Here is chapter 2, I know its short, but I can't decide whats going to happen to make it twisty XD
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Chapter II:
The cool midnight breeze blew across my face, making my hair dance. As a curl flashed past, I caught it, examining my hair for the umpteenth time. I could not know if I was pretty, having never seen another girl my age, but my Tutor says I am. My hair is as black as a midnight sky, and falls down to my knees, curling at the bottoms when it’s not in a braid. My skin is a pale as the light side of the moon and my eyes a deep violet. But here, in the castle it does not matter. I could wear rags and no one would care. I stepped back, away from the patio, where just two hours ago, my Tutor and I read Greek mythology. Greek mythology fascinates me, the way Zeus and Poseidon are always arguing, the beautiful Aphrodite and then the strong Athena. I love to; after my Tutor is gone, sing songs to the baby birds in the tree outside my window about the Greek gods and their crazy beliefs. My room is dark and cool from the breeze that is blowing around, lifting my night-shift above my knees. I walk to my four-poster bed, pulling the blue curtains back and turning up my bed. As I begin to braid my long hair on-top of my head for sleep, a knock comes to my door.
“Snow,” a rough voice, the voice of my step-mother issued from behind the oak paneled door.
“Coming,” I say, turning away from my wash basin, dropping the pins into the bowl.
I opened the door, letting my step-mother in.
She sweeps in without a hello, her long purple cloak slithering across the ground. The silk makes a sound on the stone floor like a snake. She turns to me, her black skirt billowing in the breeze. Her black hair, brittle from too many dying’s, is swept up into a pile on-top of her head. Her eyes are smeared with purple make-up and creams that make her naturally tan skin deathly pale.
“Hello Mother,” I say cordially, going back to my wash stand and continuing to pin up my hair.
She ignores me, examining my room with her eagle eye. “You’re going on a trip with Hugo tomorrow. Pack.” she left the room, her cloak still slithering like a snake over the stone flaggs.
I hurried to close the door behind her and then sank onto my bed. A trip! How many times had I wished for such a thing, an escape from this dreary dark castle? And now it was coming true? Something in that didn’t ring true to me, and I stood up, walking to the window and climbing through, sitting on the branch that scraped against the glass.
I knew deep down that my Mother was an evil person. I had always known it. But she had treated me well enough so why should I think her any harm? I liked Hugo well enough; he hunted and cooked for us, and often went into the village past the wood to buy cloth for new dresses for Mother and me.
I wondered what my tutor would do without me, and the thought of not seeing him every day made my heart pound in my chest. My dear, dear tutor…
As my heart sank lower and lower, I found myself singing the song I had made up years ago about the cherry blossom grove.
“There once was a lad,
Who had a sweet gal,
And alllll he wanted was to make her happy,
But she had demands that couldn’t be met,
So he found himself a ship,
And sailed off to sea---.
She wept a river,
And cried an ocean.
And found herself,
A way away from here.
She cried an ocean,
Sitting among the cherry trees.
She sobbed a stream,
As the blossoms fell down in her hair.
She wept a river,
Wishing she could be,
Back with him,
Under the cherrryyyy treeeeeeeeeessssssss”
I had sang that song whenever I felt heart-sick. Like when I turned sixteen and my Mother dissolved my waiting maids. When I was seven and my Mother fired my governess. It always brought me comfort, knowing so where, so how, someone knows exactly how I feel.
The little baby birds, roused from their sleep by my familiar voice, began chirping quietly, urging me to sing them their lullaby. I laughed, stroking their feathers, as the beginning of the song, a hum rose in my throat.
A bird is the gift from the sky to the land.
A nest is a gift from the land to the bird.
A song is the gift from the bird to land.
A song---- is what we wish for in our dreams---.
And the bird gives us that,
Carrying on their wings.
And we know, our fairy godmothers are there,
Flying with the blue birds,
Under the blue sky.
And we know,
We’re not alone,
When the blue bird sings its song—
The end of the song came, the low hum I had begun with reverberating through the trees. I stroked the birds one more time, then climbed back through my window, one line from the lullaby sticking in my mind as I threw my best dresses in a carpet bag.
And we know, our fairy godmothers are there,
Flying with the blue birds,
Under the blue sky.
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