own age stood there, a puzzled expression on his face. In his hands he held a silver tray, and on it sat steaming cups of black liquid. 

"What are you doing here?" the words sounded loud and harsh compared to the stillness of the room, yet the boy was smiling, albeit puzzledly.

Helena cleared her throat and stood straighter. Why should she be so scared. Then her shoulders slumped. Because she was out of place, that's why. She was a stranger here, and had no idea what influence this boy had in royalty. Judging by the fact that he held a tray, not very much. She set her lips and looked at him defiantly. "Looking for a position as a maid. Lady said to wait 'ere."

"Oh." He smiled easily and came the rest of the way into the room. "I thought you were a vandal."

She wrinkled her nose. "A what?"

"You know, a robber." He set the tray down on the table.

Her nostrils flared and she stamped her foot. "How dare you? I'm not!"

He laughed then, a hearty laugh, throwing his head back, hands on hips. "I know that. A little thing like you couldn't be a robber." He picked up a cup and held it out to her. "Coffee?"

She lifted her chin. "Don't mind if I do." Accepting the cup, she tried not to wince as the hot china burned her fingers and raised it to her lips. A hot, bitter liquid scalded its way into her mouth and she coughed, choked and without thinking spat it out all over the tablecloth.

Horror filled her and she gasped, watching the brown stain creep over the white cloth. How could she have done that? She snuck a look at the boy. He had both hands over his mouth and was trying to keep from laughing.

"I don't see wot is so funny," she finally said, trying to keep up her nerve. Would she get thrown in gaol for this? He didn't answer, only kept laughing. Finally, she grew impatient. "Will ya answer me?"

Then he stopped, but with an effort and ran a hand through his thick red hair. "Forgive me," he apologized, "but your face-- it did look funny."

She stared at him. Why was he apologizing? Her anger and fear drained away and she smiled tentatively. "Oh. Well, then, that's alright. I'm sorry about the tablecloth-- I'll clean it good right away."

He shook his head. "No need. I take it you don't like coffee?"

"Never 'ad any before. It's 'naweful bitter and queer-like." She wrinkled her nose. "Ya got any water? Me mouth's about near scalded to a crisp."

He handed her a tumbler from the tray and she gulped it appreciatively. "Thanky. Wot's your name?"

"Peter. Peter Wilcox." He smiled and bowed. "And your name is...?"

She snorted. "Whee! I've never been bowed to before." She did a wobbly curtsy back to him and fell in a heap. He helped her up and she shook his hand firmly. "Me name is Helena. Fancy name for a commoner, I know, but me mam liked it." She smiled at him and ran her hands through her tangled hair. "So, where do I go to sign up for this 'ere job?"

Thursday, 10 October 2013

Hesitantly Thinking....

Okay, I am sick and TIRED of the name September Story for my september story story that I wrote last month. :) So here are my favorite ideas or titles. What do ya'll think? Please comment with your favorite! Thanks! Oh, and here is the synopsis for you, just so you can remember what the story is about.

Sophie Kent never imagined how complicated it would be to run away. Her family was on vacation in Paris, and here she was hemmed in by rules and regulations. Changing her name and running away seemed to be the perfect option to have a good, adventurous time strolling through Paris and collecting story ideas for the magazine company she works for. But is it really?
Her family hires a Christian agent named Jacques to find her, and he wins her trust quickly. But will she discover his true identity? And what can she say when Jacques questions the way she acts as a non-believer? And when a dangerous kidnapper comes onto the scene, making things even more complicated then they really are, Sophie must decide what true friendship and loyalty means, and finds herself faced with the hard decision of who to trust. Will she make the right choice?


And here are the titles.

~ Sophie.

~ A Matter of Trust.

~ Adventure in Paris. (This one I don't like as much.)



My personal favorite is A Matter of Trust, but I can't decide. What do you think?


And here is a cute baby for you just for a nice picture to put up. :P


Wednesday, 9 October 2013

Snippets for September.

Okay, September Snippet time! Mostly in September I wrote the September Story (WHICH REALLY, REALLY NEEDS A NEW NAME!!!!)

Anyway....... oh right. Snippets. Here we go. I may be using some snippets from other months, just so ya'll know. :)


Jacob had found her that hollow. He had been out exploring, back when he was seventeen and she was eight, and had run to get her and show her. “Here’s a place where you can build a hideout, Annieo,” he had said, squatting down and peering into the hole.
“Are there any snakes in it?” she had asked, sticking her head in.
“If there were, they would have bitten your nose by now,” he had teased, pulling at it gently. “But no, there aren’t, I checked.”
They had furnished it together, and he had helped her clear away the brush around it a little, making it easier to get to.
But now he was going away. But of course that did not matter, he was away most of the time anyway, at college. Annie hardened her heart, trying to not let her eyes fill. Her tears were gone, and instead there was just a dull, harsh ache that clung to her lungs, and was slowly but surely creeping its way over her whole chest up up her throat. But she could not let herself cry. For then that would mean she loved him, and she didn’t want to. Not anymore. ~ Pearl Harbor Story.



This is Jacob, by the way. 


And this is Annie.


They were both standing now, struggling against one another. Then he slapped her hard across the face, and kicked her away from him.
She reeled, and then fell to the ground, not daring to move or even speak, one hand one her bleeding lip.
Pa was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists. But suddenly, for a split second, Miranda thought she saw something hidden behind the storm clouds, buried deep behind years of hardened bitterness. It was pain.
Pain for her. For that split second, Miranda thought she saw a glimmer in pa’s eyes that said that he loved her. But then it was gone.
“I--I need to get to work,” pa said gruffly, “come on, grab your things, I’ll drop you off at the place where you’re supposed to be.”
“But pa, please reconsider--”
“I already considered!” he shouted. He flung a hand into the air, and she shrank back. “I can’t keep and raise you here no more! I can’t afford you! You’re not worth keeping, anyway, for it’s all your fault that--” he cut himself off and wrenched the door open. “Get your things,” he muttered.
Miranda scuttled to grab her blanket, and wrap the meager possessions she had in it. Her eyes were wide; this was the closest he had ever come to blaming her out loud for her mother’s death. Oh, she had seen it in his eyes, and in his manner, but he had never spoken of it before.
~ West By Train.


Her heart was hammering in her chest like a drum. She knew she had only one shot. If she missed, there would be embarrassing questions, and her whole plan was off. But if she succeeded..... well, an adventure through Paris lay before her. She had decided to sneak out of the hotel, pretend to be poor, and go off an adventure of her own without anyone restraining her. Her whole vacation depended on her aim with this marble.
She gripped it tightly, and her sweaty fingers lost hold of the pebbles for a second. It clinked softly against the wooden floor and she froze. But the sound was too small to reach the ears of the hotel clerk. Then she had it in her grasp, and, taking careful aim, she threw the pebble. ~ S.S

She raised an eyebrow, then spoke. “I Kolaki.”
“Ko-LAY-kee?”
He was pronouncing it all wrong, and she laughed. “No, Ko-LAH-kee.”
Joseph smiled sheepishly, and despite herself she smiled back. “Come,” she said, turning.
He followed her, stumbling over hidden holes and mounds of dirt that she herself flitted over light as a bird.
She admitted to herself that she didn’t know exactly why she was trusting him. She hardly knew him, he was a white man, and he was bigger than she, and therefore more than capable of hurting her. Still, for some unknown reason, she felt she could trust him. For now, at least. Until she knew a reason not to. ~ Friend or Foe?


He reached blindly for a weapon, and found only a hammer. Picking it up, he swung it threateningly at the soldier, who saw it coming and ducked. “Give me back those things!” Edward cried. “You’re acting like a common thief!” He suddenly stopped swinging, the man’s face looked very familiar.
The man looked up angrily. “Let go of me, boy, or--” he stopped as well, and Edward recognized his married brother’s friend, James Hall.
“James!” he cried out, dropping the hammer.
“Edward!”
They stood frozen for a few seconds, then James shook himself. “Edward, get into the house. There’s going to be a battle here, and it won’t be a pretty sight.” He gave Edward a shove in the house’s direction.
Edward pulled away. “James, how could you? How could you sign into the King’s army, and then steal? From us, no less?”
James looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, Edward. Captain Laurie commanded us to.”
“But it’s wrong! The Bible says--”
James cut him off impatiently. “You know I don't read the Bible, and now is not the time to preach! Now get into the house!” He shook Edward by the shoulders.
“But how could you join the King’s army?”
“It is where my loyalty lies,” James said, setting down the pots. His manner darkened as he looked byong Edward and saw the minutemen lined up, and approaching them. “I must go. Sometime, Edward, in a better world, we may see each other again. Now go!” All boyishness was gone from his face, at nineteen James looked already like a man. He gave Edward one last shove and returned to ranks. ~ A Test of Loyalty.

Monday, 7 October 2013

Tag At Anne-Girl's Blog.

Okay, over at Anne-girl's Blog, she hosted a tag about mothers for her release of "Queen Mother." Here I go! I am featuring Beth Ann's mother from "The Goal at Hand." TGAH is not my best work, it is actually one of my least favorites, but the mother is a special person it it.



1. What do you think she would think of the statement used as the title for this post?

Title of Anne-girl's post or mine? I think for both she would think they are just fine.

2. How many children does she have? What are their names? Ages?

She has four. Isabelle, (Belle) age 19. Matilda, (Matty) age 16. Beth Ann, age 13. Abigail, (Abby) age 7.

3. Could you say she "plays favorites"with her children? If she only has one what is her favorite thing about her child?

No. She loves them all equally.

4. Would she adopt a child in need if she could?

Yes! She loves children!

5. What does she consider her greatest accomplishment?

Raising her children in a godly manner.

6. If she could change one thing about the world what would it be?

To make people slow down and take more interest in the people around them.

7. What was her favorite activity as a child?

Singing.

8. Give this mother a theme song { cannot be "your mother and mine"}

Ummmmmmm...... "In Christ Alone."

9. If she could go one place where would she go?

Africa, to be a missionary.

10. Is there anything more important to her than being a mother?

Serving the Lord with all her heart.

Friday, 4 October 2013

Short Story Contest.

Okay, over at Anne-girl's Blog, she is having a short story fiction contest, for her story that she wrote, called "Queen Mother." She wants to see how we would write the beginning to her story. And I am entering. You can see the details by clicking here. Here is the prompt.

Hidden away in a maze of a palace by her mother when she was a baby, Nicoletta yearns for the day when the queen will come to see her, dreams about the day when her mother will love her.

Queen Mother


And here I go!


Sunlight came flooding in at the window, pooling in a sheet of warmth across her face. Dust twitched its way inside her nose, making her sneeze. Her eyes opened with a jolt and she sat up, rubbing the sleepiness out of them. Nicoletta yawned. It was a huge yawn, filling all of her face and pushing all the sleepy wrinkles that still lingered there out of the way.
She swung her feet down from off the bed and onto the polished marble floor. It was slick and smooth to the touch, and she wobbled a little, trying to find her footing. Pierre leaped from his perch by the window onto her shoulder, and she gently reached up and touched his soft fur. He squeaked quietly and tugged at her earlobe, telling her he wanted breakfast.
She pulled him off her shoulders and into her arms to she could see his bright, curious eyes blinking at her. “What do you say, Pierre?” she asked solemnly, tapping the side of her chin.
The little monkey cocked his head. Then he slowly opened his mouth and squeaked out “Please!” At least, it was very close ot a please, but with a spider monkey, you never could tell. But it was the best he could do after three months of training.
Nicolette kissed him of the nose and let him jump back onto his perch. “Good boy. Now wait there and Lailie will give you your breakfast.”
She hurried to her dressing room to change, breathing in the smell of breakfast; coffee, buns, and bacon. Above all the normal smells lingered the smell of lilacs, perfuming the air like a heavy carpet.
Nicoletta scampered out of her rooms into the vast hallway. The great marble halls stretched out on either side of her, like never-ending rows of glass and silk. The whole palace had a rich, brocaded air to it, and made Nicoletta want to scream. Who on earth could have designed so much frippery and lace and marble? A little at a time was nice, but who would want to much of it?
Her mother, of course. Nicoletta leaned her head against the wall. She dreamed of her other day and night. She had never seen her to remember her, and thinking and imagining up a picture for herself was the best comfort she could think of the fill the dull ache inside of her.
Of course, Lailie, her nanny, was very kind, but it wasn't the same. It was a mother’s touch for which Nicoletta yearned, for a mother’s love that she desperately dreamed of.
In her mind’s eye, her mother wore a plain satin dress of cool green. Her hair was jet black, and came rippling over her shoulders in a mass of ringlets. Her face was tiny, as were her hands and feet, and her lips were small and pink. And she smelled like roses. Deep, red roses, like the ones that grew up the side of the wall beneath Nicoletta’s window.
Nicoletta never asked Lailie about her mother. She had asked once if her mother loved her and wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see her mother, but Lailie had gotten a strange, almost bitter, and yet very sad, look on her face and had laid a finger against her own lips, as if there was a baby sleeping nearby that they should not disturb. “Hush now, Nicoletta,” she had murmured, laying a cool hand against the princess’s forehead. “Go to sleep, and don’t ask about her again. Please, for my and your own sake, don’t ask me about her again.”
Nicoletta had never even mentioned her mother’s name again. But the hungry, wondering feeling never left her. Even in her sleep visions of the conjured face of her mother appeared before her eyes. She knew her mother was in the palace, for she had heard the servants whispering about her. But whenever she came near them they stopped talking and with fearful expressions darted away into the maze of hallways.
Nicoletta threw back her head and peered up into the spirally tower that made up the ceiling of the hallway. It wasn’t actually a tower, but it was at least twenty feet tall, and reminded Nicoletta of one.
It’s like a prison tower, she though sadly, a prison that I shall never get out of, and that the keeper of will never come and see me. A lump filled her throat and he slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. The plush carpet pooled around her, giving her legs tiny pricks form the soft, yet scratchy material. Her stomach growled with hunger, but she did not get up and go back into her rooms, where a bell hung for Lailie. She was so tired of relying on others to help her.
One of these days, I’ll go off down the hallway and find the kitchen myself! she told herself, running her fingers over the intricate patterns on the carpet. Then a thought struck her. Why didn’t she go today?
Nicoletta got to her feet and scurried back into her rooms. She reached for Pierre and scratched his stubbly head, letting the monkey explore her hair. He would take a lock of hair and run his little fingers over it, then let if fall back into place while he grabbed the next lock.
Nicoletta kissed him on the nose and set him down. “Stay here and be good,” she instructed softly. “Lailie will be by soon to feed you. I”m going on an adventure. I’d take you with me but you're too noisy and would give me away. I have to be really quiet, you see.” He whimpered quietly, looking up at her with mournful little eyes. She kissed him one more time and hurried out of the room, ignoring his pitiful whimpers. If she listened to him, she would give in and not be able to go out on her adventure.
The hallway seemed vast and dangerous as Nicoletta slipped out of her room. Listening and looking about carefully, she finally determined that no one was nearby. She headed off down the hall.
She had not gone 200 feet when she heard voices. A sudden panic, though she didn’t know why she was scared, came over her and she ducked behind a heavy velvet curtain.
Voices floated down the hallway and two maids appeared, carrying her own breakfast on steaming trays. Nicoletta’s stomach roared and she felt surprised the maids did not hear it. But they were too busy laughing and chattering.
“Isn’t Princess Nicoletta a dreamy thing?” clucked the one maid, named Lena, pausing at a mirror to tuck at her hair with her free hand.
The other maid, Carlotta, nodded emphatically. “Yes indeed, but so pale and thin! Nothing at all like her mother!”
Nicoletta perked up her ears, Maybe they would say more about her mother! She held very still, trying to not even breathe loudly.
“Shhh!” Lena hissed, casting a careful glance around. “We’re not supposed to talk about Queen Katherine in public!”
Katherine. Of course her mother had a name. Why hadn't she known it?
“True, but we’re not in public, Lena, there is no one even in the hallway!” Carlotta shot back, but she lowered her voice. “Oh Lena! Queen Katherine is so beautiful, isn't she? Like a fairy, almost!”
Lena nodded. “Yes! With those dainty hands and all the long, golden hair!”
There went one of her fancies. But she had been right about her mother being small! Oh, I hope they’ll keep talking, Nicoletta though anxiously, clutching the curtain tightly.
“Mmmm. But you know, isn’t it awful what happened? I mean, I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it!”
“You mean you saw what happened?” Lena asked breathlessly, setting her tray down on a table. “I wasn’t working here then!”
“I was,” Carlotta said, almost proudly. “It was... oh....... 13 years ago last month, actually!”
13 years. Nicoletta was 13. What had happened that long ago? Did have something to do with her mother? Her dead father? She listened harder, her palms slick with sweat.
“Anyway,” Carlotta went on, also setting her tray down, “I think that he was unhappy. She never seemed to love him much. At least, she never showed it. I think that was what drove him to it.  I’ve heard they fought like cats and dogs at times! No wonder he was unhappy. That and all the wars going on.”
“But she must have loved him! Why else would she have hidden away her baby, Nicoletta, and refused to see her? Nicoletta looks so much like her father that she reminds the queen of him, that’s what I think!” Lena folded her arms resolutely.
Carlotta shrugged. ‘Well, I was only giving an opinion. And it isn’t like he is going to come back from the dead and tell us why. But I would like to know what drove him to kill himself. He jumped from the turret, you know. And after it happened, Queen Katherine wouldn’t come out for weeks! And when she did, her baby was never seen again. The public thought she had killed it, but we all knew better! The truth was that he hid it and has never seen it since!”
Lena tossed her head. I know all that. You don’t have to tell me. But I wish I could know why he jumped.” She scooped up her breakfast tray and headed down the hall. “Come on, we don’t want to keep Princess Nicoletta from getting a hot breakfast.”
Nicoletta leaned her head against the wall. Herm idn was spinning. Her father had killed himself? Her parents had fought? Her mother had hidden her away? No wonder she had never seen her mother! But why? Why didn't her mother want her?

Nicoletta slipped out from behind the curtain. Her mission was more than finding the kitchen now. Her mission was to find the queen, her mother, and find out what had happened to make her life the way it was now.

What Do Ya'll Think?

Okay, so I have made a cover for "The Lost World and a synopsis, and I wanted some reviews, please. :) I hope you're able to read it. What do you think?