( a little short, so it's still in the process of stretching)

-2-

It's cold. It's November and summer's stay was a painfully wonderful memory by now. At least she had the decency to come with her pitiful sweepers.

Let me explain Agnes Allotte to you. She's just under five feet tall, has wide gold-brown eyes and hair so pale it's white. It's not blonde. I refuse to call it that. It's like snow.

-1-

What is Agnes Allotte but a common person with, granted, a strange name? Someone who gets her way, no doubt. Because why else would we all be here, all of us who have respectable occupations and interests that normal people have?

No. I am not normal. The moment I was dragged into her group of eccentrics, I became a class-A freak. Why me?

I'm not wierd. I'm of normal height, weight and not too ugly. Plain is what I am. Sensible, honest, plain-old Ian. And I like that. Whatever seems to be the matter with being boring? Why is it so unforgivable here?

SLAM.

*Based on a true story*

The faint glow of the moon was drowned in a blaze of light as a battered pickup truck rounded the corner of the rough dirt road. It bounced slowly over the uneven surface as it navigated the sharp turns of the valley. The driver gazed with half focus on the road ahead as it was revealed by the headlights. He fancied he could stay on the road even without the lights, he’d traveled it so many times.

It was a beautiful work of art. The sun glistened off its graceful curves of gold, and glimmered among the majestic shapes of the engraving etched into the face. It was big, bold and stunning, fit for the elite, and especially for Josiah Deacon.

Josiah Deacon was a big, bold man. He was exactly the kind of person that would wear such a ring. His forward and abrupt manner was magnified tenfold in the shimmering brightness of the huge diamond. The only thing more fearful and imposing than Josiah Deacon was Josiah Deacon wearing the ring of St. Vincent.