I hope you don't mind Pam, I'm going to post two stories here that sort of prelude/set the scene for the post I wrote and sent earlier today and for any rp we do on your journey. This is the first. Lee! Where are ya? ;)
~~*~~ It was a small piece of stuffed cloth in the shape of a girl about the size of an adult womans palm. It had a filthy yellow dress. The right arm had been torn off by the hound of a boy who had taunted and tormented the little girl who had played with it last. The woman who held it now, turning it slowly in her lightly calloused palm. So many memories. The dog had been set on her but she had thrust the doll in front of her and it had torn off the cloth arm instead of biting into her skinny flesh. "Good boy! Bite her, bite the gutter rat, filthy scum dirtying our neighbourhood." "Please no.." The doll was torn in many places and the stuffing poked through, grubby tufts of cotton. The left wool shoe was missing, a casualty of its first owner and the left button eye was missing, lost many years ago to button a simple dress that the woman who owned it had worn. She had not been an extravagently dressed child, wearing cast offs and mismatched buttons that her mother found discarded and well worn by other children. The doll had been given to her one Christmas, the only gift anyone had ever given her in her childhood. "Here, it's for you." "What is it, Mommy?" "A doll." "What do I do with it, Mommy?" "Hug it and play with it." She hadn't much experience of hugging but she quickly learned to find comfort in the grubby scrap of cloth. Strange that a little girl didn't know what a doll was but she had never seen one before, had never been allowed to play or even get close to the beribboned girls who lived close by. She was an outcast child, a whores daughter and sullied by the sins of her mother in the eyes of the local community. The doll was the only thing she had of her mother, or rather the woman who gave birth to her. It had been her mothers' doll before hers. It was the only doll she had ever had where her mother had once had many. Her mother had been a bitter drunk who had beat her pretty blonde daughter for the sins of the father. Those were the strongest memories she had of her. If she closed her hazel eyes she could see her Mothers face, twisted and angry, a wooden shoe raised to strike at her curled shape, arms raised defensively. There had been few moments of tenderness but the few were cherished memories of a hardened heart which she tried to protect at all costs by a gruff attitude. In many ways the broken doll was like her. She was a broken doll in more ways she cared to admit, her scars were deep grooves on her soul that she hid from the world. Never let anyone in and you never get hurt. Even her pupil, Elenor, she kept at arms length while developing a fondness for her that she would deny if pressed upon it. Shyne tucked the doll into her pack with the rest of her meagre belongings. She was packed and ready, she couldn't stay in this room for much longer, her honestly and pride wouldn't allow her to be kept by a stranger forever, even a stranger who she wanted more than any man she had ever met. The doll had been the first gift she'd ever received, a dagger the second. Such was her life. With a soft sigh she left her room to once more go in search of that elusive place to stay. Or rather, someplace to call home. ~~*~~ Jaxy http://aranforest.d2g.com "She Might have thorns but she is still his rose." ~Dock~ "If I be waspish, best beware my sting." ~The Taming of the Shrew ~William Shakespeare. "When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a tattered weed of small worth held." ~William Shakespeare _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp -- To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Archives & Other DMI Lists: http://www.dragonmyst.f2s.com/lists.php3
