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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 18, 2010 8:23:01 GMT -5
Rating: PG-13 (Rating will increase up to PG-16-Sexual Harassment) Genre: Drama/Romance Story-Type: Multiple Chapters Summary: Beatrice records her thoughts of her exciting life in her precious diary. What will it reveal? Table of Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2
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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 18, 2010 8:25:04 GMT -5
Chapter 1 A thought struck me, like a bolt of lighting, I had no real friend. As I sadly watched children skipping and running around, I felt alone. Even though I was in a house with my parents, the servants, the nannies and the tutors, I felt alone. Why? I do not have a single true friend. I play with some children in the street but don’t feel connected. That is why, instead of my usual sulking like the spoil brat I am, I decided to search my drawers and found you.
A Christmas present from my dear tutor, Emily. I did not even take the black velvet ribbon off the small book. I had so now, and for amusement, I tied my hair back with the ribbon. I also found a note, one that I will read to you now. My dearest Beatrice,
You are such a gifted student that keeps her head in the clouds. I fear that you will not be able to see the difference between this world and your fantasies. Keep your wildest fantasies and beautiful thoughts in this precious diary! Love, Emily She is so sweet to me. Probably the only person that actually cares about me! Yes it is true! I barely see my parents, I have nannies and maids and even though I don’t mind, I am left alone for most of the day. I do not want to treat you like an object. The reason I found you again is because you are my new friend. I think I shall call you…well I quite like the name Violet. It’s also my favorite color. Hello Violet.
You already know that you are my only true friend. I hope that you don’t disappoint. Emily also thought that a thirteen year old girl like me would want to talk to someone. I shall talk to you from now on. I hope that you are a great listener. So you will probably want to know about your new friends life? It’s not much.
I live in a huge mansion, sometimes I even get lost! One room has millions of doors that lead into new rooms. I have three closets; one is for casual, another for formal and then finally nightwear. I also have my own bathroom, which is as big as my bedroom! However, my parents just give me items. They don’t actually show me any love. I am only summoned if I am in trouble. Usually my nannies and servants come to my room, my royal purple room. With black velvet drapes covering the windows. My bed is five centimeters of the floor, I have silver silk bed linen and mahogany posts that touch my ceiling. Speaking of my ceiling, there is a large crystal chandelier that covers my room with millions of reflected light! I have a dark wooden floor that is adorned in expensive crimson red carpets, decorated with silver and black roses and vines.
My nanny has just come into my room, she requests for my pressence, I know that I am in trouble. I could not have done anything! She’s scolding me for not coming right now. I will write what happens, if I live. Bye Violet! <3
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 18, 2010 16:30:26 GMT -5
Wow, you did a really, really fantastic job on this. I love the imagery and descriptions you've used, both of which have a very professional quality to them. I also like the mention of Beatrice tying her hair up in a ribbon - now we know where Violet gets her little idiosyncrasy from. And Beatrice's favorite color is violet! I do believe I sense a link forming here... Your version of Beatrice reminds me a lot of my version of Carmelita, in that their parents substitute love with items. And I wonder what Beatrice has done to cause herself to be summoned by her nanny? I hope to find out the reason soon!
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Post by Hermes on Jun 20, 2010 14:26:02 GMT -5
Very nice! It's particularly interesting to discover the origin of the name 'Violet'.
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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 21, 2010 4:14:10 GMT -5
Thank you very much guys @emma: I usually imagine children with rich parents to have only items but not the true love. Mostly showing that money can't buy everything. Hermes: I am basing my writing style on Anne Frank's, how she names her diary Kitty. I decided to go with the name Violet. Hope to have the next chapter done during the week.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 21, 2010 8:41:12 GMT -5
@emma: I usually imagine children with rich parents to have only items but not the true love. Mostly showing that money can't buy everything. You've used this idea very well - the symbolism you've incorporated is astounding. Take your time with the next chapter, and in the meantime we'll be here waiting patiently.
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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 24, 2010 15:38:20 GMT -5
Chapter 2 Dear Violet,
I have a strange feeling every time I write to you. To be quite honest, I have never written a letter. Might sound uncommon, let it be so. Both my Grandparents are dead, I do have some aunts, uncles, Godmothers etc. but we don’t stay in touch. So you are the first person that I write to! I do not want to boast, but I do write quite well for a rookie don’t I?
I am writing to you, with a face stained by tears, my right cheek stinging and my heart broken. I should explain. I left you to go down to my parents. After I had gently closed the small book, I rushed outside of my room to the hallway that was filled with portraits.
Each of the eyes stuck their gaze on me until I walked to the end and then looked at the stairs. The stairs were a shining Bolivian rosewood, in the center ran a ruby carpet with golden outlines. I gently went down the stairs, being careful not crease the carpet. Once down the stairs I sneaked to the nearest mirror and had a look at myself.
I first smoothed down my chocolate brown waves, then adjusted the ribbon I still had on my head. I then turned my attention to my dress; it was an ash gray, fell down to my knees. It had black lace at the edge and also at the collar. I then bent down and checked my beautiful, black, lace up boots. My pale blue eyes were wide and curiouser than ever. I then straightened my back, made a straight face to not seem childish, and proceeded into the sitting room.
My Mother, bulky and too sensitive, was sitting on the royal purple armchair. Her attention was turned to the book that was in her black laced glove hands. My Father, he was quite fat as well, he was too serious, smoked his pipe. He had a glass filled with alcohol, I presumed, and his nose in the newspaper.
I stood on the spot until they noticed me. This took a while, but finally my Mother laid eyes on me and set the book on the table. My Father kept on smoking his pipe, but a quick gaze told me that he knew my presence. I curtsied, but instead of just curtsying down then going back down, I held it. My Mother told me I could rise and speak.
“Mother, Farther, you requested my presence?”, I asked politely and in a low but gentle tone.
“Ah yes! Beatrice! You may rest”, my Mother said and pointed to the exquisite scarlet armchair with detailed roses in the mahogany arm rests. I sat down as told, first smoothing down my dress before I sat. I sat up straight, this was awfully uncomfortable. My back started aching, and I did wish for them to hurry up.
“Beatrice, are you happy here? You may reply”, my Mother commanded. I thought about this question.
There were some things I did like about the mansion, and some I didn’t. I liked the exploration of all the rooms, my room and how it was furnished. I also liked having Emily and sometimes when I couldn’t be bothered, the servants. The thing I did not like was of course, my loneliness, my parents not paying enough attention and me having to stay in my room the whole day unless I was requested. Finally I replied.
“It came out a tie.”, I said after a long silence.
“I’m sorry?”, my Mother asked, her face showing complete puzzlement.
“I went over the-”, I began but was interrupted.
“Just say yes or no! For god sakes Beatrice! We don’t need your showing off!”, my Father finally snapped in a growl.
“Then no.”, I said truthfully and calmly. This was a big mistake. My Mother’s eyes right away welled up with crystal tears. My heart sank at the sight of this. My Father, who was already angry at me, looked into my eyes with burning flames of anger.
It all happened so quickly...one second he was standing over me, his hand raised up high. The next my cheek was burning, I was shaken and tears swelled up in my eyes. I tried to tilt my head, to keep the pool of my sorrow from spilling out.
“How dare you?! You! You ungrateful selfish child! We do everything for you! And you want better?! You should go and live the life of the disgusting and poor homeless people! Then you'll beg us to come back!”, my Father's words were like a dagger that was stabbed through my aching heart. With every word, the hold got weaker, and with the final word, a flood came from my eyes.
“I-”, I tried to work up the courage, but my voice was chocked with the tears. I felt my heart sink. Soon it would sink into a void, and I would be heartless.
“I'm glad we're going to send you away!”, my Father roared. He had apparently heard enough, because he took my arm, dug his nails into my skin like claws from a ferocious beast, and dragged my upstairs back to my room.
Once I was flung into my room, and heard the lock turn, I was trapped. I am now a bird Violet, trapped in my cage. What is the key to my freedom? I fear there is nothing. Maybe death. But then my soul would still be trapped, what is the point then?
I fear that they want to send me away somewhere worst than this. Maybe they will give me up? Maybe I might find another family, kinder and more compassionate then them? I do hope so Violet. Now the tears are staining the pages. And when I look back at this entry and see the dried water of despair, I shall remember what had happened and start crying all over again.
Maybe instead of waiting for them to send me away, I should just run away. But where to? My window is too high to jump down to the desolate street. Besides, a guard might see me, and then I am back to the beginning.
Oh Violet I really do hope that I will find comfort in you, not only now but for the rest of my life! Violet, my dear Violet, please stay with me through the thick and thin, the joys and despairs of my life. Do not abandon me! I beg of you! Be my friend forever.
I hope that I will be sent away from this place. And if I am, I shall carry you everywhere, my dearest Violet.
Love, ~Beatrice
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Post by Very Funky Disco on Jun 24, 2010 17:56:14 GMT -5
The father is quite worse than Maxwell of Emma Squalor's ficverse. I feel so sorry for Beatrice. Well, her mother did ask for her to be honest. She should have shouted back, "I want you to love me!"
Parents not loving their children is one of my biggest... Well, I'm not sure what you'd call it. Freebird probably knows what I mean, though - since he's read my fics for my other fandom, Back to the Future.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 24, 2010 18:15:02 GMT -5
Yeah, Beatrice's father is definitely a Maxwell type, isn't he? I can just picture the two of them together at a country club, smoking their pipe and cigar while they chat about business or whatever.
Anyway, another amazing chapter! I know I've commented on this in the past, but your imagery is seriously, unbelievably incredible, as is your ability in describing scenery. How do you do it? Can you give me any tips?
I love how Beatrice is quite the little lady. And if her parents treat her the way they do, I expect it will be good that she'll be going away someplace else. At least, I hope it is, and that she'll make some new friends in the process.
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Post by Seymour Glass on Jun 25, 2010 0:40:40 GMT -5
If I were Beatrice, I wouldn't want her parents' love.
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Post by Very Funky Disco on Jun 25, 2010 0:50:32 GMT -5
Well, we don't know about her whole history with her parents - and if they ever were loving towards her. If that was the case, I can imagine it being far more devastating than if that was not the case. Her mother seems to care about her a little, but not that much.
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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 25, 2010 3:28:18 GMT -5
Thank you all so much for the comments, you all made me smile! Yeah, Beatrice's father is definitely a Maxwell type, isn't he? I can just picture the two of them together at a country club, smoking their pipe and cigar while they chat about business or whatever. When I read your fic Emma, I did imagine that Beatrice's Father was going to be similar. I just imagine Victorian father's like that, smoking pipes, "Children should be seen and not heard". Her Mother does care about her, which is shown by the crying, but she doesn't know how to show that love. So I thank Emma for giving me the idea Anyway, another amazing chapter! I know I've commented on this in the past, but your imagery is seriously, unbelievably incredible, as is your ability in describing scenery. How do you do it? Can you give me any tips? Thank you very much! My description comes from me actually imagining the image in my head, and then thinking "How would I describe that?", and instead of choosing words that people have already used before, I try to think of something different. If I were Beatrice, I wouldn't want her parents' love. I believe that a child needs some love and attention. I actually decided to base Beatrice off Jane Eyre a little, not that extreme, but she wants to be loved but also to be herself. Which I believe is a great achievement when you do achieve it. Thank you all so much for the great comments! You have no idea how this made me happy. I hope to have the next chapter updated next week.
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Post by Very Funky Disco on Jun 25, 2010 5:02:41 GMT -5
I'm looking forward to reading more. BTW, what time period is your fic take place in - and, for that matter, the events in the series?
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Post by L'enfant terrible on Jun 25, 2010 5:32:19 GMT -5
I'm trying to set it in the Victorian era, although like Lemony Snicket, some events may be out of the time period.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jun 25, 2010 9:09:58 GMT -5
Thank you all so much for the comments, you all made me smile! Yay! And yes, aren't comments lovely? I see them as something that keeps our desire to write burning like a flame inside our imagination. *laughs* I'm talking just like you now, lol. It's sad that Beatrice's mother is unsure of how to express the love she obviously has for her daughter. All the more reason for Beatrice to go someplace where people will appreciate her more, right? Also, I feel very honored that Maxwell has helped to inspire the character of Beatrice's father. Come to think of it, this is the first time Maxwell has ever actually 'helped' anyone. XD Although he has always been the type to be hard on his family, I draw a lot of my inspiration for the version I write in V.F.D. Training Days from Malcolm Foxworth from V.C. Andrews' Garden of Shadows. That being said, you can say I've made Maxwell a lot worse than he was before. ;D You're very welcome! Imagining a scene and/or description inside your head before writing it down is a very wise approach. I find describing scenery a tedious process, and so I'll find myself either wanting to rush through it or just end up leaving it out completely. I'm very impressed with the way you plan it out inside your head before actually writing it down. I'll be sure to keep that in mind for the next time something I write requires a description, and thank you very much for the tip.
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