Moi Soverenyie: A Fictional Narrative

The next image Olds puts into play is that of the vision of her daughter reborn as the enemy. Olds describes the daughter’s hair by saying, “each strand now cuts/ both ways. The blade of new bangs hangs over her red-brown eyes/ like carbon steel.” This is not a typical description of hair. Olds specifically compares the young girl’s hair to a freshly sharpened weapon. With words such as “cuts,” “blade,” and “carbon steel,” Olds builds up an image of a lethal weapon such as a knife or perhaps sword, weapons both clearly used for battle. Olds further describes the girl’s hair by acknowledging that “all the little/ spliced ropes are sliced.” The line break in the poem which leaves the phrase “all the little” alone to be followed up by second line describing the sliced hair, adds to Olds image. “All the little” appears as a memory of the mother of her former daughter, a memory that is quickly destroyed by the second image of those little strands now taking on a threatening sliced form. In addition, the line also holds a visual separation between the two different images that occupy the mother’s same thought

When one feels protects in life, one cannot experience the benefits within life. For instance, Olive and Sarah Ann’s father holds both of them back from the opportunities in life. This is illustrated when Olive’s future husband, Mr. Dixon asks her, “Why do you wear your hair like that? You ought to shake it loose around your shoulders”. He surprises why Olive all the time makes braids in her hair instead of letting it loose or free. Mr. Dixon attempts to figure out why Olive allows her father to hold her back, much like the braids in her hair. This statement is motive because Olive starts to question her father about  confinement at home due to a man. Mr. Dixon Uses her hair as a metaphor, by his questioning, that without her job at the post office, she should give a look more in her life. By making braids and keeping her hair open, author tries to illustrate that she is a bit confused whether or not to stay at home which is like a prison by conforming her father’s rules or just get away from here and make her

me. “Yes” I murmured. The letters were challenging to form, so the word came out

She opens her mouth to say something but all she can manage is a choked sputter of, "No, I didn't...wait-"

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes played over the scenery. A part of her couldn’t fathom a time when

“Huh?” Pearl blinked, seemingly at a loss of words, curious yet terrified of what Rose’s words to follow such an ambiguous statement will be.

Echo slid into her room and locked the door. “How could she say that?” Echo asked herself, facing the door.

“Is that so,” i nearly felt surprised of not having to yell those few word. Time dragged on while getting real awkward.

The muscles in her face stiffened. When she spoke, she’d lost the lift in her voice. “No one is following me.”

The curve of her lips is so dainty, so bloodred, like the perfect cut through the jugular. Stop. I tell myself. You’re not him right now. Those taunting lips, though, I can see them on the rim of a crystal glass of champagne, spiked with perhaps Belladonna, a fitting name, a fitting death for this beautiful lady. I shake my head, drawing it out of the haze of who I am, who I want to be at that moment. She tilts her head slightly and those lips move, forming words I don’t comprehend.

Astrid hesitated. The darkness still made it hard to see clearly, but I could see her worried expression. “Hiccup… are you sure?”

During morning combat training with the other knights, Perceval was so distracted by his anxiety over asking Will for Joan’s hand in marriage that one of the prospective knights landed a solid mace blow to Perceval’s gut. Perceval stood on the field and shook off the blow with a laugh as if it was nothing, but now, standing in his chambers with a cold cloth pressed against his bruised abdomen, he felt even more nauseated. Now he had to contend with an injury and Joan’s father. This was going to be a rough day.

“Her very words,/ and despite our pride and passion we believed her./ So by day she’d weave at her great and growing web--/ by night, by the light of the torches set beside her,/ she would unravel all she’d done. Three whole years/ she deceived us blind, seduced us with this scheme…/ we caught her in the act… she

“This was her latest masterpiece of guile: she set up a great loom in the royal halls and she began to weave, and the weaving fine-spun, the yarns endless, and she would lead us on: ‘Young men, my suitors, now that

In the play, phrases of fear escape from her lips even in her sleep. She believes darkness to be the place of torment.