MY IMMORTAL
Chapter One.
Author's note: A paws (do you comprehend, because I am Woolf?) to offer my deep and sincere thanks to the dearest lady in my life (quite in the way intended) Vita Sackville-West for the help, the love and the support for writing this; and her help with my grammar. You are my saviour, my heart. Leonard too, you are the love of my one and only life and always will be. My Kitchen Rules (MKR) is delightful.
She stood there, waiting; holding time in her hand. Loving it; yet hating it too. Ebony Dark'ness Darkness Dementia Raven Way, her hair black; as coal, as ebony, (that is how she was named); with streaks of purple; and tips of red, that reached her lower back. Eyes as blue as ice, like the tears of an angel; yet no angel was she; yet known to bear resemblance to Amy Lee (Author's note: I have not even the slightest idea who that is, so I should not mention it here!). She was a pretender of relation to Gerard Way, and spent her nights yearning with all her body; her heart; her soul that she could have been in union with him. Ebony, the stuff of Bram Stoker, with teeth straighter than the walls of Buckingham Palace, whiter than the marble of some mausoleum. Skin, is whiter than the paper this is written upon; softer than silk, lighter than a cloud on a day of summer sunshine. The most unholy of unholiest, the wicked, the witch, and the attendee of the coven of such types: Hogwarts school; England's finest school for such, where she was in the seventh year. (Seventeen years she has said). She was gothic, Henry James in essence, (in order to be apparent) and wore black; the black of mourning for the thousand losses, the black of winter. The darkness of the soul. Her love, when it appeared, consisted entirely of that vacuous and pretentious habit of spending money at Hot Topic, her Bond Street; her flowers that Mrs. Dalloway bought. Today she stood there, wearing that holdover of Victorianism, repressive to women, yet fashionable: the corset, with lace of the vilest manner; her black miniskirt, her pink fishnets; the black combat boots. An original woman, one of her own mind; one who knew of herself and cared for it. Ebony wore her black lipstick; white foundation, whiter than sugar or salt in a pile; black eyeliner; red eye shadow. She walked now, outside Hogwarts. The snow fell; and yet it rained too; the sun was hidden in the depths of her despair, yet she loved it. Heavens knows why she loved it so; life, living, this moment in time. A number of posers stared; their uninhibited fascination apparent clear. Ebony displayed a gesture of infinite disgrace, he pale hands glinting in the half-light.
"Ebony!" the voice broke the air, she looked up, it was Draco Malfoy; her old friend Draco ―the admirable Draco!
'Draco, where have you been? What has happened?' asked Ebony, rather extravagantly, for they knew each other well.
"Not anything of consequence," he said, shyly.
Ebony was about to add to her remarks, [Blast her friends calling her away!], but she regretfully went, feeling not altogether cheated.
Author's note: Does this match the standard set by my previous works? Tell me won't you?