“Eleanore!” The outraged feminine screetch echoed through the stone halls, bouncing off the statues and reverberating through the rooms to the intended receiver. “Eleanore!” Came the shriek again, louder and closer to where the offender was sitting. The raven haired beauty sighs and closes her book, turning brilliant sapphire eyes to the heavy oak door, unconscious of how the sunlight glanced along the back of her chair, yet avoided landing on her, directly. As though she was not something that should be seen in the light of day, but rather a creature better suited to moonlights soft caress.
“How could you?” Isobelle slammed open the door, if a young lady of her slender stature could slam anything that is.
“How could I what?” Returned Eleanore blandly, quirking a brow at her sister.
“That was my favourite pair of shoes!”
“What about them?”
“One of your …pets,” Isobelle sneered the word “Completely ruined them!” She held up the offending item for proof. Pale pink strappy shoes, with a two inch heel on them would have been rather elegant, beautiful, captivating…if it weren’t for the gouges over the strap over the toes and that half of one heel had been completely snapped off, or more, judging by the teeth marks, bitten off.
“You must have left them outside then.”
“I did not! And you know well enough that I did not, you –you sent them after my shoes because you don’t have anything nearly as nice!” Isobelle paused, gasping for breath, her cornsilk hair riled around her face as the willowy girl fumed at her calm, and quit frankly, uncaring sister.
“Why would I do that? We all know that you are the one that cares about frivolities.” Eleanore turned back to her book, a frown marring the smooth line of her brow as she worked on deciphering the ancient language.
“Don’t ignore me!” Screetched Isobelle, startling a couple of doves that were roosting on the balcony into flight with a coo.
“I’m not ignoring you, all that needs to be said, has been. You’ll get new shoes.” A hand absently pushes a midnight lock back behind her ear, holding it out of way of the words that scrambled themselves before her eyes, just to confuse her it seems.
Isobelle huffs, glaring at her sister “That’s not the point,” she starts before abruptly stopping, her eyes widening slightly as she notices the way the sunlight avoided her sister, even the firelight seemed loath to warm her cheeks with it’s flickering glow. “Oh what’s it matter.” She grumbles, pretending to still be annoyed even though she slowly backed towards the door. “Just keep your pets away from my wardrobe!” Making her escape, Isobelle leaves the room before she could hear Eleanore’s soft reply.
“Keep your wardrobe away from my pets.”
It was at times like these, when Isobelle was in a fit of rage, and Eleanore as always, was calm and collected, that the servants murmur about how different the twins were. As alike as night and day, they’d say, miss Isobelle the sun and miss Eleanore the moon. Even the lighter of the two, Isobelle, forgot about her sisters oddities, subtle things in the day that are so much more pronounced at night, until an odd occasion, like the argument in the library, brings those moments back to mind.
Light rarely falls on Eleanore’s features, even when a lantern is shone directly on her face, it’s hard to get the complete details. The servants, the stable boys, the hostlers, the cooks and kitchenmaids, are all wary of Eleanore, although it is under her efficient grip that the castle runs. They are just as wary of Isobelle, but for a different reason; she is too unpredictable and flighty.
The two sisters, twins born six hours apart, one as a new day was dawning, the other when that same day was at the height of it’s glory, have never gotten along. Eleanore, dawn-born, was always dark, in more than just looks, and serious, never seemed to smile. Where as Isobelle, a noon-child, was as bright and as brilliant as a warm summers day, her looks reflected this golden joy. Yet she favoured her mother it was said, in looks.
Rumours abounded about their mother, some say she was a wandering minstrel, half Fae, half human and as luminous as a snow covered field at dawn. It was said that Eleanore favoured the Fae side of her mother, yet Isobelle the human.
Others say that the mother was merely a waif, an innocent maiden that came to the Lord for help, heavy with babe and begged that he lay with her, change the child that was within her. Instead of changing the child, the lying produced another, Isobelle, and the twins were born.
Yet others whisper darker secrets, malicious tales about rape and seduction, murder and madness, but not where the lord or his servants could hear them, after all, the truth is what they whisper and the legendary twins of Gwynleth Hall… well, their reputation cannot be sullied now can it?
Anyway, I’ll be writing the crit as I read.