Chapter One
Cold air came in through the cracked windows.
I leaned across the small space between our beds and poked at Dev with my finger, until she stirred. Looking at me from under heavy eyes, she blinked. I blinked right back at her.
“I’m an icicle,” I said lamely.
“And I don’t care,” She replied, dropping back down onto her down pillow. I frowned and threw off my covers, creeping across the room to the source of my inability to sleep.
I realized that Gianna has been almost ENTIRELY left out of the story for months now- and this is a serious problem, because she's really important in this tale. To ameliorate the situation, I'm writing just what the title says- 'What Gianna Did'. As what I'm posting is merely a very raw first draft, all the plot holes and such that you've no doubt noticed so far are going to be smoothed over and fixed.
But for now, this is my solution for the Lack-of-Gianna problem. Put yourself just before the first ball (in Midwinter) so that this part makes sense.
~~~
falling for you
slowly
wondering if you and I could ever be
we
thinking of you
before I fall asleep
do you ever think
of me?
picture from so long ago
remembering that day
waiting in anticipation
for the girl who had been
a best friend
now what was she?
I missed her
got all dressed up in
my favorite outfit
did my hair the way
I thought
looked best
wanted to impress
posed, for just a minute
in a pile of leaves
behind my sisters
one 'look'
one fake smile
one face radiating joy
me,
trying not to get leaves on my clothes
yet this picture
was my favorite for two years
why?
I sat upon a spinning wheel
I knew the warp, I knew the feel
of spinning straw into the gold
It was a secret known of old
when men knew how to be more kind,
when laughter rang throughout the air
when we could live without a care;
we lived without need to beware.
Twas then I spun my gold so fine.
Moguncoy, Massachusetts
Chapter Nine – Kya and The Magician of Iglis
Her nails were silver and red. The beaded bracelet she wore was loose on her wrist. The keys were clicking under her fingers. The day was grey, pleasantly so. The tree was spreading its warmth around the room. The dog dreamt on the couch. Socked feet tapped out an uneven tune on the carpet. Music blasted through her headphones.
It was Christmas.
The endless deepness of the evening sky
Is filled with silent, burning orbs of light
Which everlasting, seem, to you and I,
And glimmer in their march across the night
Beside their king – the faceless, golden moon
Whose broken shape, in shards of dancing light
Is carried by the dark and wild sea
Which tosses spray, like sand, into the wind,
And swallows up the lights into the deep.
At the age of sixteen, Anita stayed with her aunt and uncle the day before Easter luncheon to help scour down the house before the rest of the family arrived. After half a day of housework, her cousin grabbed her shoulders and asked her to please stop singing or I’ll start calling you Princess again.