The Diamond in the Mist Chapter 1 It was chilly, Tuesday in the middle of October. 1842. A tall brisk young lady, walked up the steps of Greenwiche and Lovesmithe lawyers. This girl was a young girl of about 18. With dark brown locks, sweetly tied into a small bun, dark hazel eyes and dark olive skin. And yet what made her different from most other girls of her #lifetime was that, she and she alone, had a secret. A dark, dark secret. That yet she did not know. Inside the lawyers office, lay a small, crooked old man. Wrinkled like a prune. Sour like a lemon. He snapped his head around. Any quicker it wails have snapped clearly off his neck. This mans name was Waymoth Sweed. Yet he did not look like the vegetable of such. But a early, rather deformed one. "What ya wan'?" he said, squinting his watery blue eyes at the lady. "Please sir, I'm Miss Greenwiche, Aimee.. I'm here to see" she whispered. "Ol' greenies daughter? Eh?" he said. "Yes that's right." Aimee said, adjusting her handbag on her right arm. As her left was slightly weak at a presence she did not know of. "What's ya business 'ere miss?" Mr. Sweed said, placing his newspaper by the fire not knowing it's corners would soon be alight. "I'm here to see Mr. Lovesmithe. My late fathers partner." she said, standing up taller mentioning her father. "Oh sad case bout 'im miss, sorry bout that" he said, his rusty old jaw swaying from side to side, it's joints needing oiling. "Thank you. Now may I please see Mr. Lovesmithe." Aimee said. "Who?" Mr Sweed replied. "Mr. Lovesmithe." "Who? I can't 'ardly ear ya miss. I'm going blind in that ear" he cackled, laughing. He was a clearly an educated man. Aimee sighed. Looking around she looked for a sign stating Mr. Locksmithe. "Sweedy, who's this dasher then?" Another man said, about Aimee's age. A brown haired boy, brown eyed light skinned. He trundled into the room. His scrawny brown tux. Tattered at the edges. Aimee cleared her throat. "I am here to see Mr. Locksmithe." She stated. "Oh. He ain't 'ere at the moment, but shall I leave a message?" he said. "No. I need to speak with him in person" she stated again. "Um. You can speak to me. I know all there is to know about ol' smithey!" he chortled. "You know as much as a commener knows about politics" Mr. Sweed said, suddenly reappearing into the scene. "Shut your trap sweed." The younger man said. "I didn't catch your name?" Aimee said. "Names Jim, Jim Farmer. Porter" he said, smirking. "I'm Aimee Greenwiche." she said, blinking a few times to make sure she was still stable. "Greenies daughter? Terrible shame ain't it? Sorry miss." Jim said. "It's fine." Aimee murmed. "May we speak now?"

The Whisperer Chapter 1- Awakening I opened my eyes to an eerie darkness. The air was thick and heavy. My eyes were blurry. As fore I did not have my thick lensed glasses that I have worn since I was 11. I tried to sit up but my head hurt, a piercing pain yet not a headache. I felt my head and found a sticky residue. Blood. I was on my back and I was stuck in an darkness that I didn't know what was lurking inside it. I tipped my head up a little bit. Squinting into a faded double light. I didn't know what it was but I sure was gonna make my way for it. I rolled onto stomach and managed to turn my self round. Snap. "Well at least I found my glasses" I muttered to myself "Well Done...." I scooted myself forward along the cold, hard ground yet I didn't know how I was gonna get through and not miss a thing without my glasses. I picked up the two parts of my glasses and held them tightly in my hand. I pulled myself along and shook myself a little. I felt something on my back feeling on my back I found I had my backpack on. If so. It had my phone in it. Therefore I could call for help. Therefore I could actually get out of this mess. As I pulled myself along, I thought to myself a few vital questions that needed to be answered. How did I get here? If I'm in a t-shirt and leggings with a pair of shabby sneakers on my feet. How am I in a cave? I pulled myself along some more gripping onto the ground with my fingers. I was sure enough pulling myself along good because I was moving and I still had my glasses (somewhat) in my hands. At this point something had got into my eye and was hastily resting upon its white and brown surface. I needed to get it out. Because as you may of guessed it was extremely annoying me. I flicked my hand up and wiped my eye flicking the piece of what ever it was out of my eyeball. In this moment of weirdness in touching my eyeball I had dropped my glasses. I fumbled around for them. I touched something. It was bumpy, rough and corse. It didn't feel real. It didn't feel human. I rubbed it. I felt long spindly things that felt like wires. I reached my hand away as I felt these wires in close around my own tanned outstretched hand. Believe me whatever I touched wasn't my glasses....