The Apple Prophesy in Which Anne of Five Names has no Father, and Lives in a Bell Tower.

Anne had a long name, about five names, not including her middle and last. But she didn't like any of them except for the fourth name, and so she decided to call herself by that. There are no other explinations for this choice, so you'll have to be satisfied with that bit of information. If you're expecting to hear the other names, I'm afraid you'll be let down. Let's move on, shall we? 

Anyway, Anne had lived with her older sister, Terry, since she was four. That's when her father left and they moved to the bell tower. The bell tower was quite alone out in the countryside of England, and so no one visited it. So these girls had commited themselves to a lonely, painful existance where they had yet to be noticed and doted upon.

"I think I'll take a stroll," Anne said one lovely afternoon. "It's my favoriute time of day, Terry, and I'm quite fond of exersise." 

"Bundle up, dear," Terry said from the far corner of the tower, where she was penning a letter to her beau. According to her, he was in the war, and they had met through her friend's counsin's aunt. Anne was unsure of this arrangement, but was wise about not mentioning her concern.

"The weather's being a doll, Terry, don't chide me so!" 

"Fine," Terry mumured noncomittally. "Be back before five."

Anne didn't have a watch, since she had grown to tell the hour by the sun, and her little family was far too poor for such extravagances. She concentrated on the sky, temporarily blinded by the brilliant light that shone above her.

"It's three fifty-two," she announced at last, to no one in particular. "Three fifty-two, and it shall be four soon. I'd best be on my way." 

She was bounding along through the summer grass, prancing like a fawn, when something thunked her rather abruptly on the head. With a gasp of surprise, she fell forward, catching herself and scraping her hands in the process.

"Blast!" She muttered, cursing aloud though she wasn't suppossed to. Terry had forbid any fowel tongue to come from her sisters mouth. 'Sour-Lemon-Words' she called it. Well, Anne repeated these lemon words several times over, wiping her dirty hands on her clean dress. She had no other choice. The cuts were bleeding.

It was several minutes before Anne even thought to look at what had caused her fall. She reached up to gently prod the new knot forming on the back of her skull. The pain throbbed, and she winced.

She turned several circles, pawing through the bush and bramble, to no avail. Something shiny caught the corner of her eye. She turned, breaking into a wide grin when she saw the glorious apple before her.

Greedily, she snatched it up, stroking the waxy red skin. It gleamed perfect in the lowlight. With alarm, Anne looked up, and saw it was quite past four.

"I won't be home in time!" She said, tucking the apple into the pocket of her apron. "I'll need to hurry. Oh! What a find! What a find!" 

It didn't occur to her that it was perhaps the apple that had caused her fall, and that with it the apple would bring a special message.

She continued home to her solitary bell tower, drinking in the english countryside.