Post by Fassbender Fan on Jun 9, 2006 17:35:16 GMT
...okay so it clearly takes me forever to finish a fan fiction but here's the opening for my Rachel McBain one:
After three years of marriage, Rachel was growing restless. She found her life and her relationship with her husband, Sir Thomas McBain, growing tiresome. It had never been a marriage of love but one of status, Rachel often felt she married purely for her parents’ sake and not her own, but now the gowns held no splendour and the acres of land felt like a cage to her wild spirit. Lady McBain always assumed money and a title would make her happy but it was something far darker that would ultimately quench her thirst for life.
***
Rachel sighed, alone once again; Thomas was in the smoking room with the entire male population of the village or so it seemed, whilst Rachel was ‘banished’ to her quarters. She paced the floor of her room, her ivory gown sweeping the boards beneath her feet, she stopped to gaze from her window but the view was the same as always, fields that never ended and trees that cast menacing shadows across the lawn, one in particular that appeared to dominate the others caught Rachel’s eye…a collective laugh from the men brought her back to her senses and inflamed her rage again. She was not the type of woman one commanded to her room at will.
Grabbing a loose dressing gown, gold to compliment her gown, she tiptoed down the stairs, casting a fleeting glance at the closed door of the room her husband was entertaining in she left the manor, her bare feet sinking in the wet grass. She arrived at the door of the servant’s quarters in little over ten minutes, brushing a loose curl from her face she entered with all the elegance of a lady of the manor.
The McBain estate naturally employed a large number of African slaves who resided in the servant quarters across the grounds, suitably far enough from the house to maintain a sense of propriety and self assurance for Thomas McBain.
No one stirred as Rachel entered the crowded room, they were quite used to the lady’s late night visits to their chambers. Her eyes glowed in the dim lighting as she scanned the room, coming to rest at an old chest of drawers. She paused to watch a slave plucking a chicken, for hers and Thomas’ Sunday dinner presumably.
To her left another was cradling a child who she offered to Rachel
“No. Thank you” Rachel had never been the maternal type and she was not about to start now.
***
After three years of marriage, Rachel was growing restless. She found her life and her relationship with her husband, Sir Thomas McBain, growing tiresome. It had never been a marriage of love but one of status, Rachel often felt she married purely for her parents’ sake and not her own, but now the gowns held no splendour and the acres of land felt like a cage to her wild spirit. Lady McBain always assumed money and a title would make her happy but it was something far darker that would ultimately quench her thirst for life.
***
Rachel sighed, alone once again; Thomas was in the smoking room with the entire male population of the village or so it seemed, whilst Rachel was ‘banished’ to her quarters. She paced the floor of her room, her ivory gown sweeping the boards beneath her feet, she stopped to gaze from her window but the view was the same as always, fields that never ended and trees that cast menacing shadows across the lawn, one in particular that appeared to dominate the others caught Rachel’s eye…a collective laugh from the men brought her back to her senses and inflamed her rage again. She was not the type of woman one commanded to her room at will.
Grabbing a loose dressing gown, gold to compliment her gown, she tiptoed down the stairs, casting a fleeting glance at the closed door of the room her husband was entertaining in she left the manor, her bare feet sinking in the wet grass. She arrived at the door of the servant’s quarters in little over ten minutes, brushing a loose curl from her face she entered with all the elegance of a lady of the manor.
The McBain estate naturally employed a large number of African slaves who resided in the servant quarters across the grounds, suitably far enough from the house to maintain a sense of propriety and self assurance for Thomas McBain.
No one stirred as Rachel entered the crowded room, they were quite used to the lady’s late night visits to their chambers. Her eyes glowed in the dim lighting as she scanned the room, coming to rest at an old chest of drawers. She paused to watch a slave plucking a chicken, for hers and Thomas’ Sunday dinner presumably.
To her left another was cradling a child who she offered to Rachel
“No. Thank you” Rachel had never been the maternal type and she was not about to start now.
***
