<div class="floatright">(http://i47.photobucket.com/albums/f162/shadowjewel/Character%20pics/Andrewmini.jpg)</div>As Andrew sat upon the box in the store room, he scribbled furiously on pad of paper balanced on his knee, twisted at an odd angle to make the most of the oil lamp next to him;<br/><em><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br/>~Her angel curled hair <del>fluttered </del>swayed in the morning breeze, tresses like silk that gleamed as <del>polished</del> spun gold  in the dawns light. Her face, pale as <del>snow</del> <del>lilies</del> <del>daisies</del> milk and smooth as marble, upon which her rose tinted lips sighed softly. ~</span></em><br/><br/>Andrew sighed, thinking about the faces he had seen over dinner, the convocations that had happened around him. He had almost spoken up on three occasions but found that as soon as he had managed to compose his words to a pattern that pleased him, then the convocations had moved on and the moment was lost. His mind was already buzzing with new ideas, his muse pulling him to his work but he was expected to talk with the men in the Library... But he despised it when people gathered in Libraries, their loud barking words drowning out the whispers of the books, which they would barely even look upon as they spoke of money and lewd explorations into savage lands. With his hand itching to put pencil to paper and with mounting distaste filling him, Andrew had, in a moment of daring, slipped away after dinner. Not knowing the layout of the house he had ducked into the nearest convenient door - a storage room. He almost had second thoughts but the deed was already done and to try to get back to the library now would mean being noticed. So, here he sat, a writer answering his calling, even though he was surrounded by dust, brooms and old curtains.<br/><br/>Andrew hummed softly to himself, the pencil hovering over the paper, awaiting the next command of his muse. Of course, the fair lady must have herself a handsome man...<br/><br/>Smiling, Andrew set the pencil to motion again;<br/><em><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br/>~From behind the fair lady, strode a man, his steps confident though he made little sound upon the diamond speckled grass. Tall he was, like a hero reborn from legend; his features rugged and strong. The lady tilted her head, but made no other indication of having heard him. She sighed again, looking out upon the wonder of a new sun rising over a <del>glimmering</del> <del>gleaming</del> <del>regal </del>sapphire ocean. As the man stopped beside her, his deep <del>brown </del>mahogany eyes were not on the spectacular panorama lade before him but looked only towards her, this lady fair, with quiet wonder. No sea, no sunrise, could match her for beauty.~</span></em><br/><br/>Andrew frowned down at his work. It was... missing something. He scanned the words, once, twice, three time and his frown only grew. There was something off, it just didn’t feel right! Frustrated, Andrew tore the page from the book, scrunched it up into a ball and threw it aside in disgust. The wretched thing bounced between an unused chair, pilled high with boxes, and some sort of pedestal topped with a vase of delicate silk flowers.<br/><br/>Andrew glared after the disappearing paper angrily before his shoulders slumped and he slid to the floor to crawl after it; it would not do for someone to find it, it was unfinished and frankly, not fit for viewing.<br/><br/>Reaching between the chair and pedestal, the dust down there assaulted his nose and eyes. Blinking rapidly, he stretched forward, reaching fingers teasing the paper ball back into his hand. As he moved to sit back up, his nose tickled and scrunched, before a violent sneeze overcame him, throwing his head forward and onto the pedestal with a loud thud. Horrified, he watched through blurry eyes as beyond the wobbling pedestal the vase smashed to the floor by the door, shattering and sending red and pink flowers everywhere...