|Miranda the Story Teller (part 1) (standard:Fan Fiction, 1151 words)|
|Author: Freya Griffin||Added: Oct 07 2002||Views/Reads: 1944/1076||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|not exactly a fanfic, but it does have some borrowed characters. You'll have to read it for yourself to know.|
She had never like to stay up late. She always slept as soon as she done what needed to be done. After dinner she would wrapped up all the things she had written during the day in a leather case, wrote what she might wanted to do in the morning and put it on the desk, let the cats out after feeding them earlier in the afternoon, and then she would retire. Locking the bedroom door, she stayed inside until the break of dawn when she rises and started her day with a cup of tea and some buttered toasts. This had been her habit since anyone could ever remember. Strict with timing, osmetimes an eccentric, most of the time a discipline lady. They don't know she never sleep inside her room. She doesn't need the sleep. She only does the routines to keep her human in her. 2001, Miranda Martin moved to the top hill flat in a rich neigbourhood after her mysterious rich aunt, Alice Windbergh, died in a tropical island resort out of a heart attack. Old neighbours admired miss Martin's resemblances with the late, lovely, and kind Alice Windbergh. They thought the girl must be a result of Miss Windbergh old scandal that she inherited the poor girl everything she owned. Even the cats welcomed her with the same warmth they showed only to the late old Alice who remained single for as long as the neighbors could remember. One of the many things that the lucky miss Martin inherited is the old bookshop in the corner of the street not too far from the flat. Her aunt also inherited the bookshop from a generous, also not married and no single relative in the whole world, Julia Grand. And the lonely Julia Grand, although not many people remembers it, inherited the bookshop from another mysterious and lonely woman named Louisa Durant. These women looking so much alike to eachother that people would say they are twins if not to the fact that they were born in different decades. But, were they? Miranda Martin sat quietly in the library. It is one of her many favorite sanctuaries. She was reading a copy of Roald Dahl's Mathilda. Time had grown old and the sun was setting outside. She had been sitting there since after lunch. She didn't feel like staying in the bookshop today. She left it to Robert Tisdale's care for the day and left for the library. She was thinking about having some italian food for dinner when a familiar presence made her turn her head. 'Aww, you ruined a good surprise from me!', Ian pouted. She ignored him and returned to the pages of Mathilda. 'Good day, Ian?' 'It was fantastic, my dearest', Ian sat next to her. 'What is this? Mathilda? This is so childlike of you' 'He's a wonderful person, Ian. You've met him' 'How long have you been sitting here? It's so dreadful boring. Come, come and play with me', Ian flipped the book closed under Miranda's nose. 'That is so impolite of you', Miranda slapped his hand. 'But i want to play with you. I haven't seen you for ages, my dear. I was in America last night and i was thinking about you' Miranda stood up and left Ian behind. Ian sticked close, tailing her. 'Is this what i got after not seeing you for weeks?', he demanded as he catched up with her long and quick strides. 'Now, who is being rude?' 'I don't know why you bother to come back here. Why don't you just stay in the states?' 'Why darling, because it's so boring there', he grabbed her by her wrist and made her stop. 'Beside, i've seen everything i saw. This is such a boring place this earth is. It's too small', he whispered in her ear in grins. Miranda turned to him. She could never win against Ian. And neither could he whenever Miranda sets her mind to something. Click here to read the rest of this story (75 more lines)
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