༻༺༻༺༻ Hawa Mahal, India. 1845 8:37am The serenity in the palace was fearful, yet silent, dead silent. More accommodating as the silent whispers of echoing breezes that caught the sudden breathing body off guard, where hanging the palace, you care to take a easy stroll through the breathtaking glances of the Mountie windows of the are. Built in 1799, known as the "Palace of the Winds", it seemed that nothing ever came between the fretful murmurs of the clouds, breathing heavily as the sunrise is scooping them up into a eternal night. Built of red and pink sandstone, the palace is situated on the main thoroughfare in the onerous commotions of the situated land that forebrought it. It forms part of the City Palace, and extends to the Zenana or women's chambers, the chambers of the harem. Offly striking when viewed early in the morning,it is heavenly lit with the golden light of sunrise. With 953 windows formed perfectly to glisten its power of radiance, to show the gods of India is fair whorshipping, this gave thought for the easiest of criminals to forgave it. Not this night, through. ༻༺༻༺༻ It's really short, but I shall give a huge update next time! ._. I'm extremely tired by researching. ~Toxic Your turn Angela!Good luck. ༻༺༻༺༻
TOXIC IT SUCKS I HATE IT HATE IT HATE IT Jk! applause for you, its very well described and strong adjectives
I FEEL AWESOME!!! I finally updated!! ༻༺༻༺༻ 3 hours later… Paris, France. 1845 8:07am "S'il te plaît ce que je peux aller faire du shopping?" Adeline pleaded. "Remember your English!" Marc gently reprimanded the ten year old girl. "Papa!" She protested, her blonde wavy curls bouncing up and down on her back. "Please, I go shopping?" "Yes, you may," the brown haired man laughed in his heavily accented voice. Although he may seem gruff, he was kind hearted on the inside. "Marc!" A perky woman entered the room. "I am going to work. Watch Christophe for me!" She gestured to the shy little boy clutching his mom's skirt. "Of course, my dear," Marc took ahold of the six year old's hand. "Adieu!" Adeline called after the closing wooden door. "Adeline, what did I just say? Practice your English!" The woman adjusted her beret over her straight blonde hair and started trudging down the dirt road. Soon, she came to a looming stone building, bright rays of sun illuminating the lofty roofs and neatly cropped lawns. A handful of customers milled around the entrance. Their chatter was muffled by the immense grandeur of the palace. "Bienvenue sur le Musée du Luxembourg! Je m'appelle Colette et je serai votre guide!" She said cheerfully. "For those of you who only speak English, that means welcome to the Museum of Luxembourg! My name is Colette, and I will be your guide. Now, follow me and I will show you around. " Colette inserted her brass key into the door, ignoring the oohs and aahs of the crowd at the interior. "The Luxembourg palace was commissioned for Maria de Médicis, the mother of King Louis XIII. They lived there in the 17th century," the guide droned on, putting her key back in her pocket. "The palace has also housed Napoleon Bonaparte." Colette sighed inwardly. She hated the dreadfully boring facts. The useless pleasantries when royals came to visit. The migraine inducing timetables. And on top of that, paintings by Eugène Delacroix were being added to the library for decoration. But she needed this job. Colette needed an excuse to be constantly hanging around the Luxembourg palace. "This way, please." Colette directed. Beep, beep, beep. Colette glanced down at her hi-tech communication device. The UDA needed her. "That concludes my part of the tour!" She declared. "Now Cécile will guide you for the rest of the tour." "What are you doing?" Cécile hissed as Colette grabbed her arm and brought her over. "Emergency!" Colette whispered back. She released her arm and strode out of the palace. The UDA had made one for her. Whenever they needed to contact Colette, her device would beep. Her rapid footsteps sounded in the forest. She arrived at a large tree and pried open the gnarled bark. Taking a deep breath, Colette descended down the narrow, spiraling stairs, gently closing the bark doorway behind her. SEE JULIET FOR YOUR ASSIGNMENT. A candle dimly flickered on. Just enough light for Colette to see by. She hurried down the passageway and arrived at a door engraved with the word ᏠᏌᏞᎥΕᎢ on it. Colette quickly entered the office. "Ah, Colette," the elegant voice came floating from the shadows. "We have received word that John Tyler, the 11th president of the USA, is going to be murdered." ༻༺༻༺༻ That good?
I hope this update shall attract more readers! The reason, I have been researching for hours, and hours, etc. Hope you enjoy! ༻༺༻༺༻ Hawa Mahal, India 1845 9:00am 3rd floor, Courtyard. The sun rose perfectly as the cresent of the moon shaded out, and the sun once again lightened the smell of musky oil, draining and sweating from the known architect that constructed and outlined the palace, Lal Chand Usta. His overdrawing beard curled gently as he stroked it, like a tigers mane. "You have done good job."Usta said. He admired the way the place was built on how he visioned it to be. Living on a luxurious confrendation, Usta never had the support to go to greater things. The way he used his charm on the people was inevitable, though he seemed like a charming man, only using his knowledge for the eversaking good. He inspected the women taking care of the flowers, covered in expensive veils and over costing, they seemed fragile, but they were covered in dirt, and their enchanting faces were smoldered with labor, trying to struggle with more agonizing pain. Usta came up to the women and confronted them that their flowers were beautiful, but they nodded gloomy, trying to succeed their work without more coming out of their pretty mouths. "You have a nice face."Usta nodded gently to a woman who's face was covered, not like the rest, whose cheeks were flaming from exhaustion, but hers, were exactly clean, her almond skin glistening in the moonlight. "Answer me!"Usta said in Hindi. But the woman did not reply, but looked up, with her eyes a dangerous way. Then at a matter of time Usta took out his worked hand, and smacked the woman's face to the ground, causing her to knock out of her feet, and settle down on the fall on a brick wall, close to the Foutain of Yamatahi. The woman's eyes were eager and she stood there, helpess, and waiting there to be struck again. But the woman's face was severely beaten, with purple marks. He spat on her face and stormed back into the city, where he would humbly again seek for more attenders to admire his cunningness. The feeble woman struggled to get up, and she did so, her knees falling to ground. One does not know the struggle the pain overshadowed her, the gruesome stage at which each nerve bumped on the sides of her head, where she held there for matter of time, and then finally had the cottage to get up. But even the best choicest ate the mistakes. Guards overviewed her. She was surrounded by gleaming horses, which foresaked her. Then, Ina second, she was grabbed by the waist and was tied, but she stood still. She tried to scream, for she saw no match. The sixteen Buffy men that standed against her, she felt weak and breakable. And yet far to come. That's not what spoke for India. This did. Jaquir Town Square 9:45am The guards stood against her, and she lay there, beaten than ever. She soon wanted the fuel to bring her thirst, she never wanted to feel the air, the grass, the monetary, the grasp of life, her life was over at the beginning. There laying in full view, was her sudden sentence- Death. Sonya Dinijabu A coward and a Traitor. Position- Sex Slave. She had only not answered a question, but now mocked by her family of one thing that came between her. Her family would not see her death, they were shipped somewhere else, not knowing who to trust. Yes, her life was conned into the life of slavery, where her body was molded to the best, gruesome hours with men of no utter recognizable issue, tortured to love again and again...It seemed like she was meant for the death upon her, it's stretching arms to close, wanting to engulf her last breath of murmurs. The city was watching her view, dulled by her appearance, like she didn't exsist. This happened so carelessly often, so it didn't surprise the war of the people to help her, none could be done. The city was ruled horribly, stricken poverty, children and women dated to slavery, and men with gruesome tasks of no return. It seemed like the gates of hell. War had fell upon with the French, and India would not go without a fight. 95% of men was in the war. It seemed like a game of shadows, turns and turns just waiting for the unknown winner, only, death was the every answer. As she was placed in front of the stool that lay the chains men and executed, holding the blade through his mouth, grinning of excitement of his next victim. She stood there, waiting for the final blow, she was played with 34 times the night before, not letting her go to waste. She only felt her eyes dim. And with the raise of blade, the crowd fell into silence as her swollen head lay there, far from her body, and dropping down the steps, like a toy. Her neck was oozing and the men laughed heartily, a wicked smile behind everything. That is India, and something must be done to stop it. India Papers 3:42pm Office of Temra. Ca-Chink! Temra's eyes dozed through the lettered prints, as he murmured silent whispers, smoking on his cigarette as her calmly sighed, his glasses out of place. "You want this?"Temra signed, his voice muttered through his office, covered in papers of his recognition of best detective. Anika stared at him with uneasy eyes,"You want paper, I give you. Where is money?" Temra chuckled, arraigning his trophy if best detective, admiring himself of his painted portrait as if he was the scared god of India. Anika. The quiet woman of her twenties that subsided into an underground hideout, where she would examine stories, and give them to Temra for his credit and recognition. She just wanted the money for her own benefaction. Lonely all by herself in the town of Jaquir, she was convicted of being missing 5 years back, along with the way she acted. She was recognized as quiet, and cautious. Tragically, 2 years of investigation, there seemed to be a misunderstanding, they determined another body was the body of Aniks, where she was buried by her name, with a fake her in her coffin, and the fake years her family gave for the dead corpse that was called hers. She was dead, to everyone. But all these years she has been solving mysteries for the hideous maker of Temra. She thought of him as a brother, but never acted that way.She hated every soul that she saw with her eyes. Her black hair was uncombed, and frilly, while her blue, piercing eyes settled on Temra, as he was opening a case full of currency, while she stated at him cooly, making sure he was counting a correct amount. Temra grinned,"You are doing well Bakasta."He flipped through the money, licking his lip to count more. As he finished his stacking, he shut the cabinet as it made a deadly THOMP! He handed her the money, she took it with her graceful hands and snuck it in her pocket. She headed out through the door, waiting to escape back to her home, where she would lie and read her books of Mystery and Detail. "Anika." When she turned to face him, she had a gun to her head, aiming right to the place she hated most. Her birthmark. The birthmark showed what looked like a necklace of pearls, but it was blurry with her dark skin. Anime smiled of satisfication. ༻༺༻༺༻ Long update! What do you think? I'd like some good critism . Good luck Angela! ༻༺༻༺༻