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Tella's origin 4Tella’s Origin
Tella’s first love
(takes place a few years after the previous chapter)
Pitch Black explored the towns, looking for any sign of his student. She seemed to have found a new habit of wondering off on her own lately. Not that Pitch need to worry, she had always returned and often with new ideas to help “scare children into behaving” as he made her believe. Tella had been very useful to Pitch, creating stories that could be spread among the children, such of tales of a monster in the woods, a witch flying about and the boogeyman under the bed.
“Now where could she..” His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a piano playing from the second floor of a house. “Ah..of course..” He recognized this house. Stepping through the shadows, Pitch enter the music room to find a young man playing away with fierce passion. On top of the piano, laying on her stomach with her chin resting on h
Tella's origin 3Tella’s Origin
Tella’s rebirth and new friend
The library was deathly still, as though the books themselves were holding their breath at the death of their frequent reader. It was a terrible sight, her body crushed under many books and the heavy bookcase, loose paper scattered about on the floor. Her slender hand still out stretched in desperation to escape but it long stopped moving.
The moonlight crept into the library through the open window, softly touching the hand. A gentle breeze moved a few pages aside. The pages fluttered here and there, slowly more joined in. A few books begin to move as well, pushing at the bookcase to get it to rise up off the woman. The books and loose paper all worked together to lift the woman from the ground, the moon shining on her lifeless form.
The woman let out a gasp, eyes shooting open with confusion. She found herself standing in the middle of a library surround in a dying w
Tella's Origin 2Tella Origin
Part two: Tella’s death
Tella ran her fingers along the many books, debating on what to read today. Should she go for a story of treasure seeking pirates or perhaps a tragic story of lovers doomed to never be together? “Oh so many choices..” She couldn’t decide, though she knew she would have to choose soon. It was late and the library would soon be closing. Tella was certain that she was the last one still inside the library as she often was.
Her ears caught the sound of voices. How strange, who else would be inside the library at this hour? Brushing back her curls, she peeked out from behind the bookself to see who else was here. She was surprised to relizing it was her fiancé. Sir Vince Von Goon. A horrid man that Tella’s father had arrange for her to marry for wealth. She could not stand this man, finding him cruel, rude, and very vain. But what was a money grabbing man like Von Goon be doing in the library?
Tella's Origin Tella's Origin
Part one: Her gift
It was a calm night. Peaceful and calm. The crickets were chirping their lullaby, tress swaying softly outside. Tella closed her book, placing it on the dresser by her bed. Blowing out the candle, darkness surround the young woman as she snuggled down into her bed. But before she could even drift away to Slumber land, there was a sudden shout coming from her little newphews' room. Wasting no time, Tella jumped out of bed, pulling on her robe as she dashed out of her room and down the hall towards the sound sound of fright. "Theodore, Alexander, are you both alright?" The young woman enter the room to find the 10 year old twins huddling together on one of the bed. The twins looked up to their aunt with fear in their eyes, both pointing towards the corner of the room. "Boogeyman!" They chimed in sync. Tella turned to look where the twins were pointing, however she saw nothing there.
"Boogyman? I do not see any there. Ar
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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