W H I T E H E A V E N
folder
Drama › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
573
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0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Drama › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
573
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter 1
An angel from the Lord descended upon the Earth and spoke unto the child, “Son of man, thine soul is mistaken and placed upon the Earth in the place of another. Ascend with me to the throne of God and reclaim your rightful place of righteousness. Stay and you will face the perils of demons and devils and temptation until death descendeth upon you and trial will be given to thou as a mortal soul.”
And the angel extended its hand to the boy with welcome and patience as the child looked up from its hand and into its radiant face, and without expression he said, “Mother always told me not to talk to strangers.”
W H I T E H E A V E N
I
I had always been able to see spirits, ghosts, demons, angels, the works… But for me it was a normal, everyday thing. It was something that I never gave a second thought about. To me, they were just like humans, walking around, just like us and doing human-like things. There were a few exceptions. Some had very distorted faces and bodies or they were always tormenting something or someone. Either that or they were glowing.
It wasn’t until years later that I learned that what I was seeing weren’t what we’d call “alive”, but rather astral beings plaguing the air and space around us. Of course, that explained why mother always thought I was a bit strange in the head for pointing to “nothing in particular” and asking, with my naïve innocence of course, why that person had such a funny looking face, or why that person looked sad. There was nothing there to those without the “Heavenly Eye”, as I like to call it. It’s a wonder my mother didn’t disown me to save her reputation and the family name at the time. Eventually, I learned that speaking of these things was looked down upon in our society and disapproved of by my mother. She told me once after one of her dinner parties that “It made me out to be a foolish child that’s gone ill in the mind.” She forbade me from doing it ever again lest I be “punished”. So I never brought the subject up again, and not up till this day at her grave even.
I suppose I should introduce myself before delving further into the plot.
My name is Alexander Elliott Louis Norrington. Well, it’s the name that my mother and father gave me anyways. My “real” name is Anael, or so I’ve been told by a source we will get to later in the story. But Alex will do nicely for now. I’m male, as I hope you’ve assumed by now; age 28. I have deep set, sharp emerald green eyes with hints of sapphire etched into them (people are constantly telling me how enchanting they are. It would be flattering if I didn\'t hear it so often) and thin lips and a broad nose. I stand at six feet even with short-cut jet black hair and pale skin, my face scatheless and a visage that of an 18 year old. My body structure is thin; some may call me \"lanky\" for a lack of better words. (You\'ll notice I use quotations often. I find them quite useful as they give an air of offhandedness if not arrogance at times).
I was born in London, England in 1801 into a family of wealth and reputation. I\'ve been told I had an older brother, William, whom had died of pneumonia at the tender age of four. Aside from him, I have no other siblings to call my own.
Felicia Estella Vallée, my mother, was descended from a well known French bloodline of Counts and Countesses, all whom were quickly falling one-by-one into poverty from the mismanagement of their money. Eventually, in hopes of saving the family name at least, she was engaged to my father, Edward Julius Norrington, at 16. (He was 20 at the time and had already inherited the title Earl from his late father.) They were wed two years later and a year after that William was born. I soon followed five years afterwards.
Aside from having a 6th sense, I grew up as any normal, aristocratic child would at the time. Before my schooling years, I clung to my mother wherever she went whenever she went. It didn\'t matter. I followed her to her tea parties, her picnics, around the house... I was like a beggar drawn to a misplaced jewel. I couldn\'t get enough of her. If she had left me for a mere moment, I would start bawling like a babe lost in the woods. The love I felt for her ran deep into my heart.
As for my father, Edward Julius Norrington, ... well, I didn\'t see him much. I still don\'t see him often till this very day. We were never close. To each other, we viewed the other as if we would our distant relatives. Occasionally, if he were at home for more than a few days, he would lift me onto his lap and would tell me extravagant tales in front of the crackling fireplace of lands far beyond London during his business travels; To places over the ocean and people that resided there. Those were some of my most memorable memories though, since they were rare and far in-between. But like I\'ve said before, we weren\'t close, and the gap continued to widen as I came closer to becoming of age.
Life was average. Living, for me, was like walking through a precisely timed and uneventful schedule day after day during my schooling years. It would have been unbearable had it not been for Merriweather Romanov.
Now, let me tell you about Merriweather, since she, in my opinion, played such a crucial role in my life. She was a simple girl, yet very complex. She had ash brown hair that bounced around her face, neck, and collar bone in loose curls, the upper half always tied up behind her head with a golden silk ribbon. Her eyes were a lighter shade of green than mine mixed with hazel and rimmed with grey. She had an average cute nose, with high cheekbones, soft cheeks, and full lips. I suppose what made her not as \"lovely\" in the eye of society (she was very beautiful in my eyes) was the fact that she disliked make-up with a passion and thought dresses to be too restrictive and itchy. She was a tom-boy to put it bluntly; and a mouthy one at that. Our first meeting was when I was seven at one of my mother’s dinner parties. She was very timid back then and hid behind the skirts of her mother, while peering out from behind it with small blushing cheeks.
I, as had been taught recently, did not attempt to socialize until my mother had introduced me to her. Seeing how we were simply children and that no harm would come of it at the time, she urged us to befriend each other, worried about my social life and that I’d remain friendless because of the gossip that had been spread about my “seeing imaginary phantoms” by some troublesome unknown source; Most likely one of her so-called “friends”.
But it was because of my loving and caring mother that my life became more bearable in many ways as Merriweather entered my life. I quickly learned that the shyness was a surface act that that Merriweather was a wild girl, often being chided, and wasn’t afraid to voice her opinions on matters that did or didn’t concern her. She wasn’t even afraid to snub my nose into the dirt once. But that’s a completely different story.
We spent many glorious days of our childhood together, playing and getting in trouble. Once we even dared to sneak, past the time of the late evening, into the nearby woods that covered the acreages of my family’s summer estate that we presided in during the hot summer months, out in the country. We had invited the Romanov’s that year for a reason unknown to me. It was the last time we would see each other until four years later, when we were to be 18 years of age.
But when my dear Merriweather returned from her schooling to become a marriageable lady, “Unnatural” things began to happen…
And the angel extended its hand to the boy with welcome and patience as the child looked up from its hand and into its radiant face, and without expression he said, “Mother always told me not to talk to strangers.”
W H I T E H E A V E N
I
I had always been able to see spirits, ghosts, demons, angels, the works… But for me it was a normal, everyday thing. It was something that I never gave a second thought about. To me, they were just like humans, walking around, just like us and doing human-like things. There were a few exceptions. Some had very distorted faces and bodies or they were always tormenting something or someone. Either that or they were glowing.
It wasn’t until years later that I learned that what I was seeing weren’t what we’d call “alive”, but rather astral beings plaguing the air and space around us. Of course, that explained why mother always thought I was a bit strange in the head for pointing to “nothing in particular” and asking, with my naïve innocence of course, why that person had such a funny looking face, or why that person looked sad. There was nothing there to those without the “Heavenly Eye”, as I like to call it. It’s a wonder my mother didn’t disown me to save her reputation and the family name at the time. Eventually, I learned that speaking of these things was looked down upon in our society and disapproved of by my mother. She told me once after one of her dinner parties that “It made me out to be a foolish child that’s gone ill in the mind.” She forbade me from doing it ever again lest I be “punished”. So I never brought the subject up again, and not up till this day at her grave even.
I suppose I should introduce myself before delving further into the plot.
My name is Alexander Elliott Louis Norrington. Well, it’s the name that my mother and father gave me anyways. My “real” name is Anael, or so I’ve been told by a source we will get to later in the story. But Alex will do nicely for now. I’m male, as I hope you’ve assumed by now; age 28. I have deep set, sharp emerald green eyes with hints of sapphire etched into them (people are constantly telling me how enchanting they are. It would be flattering if I didn\'t hear it so often) and thin lips and a broad nose. I stand at six feet even with short-cut jet black hair and pale skin, my face scatheless and a visage that of an 18 year old. My body structure is thin; some may call me \"lanky\" for a lack of better words. (You\'ll notice I use quotations often. I find them quite useful as they give an air of offhandedness if not arrogance at times).
I was born in London, England in 1801 into a family of wealth and reputation. I\'ve been told I had an older brother, William, whom had died of pneumonia at the tender age of four. Aside from him, I have no other siblings to call my own.
Felicia Estella Vallée, my mother, was descended from a well known French bloodline of Counts and Countesses, all whom were quickly falling one-by-one into poverty from the mismanagement of their money. Eventually, in hopes of saving the family name at least, she was engaged to my father, Edward Julius Norrington, at 16. (He was 20 at the time and had already inherited the title Earl from his late father.) They were wed two years later and a year after that William was born. I soon followed five years afterwards.
Aside from having a 6th sense, I grew up as any normal, aristocratic child would at the time. Before my schooling years, I clung to my mother wherever she went whenever she went. It didn\'t matter. I followed her to her tea parties, her picnics, around the house... I was like a beggar drawn to a misplaced jewel. I couldn\'t get enough of her. If she had left me for a mere moment, I would start bawling like a babe lost in the woods. The love I felt for her ran deep into my heart.
As for my father, Edward Julius Norrington, ... well, I didn\'t see him much. I still don\'t see him often till this very day. We were never close. To each other, we viewed the other as if we would our distant relatives. Occasionally, if he were at home for more than a few days, he would lift me onto his lap and would tell me extravagant tales in front of the crackling fireplace of lands far beyond London during his business travels; To places over the ocean and people that resided there. Those were some of my most memorable memories though, since they were rare and far in-between. But like I\'ve said before, we weren\'t close, and the gap continued to widen as I came closer to becoming of age.
Life was average. Living, for me, was like walking through a precisely timed and uneventful schedule day after day during my schooling years. It would have been unbearable had it not been for Merriweather Romanov.
Now, let me tell you about Merriweather, since she, in my opinion, played such a crucial role in my life. She was a simple girl, yet very complex. She had ash brown hair that bounced around her face, neck, and collar bone in loose curls, the upper half always tied up behind her head with a golden silk ribbon. Her eyes were a lighter shade of green than mine mixed with hazel and rimmed with grey. She had an average cute nose, with high cheekbones, soft cheeks, and full lips. I suppose what made her not as \"lovely\" in the eye of society (she was very beautiful in my eyes) was the fact that she disliked make-up with a passion and thought dresses to be too restrictive and itchy. She was a tom-boy to put it bluntly; and a mouthy one at that. Our first meeting was when I was seven at one of my mother’s dinner parties. She was very timid back then and hid behind the skirts of her mother, while peering out from behind it with small blushing cheeks.
I, as had been taught recently, did not attempt to socialize until my mother had introduced me to her. Seeing how we were simply children and that no harm would come of it at the time, she urged us to befriend each other, worried about my social life and that I’d remain friendless because of the gossip that had been spread about my “seeing imaginary phantoms” by some troublesome unknown source; Most likely one of her so-called “friends”.
But it was because of my loving and caring mother that my life became more bearable in many ways as Merriweather entered my life. I quickly learned that the shyness was a surface act that that Merriweather was a wild girl, often being chided, and wasn’t afraid to voice her opinions on matters that did or didn’t concern her. She wasn’t even afraid to snub my nose into the dirt once. But that’s a completely different story.
We spent many glorious days of our childhood together, playing and getting in trouble. Once we even dared to sneak, past the time of the late evening, into the nearby woods that covered the acreages of my family’s summer estate that we presided in during the hot summer months, out in the country. We had invited the Romanov’s that year for a reason unknown to me. It was the last time we would see each other until four years later, when we were to be 18 years of age.
But when my dear Merriweather returned from her schooling to become a marriageable lady, “Unnatural” things began to happen…