Okay, this one of my first successful "Flowers in the Attic" fan fictions, I would also like to remind you I am not V.C. Andrews and I do not own any of her characters or writings, though I am a great fan. Please rate and reveiw so I know whether to continue or edit.


My Gallant Knight.

I saw his eyes meet mine and blushed, another one of the grandmother's rules broken but neither of us spoke. It was too much of a risk, and we didn't want to wake up the buttercups yet. It was hard enough trying to get them to sleep, but this time they hadn't cried for momma, contented for us to all sit on Chris's lap and tell wonderful stories. They weren't momma's children anymore, they were ours.

Our children, little twins, little Carrie and Corrie lying on the rumpled bedsheets, facing each other, sleeping on the same bed. Three rules broken. I closed my eyes and prayed to god the grandmother wouldn't enter, praying the twins wouldn't be punished for something so stupid, they were only so young. They didn't even understand the differences between girls and boys yet, not that we were experts but we knew a little here and there. We learned most of it from romance novels, old books we found in the attic, filled with dust and creepy crawlies, most shooed by the brave and Gallant Sir Chris-to-pher.

I smiled, reminded in my mind of our fairytale worlds. Sir Chris-to-pher and his Lady Cath-er-ine, their two adorable twins, Princess Carrie and Prince Corrie, all locked in an attic with paper flowers for hope, blinds to keep out the rich, radiant sunlight, disease to dash our hopes. Corrie had already had the cold five times, in summer no less, but still momma didn't notice him, him or Carrie, with their big, daunting eyes. I knew why she didn't look, why they cowered behind me, scared of the lady who gave them life. They didn't know who she was anymore, neither did I. Only Chris seemed to believe she was trying, only Chris seemed to believe her grand stories of the grandfather's death and the millions, and millions we'd inherit.


My head turned, moving around and seperating myself from little Carrie, rolling so my back faced her. She stirred for a second, embracing her pillow and murmering lightly, unconcious in hollow dreams. Christopher was gazing back to me, blonde whisps of hair uneven over his forehead making me realise I really wasn't the best of hairdressers, but he still held that handsome aire about him, the same look daddy used to have when he entered the door every Friday afternoon, even if we didn't have enough sun for him to tan. No, no tan, instead an undeserved look, beautiful blue eyes, enlarged pupils and pale skin but still hauntingly handsome. My Gallant Knight.

"Cathy, I think you were right..."

I raised an eyebrow momentarily, quickly using my arm to push my body upwards, hovering slightly on my side above the sheets and mattress. I was right? Right about what? Momma? Escaping? He nodded and moved off the bed, outstretching his arm as if inviting me to follow him and gladly I accepted, innocently led to the attic, through the closet staircase and into the dusty dungeon of our hopes. The paper flowers were starting to fade now, Carrie and Corrie getting sicker by the day. The flowers, the attic mice would die in this place...

The attic mice would die unless they fled.