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[Gilberte] Nothing Like a Novel

Rhianon's picture

The afternoon sunlight danced through the boughs of the blossoming trees in the Arboretum, casting moving patterns of light across the grassy earth below. Gilly was curled up next to one of the trees, head resting on one hand and her other hand casually turning the pages of the book on the ground before her. She had two more chapters left in her book; she was attempting to finish it before her weekly trip to the bookshop in Stormwind so she could safely pick out something new to read.


Try as she might, however, to focus on the words on the page, she found her thoughts constantly wandering off track and wading into the blur of the past few days. It was disconcerting to find so many memories rewriting themselves as Rhiswyn’s priestly magics did their trick. Things that had once seemed partially out of focus like a badly adjusted Snapper photo had come into sharp relief. At first, it had just been bits and pieces, here and there, but now everything was starting to meld back together and Gilly found herself wondering at it all.

  

She knew, logically, it wasn’t fair to call herself stupid, but she certainly felt that way. After all, she had actually admired him at one point and been flattered at his attention. Her mother’s words, spoken years before, echoed in her head. “Gilberte, those foolish books of yours have given you some messed-up concept of romance. You’ll end up chasing after some dark and brooding scoundrel who will only break your heart and then you’ll miss out on real love when it crosses your path.”  Emma Lachlan had always railed against the presence of fanciful literature in her house and Gilly knew that the full story about Paxton, if her mother ever heard it, would only give her more fuel for the fire. Yet, as much as Gilly hated to admit it, she worried that her mother had been right - at least partially.

 

“...miss out on real love when it crosses your path…”


Once, frustrated with her mother, a younger Gilly had demanded to know what real love was - as opposed to what she read about in her books. Her mother’s eyes had grown dreamy and she had looked out through the streaked glass pane of one of their cottage’s windows as she spoke. “There are no grand halls, jeweled thrones or crystal palaces like in those silly stories, that’s for sure. And it doesn’t announce itself with trumpets or fireworks displays. No, it will come quietly, secretly and sometimes without you even asking for it. You should know it when you see it - if you have any sense about you, that is. But if you’re on the lookout for something like in one of those books, you’ll miss it entirely.”

Gilly smiled to herself. Emma Lachlan would be relieved to know her youngest child had at least some sense about her, even if it was, in her words, “precious little.”  

She turned the page in her book, whispering, “Llane…”

It still sounded funny to call him that, but it was starting to grow on her. She just needed more practice.

Comments

Llane Venner's picture

(( Simply beautiful. Nice to

(( Simply beautiful. Nice to see the contrast between Venner and Paxton. ))

"I travel, I write, I kill things."

Llane Venner's picture

(( And now that I'm actually

(( And now that I'm actually at a computer, I can copy and paste this from Haven. ))

"Llane." He'd always hated the name. It was a reminder of a disappeared father, years of criticism from his mother, and a childhood interrupted.

But somehow, when Gilly said it, it didn't sound so bad.

"I travel, I write, I kill things."