|The Unwritten Tale of Miss Martha Blount
Author: vatneva PM
And frozen in this moment, her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding, her hair loose around her face, and her bracelet glinting on her wrist, she let herself wonder, for the tiniest moment, Could Alexander want this too?Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance - Words: 666 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 02-02-09 - id: 4835335
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
My first real fanfic!
i just read this book, and i didn't actually set out to write something for this site, but it just sort of poured out onto my paper, so hey!?
any reviews would be o so helpful, criticism is fine. and if anyones interested i'll put up the next chapter
oh and obviously i don't own The Scandal of the Season
Martha Blount was to most people known as the more ordinary sister. Considered not-as-pretty, not-as-charming and altogether not-as-noticeable, it was obvious to most people with opinion of the family, and not least to Martha herself, that she was (to summarise the fact), not-as-marriageable.
Shadowed always by her sister Theresa, Miss Martha Blount was, on the whole, left to her own devices. Alternate however to what would have been predicted, patiently and without falseness, Martha became not only her sister's closest companion but also her best friend. And like a flower that does well in the shade, Martha grew not bitter for lack of attention, but altogether sweet, sensible, intelligent and kind, better for the knowledge that she, in her background position, could see what others didn't, blinded as they were by the sun.
Never more than now, Martha reflected, had those facts been more true. But the very optimism and maturity she had always displayed in the knowledge of them, was being fiercely contradicted by an unfamiliar emotion. It was a week since she had seen Alexander. A week since that glorious morning on the Thames- a morning, a moment, shared between he and her in which it had seemed like anything could happen. She remembered with clarity the breeze that tickled each hair on her arm, that washed over her skin in a rush of colours, sounds and smells. The light that danced across the water, a thousand colours and yet one, as the rhythmic lapping of the diamond surface imprinted itself on the surface of her eyes. Each passing moment, the glistening of fruits, foreign silks and exquisite jewels as they were transported up and down the river, the heady scents of fresh flowers and heavy incense, the flushing sky as it reflected her own pink cheeks and the touch of Alexander's hand on hers as he had shifted his position in the boat, the way it had lingered a moment too long before he had apologised and made a joke of it- seemed to Martha both eternal and fleeting, memories forever her most precious.
It was when the boat was slowly moving towards the shore that she had finally looked into his eyes. It was at this moment that she knew that her life had been altered irreversibly. For in this moment the scene around her froze in perfect motion.
She saw Alexander's whole face; his warm skin, dark hair, quizzical eyebrows and his serious eyes, saw it all and perceived all: that in this instant the boy, now the man before her was more than special, he was genius; he was everything. Already in his eyes she could see he was faraway, calculating, documenting this latest experience; rhyming phrases, selecting adjectives and stringing together metaphors. This man was more than a boy with a talent, the surrounding glory was more than a display of beauty. For Martha this was a perfect representation of life; everything she could want in her life. And frozen in this moment, her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding, her hair loose around her face, and her bracelet glinting on her wrist, she let herself wonder, for the tiniest moment, Could Alexander want this too?
And then, from one paradise to the next, this eternal moment was broken by Alexander's voice. His timeless, inspired, wonderful voice, his words an ethereal spell floating atop the perfect morning, and transporting her to a world of fairies, of magic and of dreams.
A place which to Martha had never seemed so real.