Monday 18 January 2016

My Aristotelian tragic Hero. Arabella - by Alexandra Clifford.

Arabella slouched her posture as she stood before the older man. The braids in her hair were a little too neat, and her wide eyes darted at the chaos around her. Quivering in the coldness, puffs of white air left her defined lips. The man watched as her whole body jumped at the sound of a horse and carriage trotting past, splashing icy water onto the cobbled pavement. “You’re not from around here are you, Miss?” Arabella’s chin chattered as she clenched her dark cape at her chest. She looked at the man’s warm eyes. Although he was bald, the stubble on his face was beginning to turn grey. She felt as though she could trust him. But that was in Arabella’s nature. She wanted to see the good in everyone. “No.” Arabella spoke softly. “I’m from…” She glanced at the moon in the sky, casting light upon the castle in the hilltop. Home. “Just outside of town. I’m looking for a friend.”


A fresh layer of snow began to set upon the last. The man nodded and took off his coat, placing it around her small frame. “Let’s get you a nice glass of Ale. Warm those bones up of yours.” Arabella attempted a smile and nodded, following the man in his tracks. “What’s your name anyway, Miss?” Arabella fluttered her eyelashes pondering over a name. There was only one Arabella in this town, the Princess. “Liz.” The man looked over his shoulder, watching the girl muttering to herself. He smiled. The man knew Liz wasn’t her real name, but decided not to question her on it, “I’m Eddie.” 


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