Surrounded by Shadows There is always a moment of quiet before the storm. Looking to the sky in the July light, everything seemed at peace. Even the carts horses on the road seemed to be non-existent. In a few minutes the bells would ring across the, grey and brown town, of Cambridge. Their song would float over the river Cam where she was lying. Hazel Hume was sitting in the emerald grass of Magdalene Orchard. Turning her head towards the sky the brilliant blue seemed to stretch on forever on top of her. The smog of the city made the colour a rarity. This plot of land had not yet been tainted like the dirt cluttered streets of central Cambridge. She rolled her head and neck and they popped with a satisfying click; she had been laying face-up for too …show more content…
You are not here! You promised to love me but now you will never marry me. Which is exactly what the Lords and Ladies wanted in your household.” More tears were cascading down her face. They were streaming fast and she had to grip onto the pews, to steady herself. “I hate the Witch Act Queen Elizabeth has instigated!” She could feel him trying to comfort her, though every time he touched her body, it seemed to shiver, crawling away. “You were going to go to war! You were going to be my husband in a few months and eventually a father to my child. We were going to fight the Queen’s demands together.” “Hazel you are not a witch! Your family may have had a past with it, but you are too kind, gentle and honest, you are not a witch. Your family history is unfortunate circumstance but you are you. I will forever love you. Right now, you need to find my killer. You need to prove to the authorities you are innocent. My family will be looking for blood and think it is you, they will place a high price on your head.” He said. “Why would they believe that? I love you! I would never hurt you, even if I,” Hazel gulped, “am a commoner.” “It is only a matter till they try and blame you, my love.” “Who were
“Elizabeth: Spoken or not a promise is made. She thinks now to kill me and take my place. It’s her hope, I know it. Why did she call my name? She’d not call out a farmer’s wife unless she could profit from it.
ELIZABETH: Spoke or silent, a promise is surely made. And she may dote on it now—I am sure she does—and thinks to kill me, then to take my place.
When the queen utters these words you can sense the hurt and betrayal in Terens voice. He thought that the queen would always stand be
In the town of salem, massachusetts, there was a group of girls heading with a dark slave named tituba into the timberland forest, it was a dark curious night for them. The town’s minister, reverend parris’s daughter, betty falls, while the girls were dancing into the woods. She falls into an unmoving, unresponsive state, so now rumors pile up into the town saying betty’s incident had something to do with witchcraft. Parris, betty’s father has sent John Hale, an expert on witchcraft to determine if his daughter was indeed bewitched or not. Parris had knew all along that the girls and tituba were in the forest. Tituba starts getting accused of being the one responsible and being involved with witchcraft.
I am helpless and powerless. I have failed in my duties of caring for my Queen. I have allowed her to slowly suffer in her tormented mind; I have allowed her spirit to crumble and her soul to be lost forever. I am simply a servant of my Queen; I have tended and comforted her since she married into the Macbeth house. Where as many young girls are worried about their pre-arranged marriage; so too was my lady until she saw Macbeth and swore that she had fallen in love. I have been there by her side for many years; I have seen her fall in love; I have seen her lose her loved ones. I was there the very day we drove away from her family, I sat with her the whole journey sitting quietly as I watched gentle tears fall down her face. It was that
Ms. Annette made a soothing noise. NO Kendall hadn’t known a world where she would have lied or ignored the whispers, like the ones that named her home the witch’s house. Kendal had only known the world where other children’s mother would whisk them if Kendall tried to play at the park or where bakers and butchers would refuse service to ‘abomination according to the Bible.’ But Kendall Obsurne face her trouble. Kendall thought of herself a brave. Her Grammy had often called her stubborn.
In Adrienne Rich’s “Storm Warnings,” the progressive structure details the storm’s advancement, the imagery illustrates the surrounding environment, and the calm diction presents the speaker’s state of mind, depicting an actual storm as it nears and the metaphorical turmoil the speaker is experiencing. People hear storm warnings, however, as the storm unfolds, one can merely brace themselves since the storm is inevitable and light hope within them.
Cece Brown was not scared, not even a little. She was a very strong girl, people had often thought, but even now they expected her to be at least a little nervous. Cece was standing at the edge of a group of witches and wizards, her face wiped of any emotion she may feel inside. As the people of the group sometimes neared her, she would glare at them, her eyes piercing into theirs; a silent declaration to say, “I do not like you.”
Catherine responds, “I should be too much frightened to do such a thing” (Austen 178). Catherine identifies with the female gothic here, as she is terrorized by the idea of such events, even though they are simply made up by the villainous General.
She tried to put the picture together in her mind. The sky; a cold monotony of blue broken only by the black speck of a raven or a crow. Castles; immense with latticed windows. Air; free from cicadas which hummed sullenly in the Jamaican nights when she couldn’t sleep. Snowy winter’s, with parks covered in thick blankets of white and golden lamp posts standing to attention against the papery background. She had read all she could; impulsively feathered her fingers across the rosy – pink shape on her father’s wall map.
It was at the peak of the night’s darkness, fog covered the kingdom. The town was fast asleep, the King and his thanes were also out cold. There was an eerie sense in the air. It had almost been too long without any commotion. The kingdom, at the top of the Food chain, hadn’t been attacked for nearly two years now.
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t do it anymore. You made me the happiest woman on Earth, and you were the world to me. For now, we must part ways, I’ll see you again soon, your loving wife…” I read aloud.”No!” I wailed, “Don’t be gone! Don’t leave me…” I held her close, unnoticing of the blood that now stained my shirt. All that was there was the feeling of my wife’s cold, limp body in my arms, and the hot tears that streamed down my face in rivers.
As the sun set into the waiting night, Birmingham, known for its steel and history decades past, fell into its usual routine. The city faded into dark, much like when a song reaches its end, and became lifeless except for the few couples and families huddling together along the sidewalk. The only light shining came from the stores and restaurants still open at the time, casting ominous shadows onto the street seeming ready to grab anyone passing by. The chill in the air was much like every year in November, raising the hair on the back of the neck and making the tip of a nose ruddy. The chill was accompanied by a breeze that whistled between alleyways and disturbed the few trees present within the city itself. Despite the near-winter weather,
Over Mamatuck village, mountains soared, their peaks frosted like the tips of meringue frosting. The moon, faded an opaque milky white, hung plump and low on the horizon. Behind the jagged mountain cliffs, the sun began to stretch its weary rays, blessing the earth with warmth and light. One by one, the stars twinkled out of the lavender sky and up into the cosmos, where they will wait until the moon rises again. Clouds began to swirl in the early morning heat like downy goose feathers escaping from an expensive pillow. Great waves of fog twisted down the steep mountain paths and into the village, where Lily awaited their
“She wasn’t always the dark witch,” Gwen pointed out. She held a bundle in her arms. Beside her Lancelot admired the scene. “This is quite the gathering.”