) story then before. Enjoy!The autumn wind was soft and warm against Elsa’s face, tossing her hair back behind her and throwing the scattered leaves into the air. But even on such a day, she wasted no time to notice the natural beauty around her as she raced across the field towards the town. Behind her were the tall, sober trees that lined the road leading up to the Academy, but that was such a walk to follow the road, most of the students cut across the field. So it was that her feet were running a well-trod path through the tall, golden grass and it was only a few times that she stumbled in the gathering dusk.
Elsa felt as though the wind was chasing her, she could hear the and honking and general noise that emitted from any town, village or city you could find. From up ahead of her, while the buildings of the town were still dollhouse-sized, but steadily growing larger. But her feet couldn’t seem to get her there fast enough. A few times she glanced behind her, stories of young people wandering through the field when night was falling rang through her head with the same clanging an enraged cymbal player would make. Ghosts and creatures rising from the ground and catching hold of unsuspecting victim’s ankles, and then there was the story of young Jessica Torrent. The girl who had apparently been murdered and buried in that very field.
With the thought of Miss Torrent’s ghostly face, dripping with blood as the story had described, peering up at her from the ground. Elsa’s heart gave few panicked back-flips before the ground seemed to reach up and catch Elsa’s foot. She gave a small shriek as she crashed to the ground, sending a few birds flapping away in alarm. She whirled around, expecting to see a white boney hand clutching at her foot … only for her eyes to find a slight rise in the path that she had forgotten in her mad haste.
She gave a relieved sigh, “I really should stop reading such frightening stories during math.” Elsa said aloud, she had hoped that the sound of her voice would slow her throbbing heart, but it only made her feel small, as her words were swallowed by the growing darkness.
Getting to her feet, she looked down at her uniform and sighed again, though felt more annoyed now. Her mother would not be pleased when she got home. The pleated skirt was streaked with mud and her white socks would never been the same again. She was just brushing off some of the dust from her skirt when she heard the music.
It was very faint and rather tinkling, like it was coming from a rather old music box. Even so, it was pretty, in a strange lilting way
Elsa looked up in surprise, where in the world was that coming from? Surely not the ghosts. They wouldn’t play anything that nice. Unless they were trying to lure me somewhere … a frightened voice in the back of her mind whispered. But it was then that her eyes landed upon the juggler.
All she could see was his silhouette, outlined against the dim orange and crimson that was the last of the sunset. But she could see a large top-hat, a sweeping coat and the small balls that danced and spun through the air with a sweeping sort of grace.
Elsa was entranced. She couldn’t help but be, there is really no way to describe what she was seeing, but if you were ever faced with such a spectacle, you would have no choice except to stop and observe it.
The juggler was standing at a surprisingly close distance to her, and in the emptiness of the fields around them it was hard to believe that he couldn’t be spotted a mile off. If Elsa had stopped to really think about it, she would have wondered at this. But as she didn’t, she was too busy watching performance to worry about such a minor detail.
As she watched, he caught one, then two of the balls in his palm before catching the third on his fingertips and turning towards her with a twirl of his coat. “Good evening, young miss. Just what might you be doing wandering a field so late?” The juggler was younger then Elsa would have guessed. Probably only a few years older then she was. Nineteen? Eighteen? Or maybe even twenty. But he had old eyes. Kind, warm and a dark blue that rivaled the backdrop of the stars brightening above them, but as old as a ninety year old man’s.
For a moment, Elsa didn’t reply. The trance the juggling had seemed to put on her had hardly been broken, but she was conscious enough to take in his costume, which resembled a Victorian gentleman, before coming to his pale complexion and dark, old eyes. It was when she realized that it was she he was looking at with a curious, if slightly vague expression that it came to her mind that he may be expecting a reply of some kind.
“I was coming back from school,” Elsa replied with some haste, suddenly glad of the darkness, as she was sure that she was blushing and cursed herself for it. “Band practice is on Fridays and I had to stay and help Mr. Tim clean up. I was hurrying though …” she caught herself mid-babble and shut her mouth. Deciding instead to look at his gleaming black shoes and talk to them instead, which she found was much easier then trying to make eye contact. “I’m sorry. I just talk when I’m nervous. But what I really mean all around is that you juggle magnificently. And why are you wearing an outfit like that? I’m sure this field hasn’t seen an outfit like that for a hundred years—“ she cut herself off, clamping her hand over her mouth. Why couldn’t she just stop talking?
But the juggler was laughing, and she looked up to see him dropping his juggling balls into the pockets of his waistcoat as he spoke. “No, no, I’m the one who should be apologizing. That is, seeing as I make you nervous …” he said this so knowingly that Elsa was certain that her face had turned the color of her hair. Red.
“That really isn’t what I meant.” She replied, frowning and actually rather annoyed with him. “It’s this place. I don’t like it.”
“Surely you don’t mean this sorely innocent field?” the juggler asked incredulously. Elsa hadn’t expected it, but there was real astonishment on his face. Or so she thought from what she could see of him in the dim light. “The field, I’m certain, has nothing at all against you.”
“Because you would know.”
“Of course.”
The juggler very suddenly dropped into a deep bow, tilting his top-hat upwards. “I’m afraid that it has come time for me to be apologizing again, so early in our acquaintanceship. Here we’ve been having this lovely argument about whether this field – which as I said before is sorely innocent – likes you or not and I haven’t even introduced myself. Ptolemy would be horrified, were he sneaking up behind me at this moment. My name is December.” With this finale, he held out his hand, which was safely hidden under the cover of a white glove.
His fast speaking and strange vocabulary had left Elsa quite confused, and she had no idea whatsoever what a Ptolemy was. But the conversation about the field had been making her head hurt, so she gratefully shook his hand. “Elsa Blackwell, a pleasure I’m sure.” She said, though couldn’t help but sound a little sarcastic.
“I know, but it’s nice to have you introduce yourself to me.” He answered with a knowing grin, giving her hand one firm shake before straightening up again. This only made Elsa more confused, but December seemed to lack the decency of explaining what he meant and continued as though she had agreed with him. “Have you noticed the stars tonight?” he said, abruptly looking up at the silver flecks of light that were twinkling in the blanket of darkness in the sky. “They have a better tendency of smiling where I come from, but they are trying their best here. Don’t you think they’re trying?”
Elsa looked up, she supposed he was right. Though at any time, she would have said that the stars were smiling quite cheerily, she was no expect in celestial emotions and would have to leave it up to the juggler, who she was now thinking was rather strange. “I think so …” she said, as she was quite at a loss to do anything but agree with him. “But,” her gaze turned off of the trying stars to December, who she thought looked like he had stepped out from a black-and-white photograph. “Where do you come from?”
December didn’t look at her. She guessed that he was trying to make the stars smile, as he answered in a off-hand sort of way that might have been just him avoiding her question. “Oh, quite a ways away. Shall I walk you home?”
So it was that her feet were running a well-trod path through the tall
And about the comma in blue, since tall and golden are both describing the grass the comma really isn't necessary.
From up ahead of her, 
That can be easily fixed. 
You have a rather extensive vocabulary at your disposal, and you have used it to great effect. I like your imagery, in some parts it's undoubtedly stunning, particularly the bit with the stars. I rather liked the character of Elsa, and the world you put her in. Aw yes, who doesn't like a little dark fantasy story? 
