Just… my… story…
The book was written entirely in symbols, ones that looked like birds, and cats, and a number of other, equally strange, things. Katherine had had only the most basic of educations, but the book seemed to her to be laid out in chapters, each chapter containing pages and pages of writing separated into two different columns. And she had no idea what any of it meant.
Ellen McCarthy was a happy child. That’s what they’d say when they passed her by on the street, anyway; “She was such a happy child”.
A happy child? Maybe. But that was then, and the Ellen projected to people’s scrutiny now is anything but. She is tall, and broad, with jet-black, straight hair, and a handsome face, and is dressed, from head to toe, in clothes almost as black as her hair. Yes, Ellen had been a compassionate, kind, and charming child, but that was before the ghosts. And though all the black seemed to hide her from their malevolent, red-glowing eyes, all it really did was get her strange looks from the mundane people of Inisannig who looked with critical eyes on what they saw as a danger to their fragile society.
Should I write more? I rather like the idea of writing for a change doing something new…
Opinions! Opinions! I yearn for thy opinions!
Anyway, heres you go!
She walked back to her small tent that she shared with the other Maids-of-Honour, changed into her night-time shift, and slipped into the welcome numbness of sleep.
She woke up to the relentless twittering of her tent-mates and, after her tiring-woman had helped her into her bone-crushing corset and gown that was required of anyone with a decent social standing in court, Katherine shooed her away. She took a set of keys out of a pocket in her shift, and used it to open the thrice-locked chest she kept with her at all times.