"I warned you, Kristina," he said, leaning closer to me, his hand scorching my wrist, his silver eyes darkening to a stormy grey. "I told you what would happen if you defied me."
Fire was racing up and down my arm. The rose necklace burned at my thr...
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~ Kriss Darcy ~
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I spent a while lingering in the gallery, wondering what to do now. It felt great, telling off Mother like that, but after I had stormed out I realized I didn't really have anywhere to go. I couldn't go back to my room, as that was basically telling everybody I was having a tantrum that would eventually wear off.
Normally, I'd go out onto the roof, but the sky was looking particularly cloudy, and I didn't want to be caught up there if it rained. Of course, there was a door that went up to the roof, but the door had a track record of refusing to open when you desperately needed it to, and I didn't want to take any chances. The library was also a calm, relaxing place, but I would be found easily in there, and I wasn't in the mood to read at the moment.
So I went to the manor's gardens, located behind the house, a maze of plant life and stone pathways, with the occasional bench cemented into the rock, winding its way through the majestic zoo of roses, peonies, tulips, lilies, small trees, and whatever other plants grew there. I don't know what they are. I am no botanist.
It was upon one of these benches I sat, going over that argument in my head over and over again. My anger was still pulsing through my veins, along with embarrassment. How dare Mother ambush me with her stupid opinion, in front of everybody? How dare she try to tell me what to do? How dare she tell me the reason I decided to study English?
I took English because during those long, painful months after Father died, before I graduated high school, I took refuge in books, particularly classics like A Tale of Two Cities, Oliver Twist, and Jane Eyre. I fell in love with the classics, especially Dickens, a love that grew throughout my first year at NYU. I still loved singing, still felt that fierce desire to perform, to go back onto the stage and sing with all my heart and soul, but I wasn't ready. Not yet. Not yet.
I picked up a loose stone on the pathway and threw it into a tree, its long, twisted branches casting long shadows as the sun sank below the horizon. The first stars were coming out, the lights along the pathways just turning on, the crickets singing their nightly tune. In a few short hours, the manor, bustling with life and activity during the day, would sleep, and I would have my first official meeting with the Ghost.
