Hello AP, it's been a while. A long while in fact. But I only just had an inspiration to write this up today, and wonder what you all think of it. Does it make you want to read more? Do you want to know more about the characters? I'm thinking of turning this in a serial, but want to know if anyone would be interested in reading it! 

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'Why are you crying?'

The girl looked up, and I recognized her. Her name was Millie, Millie Taverner, and she lived in the great manor that was over the hill from my home. It stuck me as rather odd that she was crying over the grave of my late father; odd, because we hardly knew her. When her eyes met mine, I had a funny feeling come over me- almost as if she knew me already, or my face. But it was only for a fraction of a second that I read that strange emotion in her eyes, for moments later she was awkwardly wiping her tears away and apologizing as she stood.

'I'm so sorry, I was just... reminiscing, that's all. Forgive me, I need to get back home.'

She started to walk away, but I followed and caught her arm before she could get far. As she turned, she looked surprised, but did not say anything.

'Look,' I said, releasing her arm and hoping she would stay, 'I'm sorry that I disturbed you. But- why would you be crying over my father's grave? Did you know him?'

A far off look crossed her face. 'Yes. That is, in a way I did. Should it be so strange that I would mourn the death of a friend?'

'Forgive me, but it's been three years... I thought we had regards from all our sorrowing friends and relations by now, but you've taken me by surprise, that's all.'

There was silence that seemed to choke all further conversation, silence that alarmed me, as I wanted to know more about her. I kicked myself inside for being so rude, but at length, she spoke again.

'Are you his youngest son?'

'Yes, and I'm named for him too.'

'Edward,' she said, extending her hand to shake mine, 'pleased to meet you. I'm Millie Taverner.'

I smiled and shook her hand back.

'I recognized you- I've seen you in town numerous times. May I walk you home? It's quite a distance from here, and it looks like it's going to rain.' I replied, as we started to walk out of the cemetery. The November skies looked threatening, just as they always do during that dreary month, but I only wanted an excuse to talk with her.

'Oh! Yes, thank you.'

I was glad for that. It was true, I had seen her in town nearly every day I was home from school, but had never actually gotten to meet her. She was an unusually pretty girl, in fact, she was rather beautiful. But this isn't what made me look twice every time she passed me on the street; no, it was more her quiet demeanor that made her an interesting person. She didn't seem to speak to many people when she walked the streets, in fact, she looked as if she were enjoying some private secret. Always something seemed to be on her mind, always keeping her from being friendly with very many of us in the town.

'Excuse me, but how old are you?' she asked, trying to break the silence that had grown between us while I was quietly considering these things in my mind.

'Oh, I'm twenty. Why do you ask?'

'No particular reason. Just... I only wanted to know more about you, we hardly ever got a chance to speak before.'

'I see. Well, I'll return the favor, how old are you?'

'Only just eighteen last month. Say, how long are you home for? Mrs. Morrison says that you had to come home from Eaton on account of a surgery... are you all right now?'

'Yes, now I am. But the doctors say that I need to rest until after Christmas. A blasted long time to wait before getting back to my studies... but, I suppose I need the break. My father would probably have given me the same prescription. He was a good doctor.'

'He was.'

I stole a sideways glance at her. She looked sad, and almost sorrowful at the mention of my father. She must have seen my furtive glance, for she turned and looked at me steadily.

'You look a lot like him when he was your age, you know?'

I was so surprised at this statement that I stopped short. How could she have seen our family portraits? My father was a young man back in the 1890's, and there were few photographs of him at that time, so that ruled out the possibility of her having one.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I startled you. I... should get along now, forgive me...' she mumbled, quickly walking off in the direction of her house.

I let her go this time, knowing that I probably wouldn't get much out of her after that. I wished that I could have said more to her, and had more of my many questions answered, but knew that I would meet her again.

I hoped it would be soon.