A Reprise

With infinite care Oriente leafed through the old diary, which had been lovingly hand-sewn with thread. Pearls or some sort of bead had adorned the cover, but they had long since been lost. She laid aside the journal with a strange feeling that transcended the clinical atmosphere of her work room. It seemed profane to touch the journal with white cotton gloves or view it beneath a dim fluorescent light. She had never believed in ghosts or considered their existence in a meaningful sense. But she felt that someone was speaking to her now. She was a stranger to love or friendship. Those sentiments, she felt, belonged to a gentler time, like the time when this girl had lived. This was a fast-paced era, not a time to write one's heart into a journal or literally fade away from love. And this was not a time of friendship. She considered herself a listener of friendship. She had overheard many friendships, and she had been invited into friendships with other women. When she looke...

We would be in perfect sympathy, perfect understanding.  It is the tragedy of my life to have missed her sweet presence by mere months.  If I had come those months ago before the Markgraf had become engaged to Adelia, would he have married me?  Delphinia ceased her scrawl, laid down her pen and took up her cane, and paced the room. She might have wished to guard her private words from the sights of others, but she was too distracted to think clearly. The open pages lay on her desk as moments later, she pulled her shawl from where it lay at the back of a chair and wound it around her, stepping from the room. Like an unloved person the natural scene outside had grown starker and crueler at winter's onset. It was impossible to behold the gray, still scene without a shiver. It was pitiless without even one shriveled brown leaf clinging to a branch. It was tea time, but the sky was already darkening. Lamps were lit in the hallway. Up ahead in the gloom Delphinia ...

I don't remember at all! I'll just have to make something up.

Scarlet looked up with alarm, real alarm. Cassandra had never seen her supervisor look discomposed, but just now her fear was unmistakable. She rose suddenly, a whole foot taller than Cassandra, though she was as slender as a willow, and similarly pale. "I thought you'd gone home, Cassandra. Why are you still here? It's late." "I had some work to finish up. I guess there's nothing more I can do. I'm sorry to have startled you." "You shouldn't hang around here after dark, Cassandra. It won't be safe for you to go home. You walk, don't you?" "I don't mind the dark," Cassandra said quickly. "I like to work late. I could use some extra hours, if you don't mind, Dr. Thorn," she added, recalling a conversation she had overheard between her co-workers. Humans liked to work extra hours, though she didn't truly understand why. But as a princess, she had never wanted for anything, and didn't t...

So I am switching stories again .. and we will start with famous opening lines (almost -- "it was a dark and stormy night" is bad writing, most nights are dark)..  It was dark and storming .. (Sorry for my manga-ka asides .. ) From within the laboratory, Cassandra could hear the clatter of Dr. Thorn's polished red nails across her keyboard. She sensed Dr. Thorn was in another bad mood. She wanted to reach out to her but had no idea how. She knew in the human world their status was disparate. Dr. Thorn was her supervisor, and Cassandra had to focus on the work Dr. Thorn set out for her to do. It was obvious she didn't want to be bothered, and Cassandra couldn't be pushy with her. But she found she was so lonely. She couldn't connect to any of the other girls in the laboratory at all. This was likely because she was more different from them than they could possibly imagine, but it didn't dissipate the feeling of failure that loomed over her when th...

I would have been surprised to know that I sank into a deep death-like sleep following the stressful events of the evening and the morning. Despite the sun radiating across the ivory counterpane that covered my prone form, I remained oblivious until a loud clatter shocked me into alertness. The door burst open and a tall, slender figure entered. A beam of sunlight illuminated her closely-coiffed golden hair. "Who is this person?" she demanded. "What is going on here?" On her elegant heels was a slightly smaller form, a young, slim man whose pale face was framed by locks of black hair. His eyes, pale as a cat's, met mine for an infinitesimal moment before I panicked and gave a terrified shriek of indignation. My room was filled with even more people. Suddenly I found myself at the center of attention, torn from the grips of deep slumber, my hair loose and lost within the linens, my chemise a barely sufficient barrier against the penetrating gaze of the yo...

You aren't supposed to talk about your writing, because it can hinder your creativity, but that is really half the fun for me, to get these ideas out and play with them. The Awakening is a new version of my same story I keep re-writing. I have put some elements back into it that were there in my first version that I took out when I re-wrote it as a regular gothic romance. Now it is back to being a dark fantasy/gothic romance, but it is presently, and may always, be without a hero-focus. Originally Gisele/Gisela was an angel/savior figure toward the damned inhabitants of the castle with their animal curses. I'm doing that again, and I'm also going more toward the ambiguous about her "true love," and I'm not sure she's going to have a true love. I'm exploring Gisele deeply. I find she is deeply moved by the thought that others would want or love her. This is basically "enough" for her, and the technique I have been studying in my very favorit...

Finally it grew so dark that I was forced to cease reading the poetry book. I glanced ruefully at the darkened landscape, which was cloaked in a dusky haze through which a few stars winked. The moon, which I knew to be full, was swathed in clouds and offered no light to my passenger car. I returned the book to Hildegarde's reticule and leaned back into the seat, taking a breath to still my increasingly erratic nerves. - The post-chaise clabbered along the shining rocks of the road at breakneck speed. Hildegarde was awake but unperturbed, while I was sickened. In my efforts to fight down sickness I remained motionless as possible staring at my fawn-colored gloved hands. "We should arrive at the castle by early dawn," Hildegarde told me. "No one will be awake to greet us. I will show you a room, and then we will sleep all day, and in the afternoon, perhaps, we will feel suitable to meet with my father about your work." I nodded, unable to trust myself to...

Paris, present-day. In her apartment Oriente shuffled through the stack of books she had brought home for the weekend to review. She knew that she would probably return to the museum to do more work on the antique clothing, on her own time, but she was going to make the effort to be sedentary. She looked at the number again on her phone. The person had called again during her walk home, but she must not have heard her ringtone above the bustle of the streets on Friday night. It was starting to creep her out that someone was calling repeatedly, especially so late into the evening. She knew it must be a wrong number, it had to be. To reassure herself she laid her phone upon her desk and turned the ringer all the way up. If she had the opportunity, she would speak to the caller tonight and clear up any misunderstanding. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was now 2 a.m. The perfect time to go to bed, perhaps? Not at all. Oriente inconvenienced no one with her frequent insomnia;...

Despite the hectic flush mounting her cheeks, Delphinia sought the Markgraf's gaze directly. "I hope I may rely on your good advice as to a horse," she said. "As you know, I have a physical weakness, and a spirited mount will not do for me." "I have a horse," he replied, in a voice that was intended to have more force than it did; its sudden gravel surprised her. No one else gave it any notice, and Delphinia knew none of them suspected anything might be between herself and the Markgraf, except Oskar, who knew all. "She is gentle as a dove, easily led by the most timid hand. Since her mistress departed months ago, she has been ridden only for exercise by the stable hands." Delphinia paused in astonishment as the import of his words washed over her. He intended her to ride Oriente's mare. She glanced at Oskar to see if he disapproved; his face was impassive and cold. He disliked his brother and wanted to ruin his happiness. What if ...

Christoph escorted Delphinia to the stable-yard. "You look exceedingly pale," he murmured. "I would not have come, but I promised Adelia." There was only one thing Delphinia wanted to know, and as soon as it was natural that she should do so, she lifted her gaze to the other riders coming into view, strolling amongst the stable yards looking at the horses. Her breath caught on a sudden hitch as in the gloom she saw the loose fall of Adelia's burnished hair. Her arm was lodged within the Markgraf's. A flush crawled across Delphinia's face. She could not name the feeling that swept her, but it seemed a mixture of all the things that cause one to flush: shame, anger, desire. She ducked her head away. "Miss Rumford seems contended enough," Christoph murmured. "I do not think that she will begrudge our return t England to plan our own happy future." Delphinia was silent. Something had turned within her. Christoph was an emble...

I swayed, lulled by the movement of the train. The wind outside blew puffs of black smoke across my window, obscuring my vision of the bystanders watching the train leave the station. My heart beat quickly as in moments all familiar to me had passed away, and we were diving like a bird through green pastures where sheep grazed, pale, ghostly blurs on the hillside veiled by mists rising. I wore a blue-gray traveling suit that was one of several gowns sewn for me on a breakneck schedule of only a few days. Beneath it, I wore the proper foundation garments which felt as strange to my body as if I were a man wearing women's clothing, so completely alien were a corset and bustle against my form. I struggled quietly as I learned to breathe all over again in our passenger compartment. Our hurry to make the train had involved running. I was no stranger to physical exertion, but it was a different matter in the bell-like skirt and tiny slippers I presently wore. Hildegarde seemed oblivi...

1789 Gervaise was the first one to enter Delphinia's bedchamber. Golden light spread through a crack in the white curtains, throwing a lacey pattern onto the silk-shrouded bed. Delphinia lay in the finest guest bedchamber in the castle. It had been converted from the room of the dowager Markgrafin upon her death. Though Gervaise's entrance was not quiet, there was no stirring in the midst of the great bed. Gently Gervaise laid down the tray of chocolate and great cinnamon rolls and approached the bed, pushing aside the curtain to view the prone figure there. Delphinia lay in a contorted state, her limbs drawn up against her protectively, looking like a frightened child, though she was in the depths of sleep. Her hair, dark-colored, the finer strands gilded and curling around her face and brow, was mangled, freed from its pins without a combing. She wore a loose white shift, no nightgown. Gervaise was not offended by disorder or carelessness, but Delphinia's disarray gave he...

Oriente handled an old silk dress carefully in white cotton gloves, the disposable kind that fitted loosely over her fingers. Her heavy round glasses were perched on the end of her nose, her hair carefully wound to the top of her head to prevent escaping strands, though half had fallen hours ago and she had not been at liberty to attend it in the midst of her project. The silk dress was a shade of peach-pink, the kind of color she could never wear-- she stuck to black, gray and occasionally white-- and she placed it in 1789. The shape, loosely gathered at the sides with a shortened hem meant to display the pointed-toe slippers of the time, was in the pastoral style, and the yellowed and degraded fichu was to drape over decollete. The Brussels lace was fine. It was clearly the gown of a noblewoman, a gown for taking afternoon tea. The other dress in the trunk was completely destroyed and would not be an appropriate museum piece. She hoped her director would not dispose of it. It clearly...

"Delphi... Delphi, look at me. Are you hurt, are you ill?" Adelia clasped her fingers gently over Delphinia's pallid arm. Delphinia continued to lean against the window frame. She closed her eyes, still able to feel the touch of her friend's fiance's lips. "Please, I'm fine, I'm just not myself. I will be all right soon." Adelia shook her head. "You've been this way for days. You stay to yourself." As if to prove her point, Delphinia cowered her face marginally further against the curtain, though her head was pressed as far as it would go. She couldn't think of anything but him. She didn't know she could be this way, so broken-hearted, so obsessive. She had taken up a new, shameful hobby and as soon as Adelia left the room, she was going to do it again. She realized, with a stirring of interest, that she must act fine and convince Adelia to leave so she could do it again. "At least look at me. Please." Th...

August 31, 2009  Amanda, 29-year-old scientist and author, is acclaimed for her critical essays and in-depth research into Victorian costume and lifestyle, the Pre-Raphaelites, and historical science.  Her poetry and short stories have been published multiple times in [ x ],[ x ] and [ x ].  Her first novel , Cambriel , was published by Silhouette books in 2005, heralded as groundbreaking. Amanda is celebrated for turning Silhouette books into an intelligent, forward-thinking series with her Sleeping Beauties imprint.  Amanda works 8 to 5 as a biochemist in a clinical laboratory.  Her and her husband Nathan's hard work has paid off and they live in a beautiful secluded home. Thanks to years of trial and error, both have excellent culinary skills and trade off making dinner every night for the other so that Amanda can spend some evenings with her writing, and Nathan with his musical compositions.  For fun, Amanda and Nathan love to dine out and travel with ...