s as still as a statue, his chocolate brown eyes fixed on me. His face is passive, and I cannot tell what he is thinking. His eyes hold no emotions. H

ot show. I was praying the hard

olds out his hand, I stare blankly. Slowly he withdraws the gesture. I do not want to shake his hand or

iting." Owen states. His chocolate eyes look at

t to move, I

more urgent. I cannot will my body to move. Telling myself that I have nothing to f

at my family, I step f

climbing in himself. I should be excited, but I am not. I have never been in a limousine, I have often wandered what it woul

a limousine for prom, even going as far has

I never got the chance to say goodbye, and her phone

*

eaks. Owen sits with his back straight, staring straight ah

private jet that is set apart from the other aircrafts. The limousine we have

into the sky and see the dark clouds roll in. I wipe the stray tears

her would change her mind. I just must believe that this is not goodbye. With

, making me want to curl up on one and drop off into a deep sleep. Owen takes a window seat, and gestures for me to sit. From the wi

y eyes. The plane taxis down the runway and my heart hammers i

ppier times. Sleep has never been a friend of mine. Sleeping would be easy, to shut out the w

p. I am agitated, nervous of what life has in store for me. Moving to Scotland from Califo

iting for our arrival. The driver hides behind a black screen. We d

h the trees which scatter around the open space, lining the dirt road. The road weaves and turns with sharp, narrow corners. Vast open spaces lay beyond the trees, and striking gre

et wide. A white brick Victorian wall runs from either side of the gate. It is t

fter several moments, the gates slowly open, allowing us through. On passing through, my body feels like insects are climb

ore trees. We follow the road for fiftee

e way, the gardens well kept. All kinds of f

nd more spaced out. People mill around the st

ron gates. These gates are plain bl

Pure white bricks that look recently painted gleam in the evening sun, giving off golden tints. Transparent glass windows sparkle lik

ives me the chills, as a fierce brass lion-head door knocker with ruby red eyes

es that have gathered in the pit of my stomach, I step out of the car. The cool night ai

the smell of fresh flowers is beautiful

re stage, with a royal blue carpet that runs down the centre, leaving the edges white. The staircase splits into two at the top. To the left of t

ing a clock in the shape of a star. The sound of

in between the couches, the shaggy pile soft and inviting, with a solid wood coffee table at its centre. The walls are a pristine white, making the room look bigger and brighter, but giving off a clinic

as he leaves the room. My grandmother must be someone of importance with the si

ft artificial light. What I have seen of the hous

izing flames help to calm my raging nerves. The

le floor echo. My heartbeat picks up, the thumping mat

" my grandmother addresses me

like I had

voice echoe

e to say, you are better

t to trust this woman. If I have learned anyth

hing but a

me help her." She sighs, and compassion tinges her voice. The first glimpse of emotion I have seen from this stone-faced

outh before I even know what I am thinking. So many questions swarm my mi

be hard to believe. But it is the truth, you must accept, and quickly. Your life is in danger; I fear they already know

e? She is not m

Mary-Anne will show you to your room. Get a good-night's sleep, my dear

th emerald, green

*

e night sky. Against the wall, a large four poster bed stands proudly. Pink drapes hang loosely, giving the sense of

pale pink rug covers the floor, leaving little of the plush beige carpet free. Two black couches overlook the stu

el out of place and unhinged in my new surroundings. I have never been one for

g for the sweet relief sleep will bring. I know better. Sleep on