|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Oct 25, 2010 15:06:11 GMT -5
People disappear all the time. Ask any policeman. Better yet, ask a journalist. Disappearances are bread-and-butter to journalists. Young girls run away from home. Young children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives reach the end of their tether and take their grocery money and a taxi to the station. International financiers change their names and vanish into the smoke of imported cigars. Many of the lost will be found, eventually, dead or alive. Disappearances, after all, have explanations. Usually. -Diana Gabaldon
"Moira, dear, I'm heading out for the night. Do you mind finishing up for the night by yourself?" the old woman said as she placed a large stack of books on the table infront of the young woman.
"No, I don't mind. You go ahead and leave, Beverly. I'll be alright by myself." she said nicely.
Moira Fairchild refocused her attention on the book infront of her. The pages were worn and tattered. This was her specialty. Moira could repair any book set in front of her, and she could name every book they had in the Ministy's extensive library.
She closed the book gently and placed it to her right. A sigh escaped her lips. It had been a long day and from the looks of it , it was going to be a long night as well. She looked over at the intimidating pile of books sitting to her left. She would have to check them for needed repairs all before she could put them away. Moira was brilliant at what she did, so it never took her long to fix anything. She had gotten down to the very last two books. She reached over and pulled the very bottom one up from beneath the top book. It's leather binding was curiously unfamiliar.
"Where did you come from?" she whispered.
After working several years in the Ministry of Magic's library, Moira had become knowledgable of every single book the library had. This one, she had never seen before. She opened the book to check the last page for a sorting number. There wasn't one. Turning the old pages she came across the first page. It had a date. 1776. It looked very much like a journal. Strange, there were only a few historical journals in the library and Moira had read every single one. This journal was not one of those. So, out of curiostity Moira began to read. There was nothing really incredably interesting about the journal. Just the simple thoughts of a young man.
By the fourth page Moira felt quite dizzy. Perhaps it was the starting of a migraine. She had been working all day. A soft hum sounded in her ears. The sound was a lot like the sound of bees. Strange she thought. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Nausea? What was wrong with her? She closed her eyes for a brief moment. The room felt like it was spinning. Definitely a migraine.
Moira stood up slowly from her chair with her eyes still closed. The books would just have to wait til tomorrow. She slowly opened her eyes. The room looked different. It was dimly lit by candle light. As she looked around she realized that she was no longer in the library she worked in day after day, but rather in someon's house.
"What the bloody hell is going on?"
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on Oct 25, 2010 15:34:14 GMT -5
The library was the best kept of all the rooms in the drafty mansion Chandler McAllister had grown in and that he now owned. The other rooms were well-kept, yes, but the library was the room with the gleam that said it was loved. Any dust that found its way to the books was quickly banished and the wooden bookshelves glowed in the firelight. The furniture, though obviously expensive, had a worn look to them, as if they were used often. And they were. Mostly by Chandler, but occasionally by the servants that kept the house in such pristine condition.
The servants had long ago retired and Chandler was curled in his favorite armchair, a position he never would have been found in during the day. His wig, both fashionable and expected from a man of his standing, lay on his dresser upstairs. His messy brown hair framed his face. He blew it out of his face every now and then when it began to obscure the pages from him. Other than that, and the cheerful crackling of the fire, all was silent, the way Chandler preferred it.
Silence had always been a blessing to him, even as a small child. He treasured it even more, now that he had inherited his father's title of Duke. He was expected to marry, and to do so soon. As a result, he was constantly asked to meet "lovely young ladies," the majority of which were about as lovely as a toad. Ah, well. He wasn't expected to marry for love.
Minutes passed and the 26 year old became absorbed in his book, one he would never dare read in front of others: Magick Moste Evil. The Ministry of Magic had expressed their dislike of such books, but Chandler believed knowledge was power. If he knew of the darkest magics known to man, he could find ways to counter them. But he could trust no one with the knowledge that he read this book. Wizards would turn him over to the Ministry and Muggles would persecute him for dealings with the Devil.
A female voice jerked him from his thoughts. "What the bloody hell is going on?" it said.
Chandler looked up and saw a young woman standing in his library. He gaped at her, unsure of what to do for a moment, and then shoved the book under the chair. "Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing in my home?" There was something strange about this woman, something he couldn't quite place. All he knew was that she didn't belong, especially not in his house.
|
|
|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Oct 26, 2010 15:41:07 GMT -5
Moira gripped the chair infront of her. Her balance seemed a bit off. She closed her eyes tightly until a man's voice forced her to open them again. She turned her head and looked incredulously at him. She blinked several times trying to focus on him. Was he real? He certainly seemed real. What was with his peculiar clothing? If she didn't know any better she would have guessed he was from the 18th century. Very odd. Pushing her hair out of her face she stared back at him before finally speaking.
"Who am I? I should like to ask you the same question. As for being in your home, that I'm afraid I cannot asnwer, since I have no idea as to how I came to be here." she looked around the room.
She noticed the tall bookshelves. Tempting. Refocusing on the situation she looked back at the man. She must have looked quite startling by the way he was looking at her. After all, she was wearing jeans and a black sweater with a pair of grey flats. If her calculations were correct, she was somewhere in the 1700's. Which wasn't good. Folk in these times didn't take too kindly to witches. Great, she thought. Her gaze shifted back to the table where the journal lay. After grabbing it, she held it up for the man to see.
"One minute I'm reading this journal at work in my own time, and the next second I'm here in your house in what appears to be the late 1700s, if my guess is right. And I find myself without any explanation as to how except that I think this stupid journal is bewitched!" she babbled.
Moira put her hand to her head. It throbbed. Maybe she was dreaming. Of course she was! That was it! She had fallen asleep in the library reading this pathetic journal, which she clutched in her hand. She pinched herself hard on the hand.
"Ow! That wasn't supposed to hurt!"
She strode over to the man and touched him. He was real! Oh God! This couldn't be real! A quick onset of nausea came over her.
"I think I'm going to be sick!"
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on Oct 26, 2010 17:05:16 GMT -5
Chandler was at a loss for words. What was this strange young woman doing in his house? Who was she, and why was she dressed so....so strangely? No one, not even the most promiscuous of women, not even the whores that worked the corners, dressed the way this woman was dressed. Women just didn't wear trousers and they most certainly didn't show up at a single man's house unchaperoned, no matter what the hour. Again the question flitted through his mind: What was she doing here?
He watched her as she held up a very familiar journal, claiming that the journal had brought her from whatever time she was from to this time. It didn't surprise him. He was a wizard after all. Maybe it was some sort of very specific time turner. It couldn't be a Portkey. Those only took you to specific places. He would have to examine the journal more closely; maybe then he would be able to figure out why it was so familiar.
"I think I'm going to be sick!" the woman cried, looking decidedly green.
Chandler looked around the room, panicking slightly. "Please don't get sick on the floor!" he begged, looking around for a basin that he knew the library had. It wouldn't be much, but it was far better than nothing. He didn't want this woman to ruin the floors, especially the library floors.
He caught a glimpse of the basin and grabbed it. As he made his way over to the woman, he wondered what he was going to do with her. It would seem quite improper for him to have a random female staying at his house when no one had recieved word that he was having a guest. He could potentially claim that she was a relative dropping in for a surprise visit. Then there was the matter of clothes. He still had some dresses that his mother had worn but she would have to immediately be fitted for some new ones. Chandler wasn't about to leave this woman wandering the streets, especially given her dress and her apparent disorientation. She didn't even know what year it was! No, he couldn't allow her to leave until she was better.
He thrust the basin in her direction. "Here," he told her, suddenly uncomfortable.
|
|
|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Oct 27, 2010 10:03:50 GMT -5
Moira took the basin and quickly sat down. She put her head between her legs and breathed slowly, in and out. After a few moments of concentrating on her breathing, she began to feel better. Moira closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, she would be back in the Minitry's library; in her own time. She opened one eye slowly, then sighed in frustration when she found herself still sitting infront of the confused looking man. Moira straightend up and looked at the man. Despite the uncomfortable look he wore on his face he was rather hansome. Men who looked like that usually in most cases either fancied men, or had a wife. Oh God! If he was married then where was his wife? After all the noise Moira had been making, surely someone would have heard. Moira had to gwt out of there, and fast. Staying here in this man's house, dressed as she was, would only cause trouble for him, and for herself.
She grabbed the journal and held it tightly. She going to take it with her. Wherever that was. All she wanted was to be at home in her bed, forgetting this ever happened. But she had the sick feeling that it wasn't going to be that easy. Why didn't she just go home when Beverly went home? She should have said no! Why was she still sitting here looking like a complete moron? She stood up and tucked the journal underneath her left arm.
"Im sorry that I've troubled you sir, but I need to get out of here. I wouldn't want your wife to discover you and I in here and question your loyalty. Is there an Inn nearby?" she asked politely.
An Inn? Seriously? She couldn't possibly get very far in what she was wearing. Moira must have looked like some cross dresser prostitute. She would have to find something different to wear, if she was going to be stuck here. Wherever here was. She began to walk past the the man who still stood there with a look of concern on his face. It occurred to her that she didn't know the way out. Bloody hell! She hated delaying!
"Would you be so kind as to show me out?"
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on Oct 27, 2010 13:28:30 GMT -5
Chandler burst out laughing at the mention of a wife. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, miss, but I'm not married. There are those who would like me to be, of course. But I'm not, so its no trouble." He smiled at her, still feeling rather awkward. It was nothing new for him, however. He wasn't a socialite who lived for balls and parties. In fact, he dreaded those things, much preferring to be at home with his books. But again, for a man of his station it was, though not expressly forbidden, looked down upon if he did not at least make an appearance.
He watched her as she began to walk away, unsure whether he should stop her or not. While that inward debate went on, a small--or perhaps not so small--part of him noticed how attractive this woman was. She probably had a beau, or fiance, or whatever they had in her time period.
When she asked him to show her the way out, he chuckled. "Sorry, miss," he said, placing a gentle hand on her elbow and guiding her to the stairs that would take them to the room where his mother's old things were. "But I can't let you leave in those clothes. You'd be attacked as soon as you stepped foot outside, especially given how pretty you are." He took a deep breath and congratulated himself. As long as he pretended it was another social obligation that he was being put through, Chandler could handle normal conversation. Once the idea disappeared from his mind, however, he was sure he would become the awkward boy that he had always been. "I have some of my mother's things. You may be able to fit in those until I can have some made. And you can stay in the guest room. We'll just have to tell people you're a relative or something. Though the absense of a chaperone may give the game away. Don't worry though, miss, I'll find someone." He paused and gave her an embarrassed smile. "Duke Chandler McAllister, by the way. But, given the circumstances under which we met, Chandler will suffice."
|
|
|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Oct 28, 2010 17:19:50 GMT -5
At his burst of laughter Moira began to feel quite embarrassed. Perhaps he did fancy men, and if he didn't, why wasn't he married. Whatever era she was in, surely a man of his standing would have a wife by now. He couldn't have been much older than her. She relaxed a bit as he spoke. He was right. She had no idea what was out side the walls of his house, and what she knew of history, people weren't particularly known for their kindness these days. A shiver ran down her back as she pictured herself being attacked by some man who hadn't seen bath water or soap in months, and was sick with small pox. The thought of the illness made her shiver again. Sanitation was not something people were familiar with. Gross, she thought. No, she couldn't possibly leave. After all, this man had been very kind so far and there was no guarantee that she would receive the same from someone else. Moira reached out and took him by the hand and gave it a firm shake. Perhaps that was a bit manly?
"Its very nice to meet you Mr. Chandler, I'm Moira Renae Fairchild. But you can just call me Moira." she gave him a kind smile.
She followed him as he led the way upstairs. When they had reached the guest bedroom she took in a quick breath of air. Despite it being just a guestroom it was beautiful. The furnishings were lovely, and the bed looked inviting. She was extremely tired. It had to be quite late. Why was he still up? Perhaps he was a night owl like herself. Turning to look at the man she caught a glimpse of the world outside the window. She rushed over to it. This was really happening. No longer was there a modern city outside the glass, but rather a completely different city that had yet to develop electricity! Her heart began to pound in her chest. For the first time in her life, Moira was scared. Never before had she felt so alone. She was truly on her own, with no idea as to how to get back home. Looking out the window became too much for her to bear. Turning back towards the young man she gave him a solemn look.
"Thank you for your kindness. By tomorrow I should be out of your way." she said quietly.
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on Nov 1, 2010 16:05:47 GMT -5
Chandler watched as the woman--Moira, she had said her name was--entered the room, obviously impressed with it. She must not have had the same finery in the time she came from. The time she came from....it was such an odd thought. Time travel just wasn't feasible without a Time Turner. At least Chandler didn't think so. But how else could the woman have gotten here? And that journal that had suppossedly brought her to 1776.... Why did it look so familiar? Tomorrow, when they were both rested and had clearer minds, he would ask her to see the journal. And a few other questions of course. Like what time she came from and whether wizardry was any different. But those were trivial matters and could wait until morning.
When she mentioned leaving the next day, Chandler shook his head. "Sorry, Miss Moira," he said, a slight bit uncomfortably. The charade he had created in his mind of this being just another party had gone, making him the awkward man he normally was. He just wasn't sure how to talk to people. "But you can't leave. People would eat you alive back there." He ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier. It was a habit he had developed as a child whenever he felt awkward about talking to someone. But in this case, it wouldn't really help.
Chandler went to the wardrobe and opened, thankful he still had some small task to do to avoid making eye contact with Moira. "Here are the dresses," he said, gesturing to the masses of silk and velvet that hung there. Then, pointing to a large drawer below the main part of the wardrobe, he added: "Your...erm, undergarments are in there." A faint blush crept up his cheeks. Like he had told Moira, he had no wife and thus no experience with feminine things. "I'll send the maid up tomorrow morning to help you dress." He thought a moment and then said: "We'll tell her you're a distant relative and that you met up with highwaymen, barely escaping. It'll explain a good amount." He opened the smaller drawer and threw her a white nightdress. "Just...change into this, so you don't shock the maid tomorrow." His blush deepened. "Umm...do you need anything else, Miss Moira?"
|
|
|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Nov 5, 2010 10:44:31 GMT -5
Moira watched the man walk over to the wardrobe and pull out a night gown. When was the last time she had worn a dress? She graciously took it from him when he handed it to her. He seemed extremely uncomfortable. Was it her? When he said he couldn't allow her to leave in the morning she grew slightly agitated, but she didn't protest.
"Thank you for being so kind to me, I will see you in the morning." she said as nicely as possible.
When he left the room she let out a long sigh. None of this made sense. In all of her years of studying, never had she once heard of something like this happening. She held up the book and looked at it. Perhaps it was dark magic. She set the journal down on a nightstand next to the bed. She began to change out of her clothes. When she slid on the nightgown it fit like a glove. She folded her clothes and tucked them underneath the mattress. Hopefully no one would discover them. She climbed into the bed and found it to be rather comfortable. From what Moira could tell by all she had seen of his home tonight, Chandler, had been a man of very high standing. Her presence here could be very bad for him. Hopefully by tomorrow afternoon she would be home. Of course she would! What was she thinking? She could figure this out, after all, she didn't graduate at the top of her class for nothing! Lying back comfortably Moira reached for the journal and began to read it. All the pages seemed to contain the thoughts of a man, nothing seemed suspiscious about it. Not until she came across a page with scrambled lettering. Strange, was it a spell? She quickly got up from the bed and reached underneath the mattress for her wand. After she withdrew it she climbed back in bed. She held up the journal and tapped the page wit her wand, muttering a spell underneath her breath. The letters unscrambled. Her breath caught in her chest. The entry was written in her own hand writing. It was dated June 1779.
If you're reading this you're probably wondering how it is you came to be here. I must warn you . Do not try to go home. It is of the greatest importance that you stay. I cannot tell you why, soon you will learn. He needs you. Soon you will come to find yourself needing him. If you leave, crucial historical events will cease to exist and all will be not right in the world you know as home.
Yourself
Moira set down the journal. She couldn't think straight. Why ever would she stay? She couldn't possibly! And who was "he"? She quickly tucked the wand back under the mattress and laid there wondering what she was going to do. She looked back at the journal. The letters had rescrambled. She wanted to go home! She had no intention of staying. So what if she didn't stay? What could happen? Her head began to hurt from the overwhelming situation. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Apparently she had been more tired than she had thought. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, nor did it take long for the sun to rise.
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on Nov 5, 2010 12:45:05 GMT -5
The morning after Moira's arrival, Chandler rose with the sun, something that happened very rarely. But today he had business to take care of regarding Moira and didn't want the servants walking in on her before he could explain the situation. Rather, before he could lie about who she was and what she was doing here. Not that he truly knew either of those things. He knew her name, but nothing else, and as for what she was doing here.... It seemed not even Moira had the answer to that. So for now, lies seemed to be the only option that wouldn't cause them to be persecuted for witchcraft.
"Mr. Chandler? Wot are you doin' up this early?" The familiar Cockney accent of the maid, Elizabeth, reached his ears.
He turned from the window he'd been standing in front of, contemplating Moira's situation, and smiled at Elizabeth. "There's a lady in the guest bedroom," he begain, ignoring the widening eyes of the ever-so-proper maid. "She's a distant relative. From my mother's side." Claiming Moira was from his mother's side of the family was the safest bet. His mother, Violette, was from France and had said very little of her family before her untimely death. "She and her escort were attacked by highwaymen on the way here. Her escort was killed, I believe, so if she seems a little...strange, it would be because she's traumatized." He offered Elizabeth a small smile. "Would you wake her for breakfast and assist her in getting dressed?"
"O' course, Mr. Chandler. Should I tell the cook to begin cooking breakfast then?" she asked, curtseying.
He thought a moment. "Yes," Chandler answered finally. "Then go straight to Miss Fairchild's room and help her."
"Yes, sir."
As soon as Elizabeth was gona, Chandler let out a sigh of relief. That went better than he had hoped, far better. He could hear the distant sounds of the cook preparing breakfast and smiled. Time to go to the dining room, where hopefully Moira would be shortly.
|
|
|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Nov 18, 2010 19:14:32 GMT -5
Moira winced in pain as the bright sun shined through the window. What the devil? She peered out of one squinted eye. A short woman stood in front of her.
"Good morning Miss, time to be getting you ready for breakfast. The master will be wanting to see you this morning."
Before Moira could protest the woman threw back the sheets and began helping her out of bed. As soon as the brightness became bareble Moira walked over to the window and looked outside.
"Come away from there Miss Moira. Wouldn't want people to catch a glimpse of you in nothing but your shift." the woman spoke alarmingly.
Moira chuckled. What would they think? She watched as the woman went to the large wardrobe and opened it. She began pulling out different elegant pieces of clothing. Moira had always had a wild fascination with the fashion of the nineteenth century. The woman pulled a light green dress and brought it over to the bed.
"This will do just fine. It will bring out your eyes." the woman walked over to Moira and began pulling up her night gown.
Moira smacked the woman's hands away.
"Just what do you think you are doing?!" she spoke sharly.
The woman looked confused.
"Just getting you dressed Miss. You'll need help getting your laces done up. Hasn't anyone helped you get dressed before?" she eyed Moira curiously.
"Um, well not really. I've always usually done things like by myself. But carry on if you must."
The woman stared at Moira's undergarments. Now she seemed beyond confused. Of course she was. They didn't have bras in the 1770 hundreds!
"What do you call that?" the woman began to poke at the bra.
"Oh this? It's um, something I had made up for me when I don't feel like wearing the usual you know... Under garment thingy." she didn't know exactly what to say.
"Hmm... Well you'll have to remove it Miss, if I'm ever to fit you properly in your corset." the woman began fumbling with the catch in the back.
Moira quickly wrapped her arms around herself.
"Oh don't be embarrassed Miss. It's nothing I haven't seen before." she chuckled.
Moira stood perfectly still as the woman began dressing her. Never had she imagined what women went through just to get dressed. She was thankful for the simple jeans and sweaters she normally wore everyday. When the woman finished her task of dressing her, she began combing through Moira's hair. She completed the look with a simple braid down Moira's back. When Moira walked over to a mirror she couldn't help but smile. She did look rather nice. Though the braid would have to go. She much rather preferred it loose.
Moira allowed herself to be led down the hall and down the stairs. The short women took her into the dinning hall. The man she had met the night before was seated at the head of the table. She walked over and pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Good morning cousin." she said as the woman who dressed her stood by his side.
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on Nov 18, 2010 23:12:35 GMT -5
Dressing took longer than Chandler expected, though it wasn't a huge surprise. Women did have more clothes to put on than men, so it was only logical that they would take longer to get dressed. He didn't have much personal experience with women's clothing, being unmarried. Though even if he was married, it was the sort of thing the maids would take care of. Even as a married man, Chandler probably wouldn't know the difference between a shift and a petticoat.
These thoughts, coupled with the early hour, caused Chandler to fall into a half slumber, where he was still partly aware of the things going on around him.
"Good morning cousin."
The words jerked him out of the doze and he jumped slightly in his chair. Elizabeth chuckled softly and Chandler waved a hand at her. "Go on, you," he said, his cheeks stained with crimson. "Don't you have work to do?"
Elizabeth, quite used to Chandler's reactions when embarrassed, merely smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir," she said as she left the room.
He looked over to the owner of the voice that had woken him from his nap. Moira, of course. And she looked absolutely beautiful. Stunning really. It was almost all to apparent to Chandler that she didn't belong in this time period. How could something so lovely exist in a place filled with filth?
He shook his head slightly, clearing his mind of such thoughts. Moira was quite beautiful in the green dress, of that there could be no doubt, but he was sure that there could never be anything between them. She wanted to get back to her own time and he wanted his life to be normal.
"Good morning, Moira," he said with a small smile. "You slept well, I presume?" Playing the role of host was another act that allowed him to get over his natural awkwardness with people. "You look lovely, by the way."
|
|
|
Post by itsjustasonga88 on Nov 19, 2010 16:00:00 GMT -5
A light blush filled her cheeks at his compliment. Moira had always been slightly aware of her looks. She took after her mother. Her eyes went to the young man's face.
"Well thank you. I must say, I'll never understand why women choose to wear corsets. They're quite uncomfortable." she said in a hushed tone.
Perhaps that wasn't proper to discuss with a man. Especially a man she didn't know. Quite frankly she felt at ease being near him. Of course that only had to be due to only knowing him. Moira took in a deep breath and let it slowly out. She folded her hands and looked Chandler in the eyes.
"I don't think I'm getting home anytime soon. I read through your journal, at least I presume it's yours, and I came across a letter I wrote to myself. I have no idea how or when I wrote it. It doesn't even make any sense. I have the sick feeling that I've done this to myself. I think I was the one who bewitched the journal. I know it must sound completely obsurd, but there's no other explanation I can think of. What really scares me is the date I wrote the letter. I left the journal upstairs. After breakfast I'll show you the page."
The doors to the dinning room opened and a few servants came inside carrying in platters of food. Moira barely felt like eating, but she would not be rude. She waited until the servants left before she spoke again.
" If I bewitched the journal myself, that means I would have needed to know a spell of such power and complexity. I am positive that I have never come across magic like that before, unless it's dark. My head hurts when I even try thinking about it." she pressed her hand to her forehead and shut her eyes.
She was lucky enough that he wasn't a muggle. At least she was positive that he wasn't. He hid it well. And of course he had to. These times were dangerous. Witch trials were still popular, and anyone would turn on you if it meant saving themselves. If she were caught, she would be lucky to survive one of their torturing methods. She was after all, human. Moira opened her eyes and looked back at the hansome face staring at her.
" I feel like this is all a bad dream. Not you of course, you're quite nice actually, it just everything else."
|
|
|
Post by xwickedlovelyx on May 15, 2011 19:28:32 GMT -5
Chandler laughed at her comment about corsets. "From what I understand," he said, embarrassment staining his cheeks, "corsets are dreadful things. My mother complained about them many a time before her death. But they're fashionable and ladies seem to be willing to suffer through anything for the sake of fashion or to catch a man." He glanced over at Moira and bit the inside of his cheek, wondering whether he should say what was on his mind. She was from the future, or so she claimed, and the future she was from seemed far less rigid than the present. "Though you could probably make a good match in a burlap sack," he said so softly he wasn't sure she heard. It was probably a good thing if she hadn't.
As she spoke of the journal, Chandler leaned forward, his eyes intent. The journal did indeed sound like it had been enchanted, and with very powerful magic indeed. There could be no doubt about that. The one question that nagged at his mind was whether the magic used to charm the journal was dark magic. If it was--and if Moira's assumption that she cast the spell was true--he was in the presence of a very powerful, dark witch. He found that he didn't believe the magic was dark at all though. There was something about Moira that was inherently good, and he doubted that she would ever be able to cast a dark spell. Granted, he had only known her for about half a day but he still felt he was correct.
When the servants came with breakfast, he realized he had been staring at Moira and quickly looked down, a blush darkening his cheeks once more. Her compliment made him blush even more. Damn him and his inability to have normal interactions with people! He was never able to do anything normal or witty or charming.
Chandler picked at his food. He had never been a big breakfast eater. Finally, after a long silence, he looked up at Moira and said: "It seems to me that we need to do some research and try to find the spell you used on the journal. After I see the journal, that is. Its strangely familiar to me and I can't quite grasp why. Perhaps a closer examination will jog my memory."
|
|