Hello,
I am Irish Rover. I am new here, so I am introducing myself. Rather than try to explain who I am, thought I would just post a writing sample.
Despite the nature of the writing sample, I am a guy.
Annabella Maria Fairweather stood at the top of the winding oak staircase, leading down into the massive front entry hall. She was a statuesque beauty with black hair and eyes and flawless skin. She wore a red dress and a black veil. In her left hand, she carried a black silk fan.
Her husband was away, and that meant that the house was mercifully her's, for the moment. Soon he would be home to lord it over her again, but for now she could concentrate on her favorite things, like dressing fashionable, sleeping in, throwing tea parties and screwing her maid and the groundskeeper.
Her daughter Marianne swept by her. She was a cute, eighteen year old girl in low rider jeans and a mid-drift bearing tank top. She hollered after her, as her girl took two stairs at a time going down.
"Marianna, that is hardly suitable attire!" It was to no avail. The girl was already out the massive front door, and undoubtedly into the front seat of some infernal machine, driven by some horny youth, with a pedigree. Her daughter at least had the decency to date nobles, but she changed boyfriends every other week. It was all her husband's fault. He had spoiled the girl, and now she was a wild and uncontrollable brat. And her husband was a prat! She descended the staircase like the lady that she was and entered the parlor.
The parlor was her sanctuary, away from Richard, and his damnable desires. He never ventured into the parlor. It had white walls with pale pink flowers, red and white upholstered furniture and tasteful plants. Here she could invite the vicar's wife over for tea, or possibly have a tea party with her friends amongst the lower nobles and the less obnoxious of the nouveau riche. Here, she was a queen.
She went and sat by the window, thinking of what she wanted to do with the day, while a pretty little French maid, named Anna, served her tea and biscuits. It was already eleven, and she had only been up for an hour, but did not feel up to eating breakfast. She absentmindedly patted the maid's head, as she poured the tea, and then dismissed her to her other duties. The Earl Grey tea, with one lump and steeped in cream, the English way, did her a world of good.
I am Irish Rover. I am new here, so I am introducing myself. Rather than try to explain who I am, thought I would just post a writing sample.
Despite the nature of the writing sample, I am a guy.
Annabella Maria Fairweather stood at the top of the winding oak staircase, leading down into the massive front entry hall. She was a statuesque beauty with black hair and eyes and flawless skin. She wore a red dress and a black veil. In her left hand, she carried a black silk fan.
Her husband was away, and that meant that the house was mercifully her's, for the moment. Soon he would be home to lord it over her again, but for now she could concentrate on her favorite things, like dressing fashionable, sleeping in, throwing tea parties and screwing her maid and the groundskeeper.
Her daughter Marianne swept by her. She was a cute, eighteen year old girl in low rider jeans and a mid-drift bearing tank top. She hollered after her, as her girl took two stairs at a time going down.
"Marianna, that is hardly suitable attire!" It was to no avail. The girl was already out the massive front door, and undoubtedly into the front seat of some infernal machine, driven by some horny youth, with a pedigree. Her daughter at least had the decency to date nobles, but she changed boyfriends every other week. It was all her husband's fault. He had spoiled the girl, and now she was a wild and uncontrollable brat. And her husband was a prat! She descended the staircase like the lady that she was and entered the parlor.
The parlor was her sanctuary, away from Richard, and his damnable desires. He never ventured into the parlor. It had white walls with pale pink flowers, red and white upholstered furniture and tasteful plants. Here she could invite the vicar's wife over for tea, or possibly have a tea party with her friends amongst the lower nobles and the less obnoxious of the nouveau riche. Here, she was a queen.
She went and sat by the window, thinking of what she wanted to do with the day, while a pretty little French maid, named Anna, served her tea and biscuits. It was already eleven, and she had only been up for an hour, but did not feel up to eating breakfast. She absentmindedly patted the maid's head, as she poured the tea, and then dismissed her to her other duties. The Earl Grey tea, with one lump and steeped in cream, the English way, did her a world of good.