Wherever we went the boys of the school stared. It is a all male boarding school, they probably have not seen a girl for several months. I would have enjoyed the tour if it were not for the students roaming about and Edgar constantly making poorly veiled insults. I do not know if that boy hates everyone or just me in particular. The school was beautiful and Augustus was eager to show me it. But the entire time I was there I felt like I was wasting time. This time I could be spending researching how to get home. Sir Logger is helpful but he doesn't know what it is exactly I am looking for. That feeling of dizziness and that feeling of everything slipping. Like this world was wet soap that I just couldn't hold onto. I do not think I could ever truly put it into words. That brief moment of...panic? Just before everything went black. It wasn't only panic though. It was similar to the feeling I had at the lake an hour away from home I had a few years ago. I was walking in the shallow water trying to go as far out as I could before I couldn't touch the ground anymore. But while I wasn't paying attention, I fell off a steep drop off. I unexpectedly plunged downwards. The water slipping over my head, my heart racing, my feet flailing trying to find anything to stable myself. I don't remember how I got out but the feeling has always stuck with me. That is almost what I felt like that night. Almost, but not quite.
If I can't describe even to myself what it felt like, then how could some author from this time write it down in a book? How do I know that someone has even experienced this before? Maybe I am the one and only time traveler. Maybe... Maybe I have never actually traveled through time. Perhaps this is only a coping mechanism to deal with whatever happened to me. Perhaps my old life was a fantasy. Maybe Molly was just what I needed at that time. Maybe Monica was never real. I mean what are the chances that I would travel back in time to the exact place and point in time where a woman who looked just like me would go missing.I have seen paintings of Elizabeth. I do not look similar. We look exactly the same. What are the chances of that. Somehow I think it is very slim. I have always told myself "Well you have to be from the future. What about your phone?" But if I imagined an entire other universe wouldn't it also make sense that I would have the ability to hallucinate my phone. Maybe it is just a bar of soap that I have convinced myself is a phone. Maybe Sir Logger and I haven't found any information because there is nothing to find. I never lived in a city. I never had a sister. I never had a dog. Or a father that left the family. My name never was Alice.
My name is Elizabeth Hemerton. I am the daughter of the Duke and Duchess Hemerton. I am married to Lord Abraham Warlest. I live in Portsmouth England. I was born in 1739. This is my life. I am not Alice Martin. I was not born in 1999. I am not from Winnipeg Canada. My mother is not a nurse. I do not have a younger sister. This is my life an I have to accept it.
Tomorrow my mother has requested (more like forced) that I attend the theater tomorrow. She said that I need to be "more cultured." So what I take from that is that I need to act more hoity-toity. She has packed a special theatre dress for the event. I wish Abe was here so I would not have to suffer alone. I wonder where he is now. I have not heard any news of how the war is progressing. Whenever I ask the response is always "You need not worry your pretty head about that." Very frustrating. I hope he is alright. Knowing him he has either already become a general or has infuriated his superiors. Probably both. I miss him.
"What are you smiling about?"
My thoughts snap back to the world around me. "Sorry, what?"
"You were smiling. I wanted to know why." Augustus asked.
"She probably saw a butterfly and it intrigued her small mind," Edgar said.
"Actually I was thinking about my husband, Lord Abraham Warlest. Remind me what your title is again, Eddie?" I said. I know I shouldn't be stooping to the level of a 12 year old, but this was a pompous 12 year old.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Dear Past, You Suck!
Ficción históricaAlice is lost. Lost in time and not figuratively. Alice is thrown unexpectedly into 1756, armed with nothing but her phone and her wit. When an aristocratic family mistakes her for their missing daughter, she has to decide to tell them her true iden...