Lost in the pages

By KirstyB1974

4.2K 17 7

Have you ever got so lost in a book it's as if you were actually there. Estelle Bennett was left a little Old... More

Immersion
Not real
The Garrison
Confusion all around
In a daze
Head is spinning
Need to apologize
Tough exterior
Can't sleep
In the palace
The King returns
Somethings happening
Heated
Stressed out Musketeer
Understanding
Protection
Worry and fear
Downhill
Cardinal
Shocking
Rage and fire
Revelations
Heart to heart
Return to Paris
Keeping busy
In his arms
You did what!!
Constance and the Queen
Pass the message
Why?
Like a Ghost
Sleepless night
Kings Mistress
That look
My frustration
Losing my s*#t
Make a plan
Two for one
Start of the plan
Causing a scene
Hardline
More dangerous than we thought.
Cat amongst the pigeons
Next step.
Well that went wrong fast
Nightmare
Hell
Pain and fear
Reunited
Cardinal
Defiance
Clouds are parting
Together
The Garrison is home
Here's to the future

Perfect day

234 2 0
By KirstyB1974

The sounds of the bustling market filled the dreary rainy air, I pulled the collar up higher and a held my bright red umbrella as close to my head as I could to try to stop the gusty winds from turning it inside out and snatching it from my hands.

"Morning Estelle" Mary called out "Typical English winter day Eh?"

"Perfect Day Mary" I smiled as she served an elderly lady with a pound of Potatoes from her Stall. Mary had been a Market staple for years and her family had held the Stall for a hundred years before her.

I stepped from the street over the fast flowing rain water in the gutter that was racing it's way toward the drain onto the pavement and stopped to pull the old set of keys from my pocket as I stood in front of the freshly painted dark green door of Bennett Books. I turned the heavy key in the old Yale lock hearing the satisfying click as the lock slipped back out of it's home.

This was my favorite part of the day; pushing open the doors and getting that first smell that was distinctively old paper and leather. I turned back to the street and close my umbrellas shaking of some of the rain put it in to the old brass cane pot that had always been by the door. 

I took off my jacket and put it in the tiny broom closet that housed the important things like the Kettle and the tea bags. I put the Kettle on and walked around putting on the lights.

I stepped behind the counter and picked up the boxes that had come in the night before. I opened the box and picked put the books that had come in from an auction sale I'd been to a month before. I ran my fingers across the gold leaf that spelt out 'The Three Musketeers" I looked around as the bell that hung over the door chimed

"Morning Estelle" The post man said walking in and handing me the mail for the day "Horrible day out there"

"Yes it is, I don't think I'll have many people in today but I do have a bunch of online sales that I have to get ready to post out" I said walking to the broom closet and making my tea

"Well you have fun with that" he tipped his head and looked at the book I'd put down "The Three Musketeers I had to read that in school I loved it" He smiled at me "See you tomorrow" he headed for the door making the bell chime as he walked out.

I wrapped my hands around my cup and went about filling the orders that I'd had come in and answer the questions on some emails. I looked up as the rain lashed the windows and the market was already closing up and it was only just after two in the afternoon.

The dreary light brought on the streetlights and had people heading for home early. I stretched and looked at the stack of paperwork I'd gone through.

"Well I think I've earned myself a break" I put on the kettle again and mad a cup of tea and locked the door and put up the closed sign.

 I picked up the Musketeers from the counter and took it to the back of the shop where there was a soft red chesterfield couch with an old crochet blanket on that had been my grandmothers. I set my tea on the table in front of me and drew the blanket over my legs as I curled them up next to me and opened up the book and smiled as I looked at the words on the page.

'On the first Monday of the month of April 1625, the market of Meung, in which the author of The Romance of the rose was born....."

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