A steampunk Novel

A story about a girl living in the world of steampunk. I honestly don't know how else to describe it...

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1. Chapter 1

 

 

Death. An event that we all are so fascinated in, yet we fear it incredibly. Why? Something you would ask yourself along with thousands of other completely unimportant questions that tangle our thoughts each day. A constant battle between morality and spirit. “Funerals are for the living” as my uncle always said. Funny enough, he’s the one laying in a coffin at this very moment.

*

I walk down the street of Pevington, a rather average looking place crowded with men and women of all ages and classes, from the tall and handsome Lord to the occasional dirty peasant. I pass by almost unnoticed, since people are too busy scurrying along their own lives to pay attention to a 15 year old orphan, hands in her coat pockets making a turn towards Abbey Close and disappearing behind the doors of a small building that has been known as “abandoned” since Oliver Lanigam’s sister drowned in the lake of District, three years ago.

 I look around the dusty room as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Not much has changed since my last visit, well, maybe just the amount of tea cups scattered around the room and a few more layers of dust covering the bookshelves. I walk around the machinery laid out on top of the large table that is placed in the center of the room. A bronze sculpture of wires, tubes and gears screwed and glued onto a very large cylinder. I’m not sure what it is, but sweet lord, it is beautiful. “So you’ve met Teresa?” I turn around to find a young man dressed in a trench coat and large boots standing in the doorway on the other side of the room.

“You’ve scared me to death, Oliver!”

 He smiles and walks closer towards the table at which I’m standing. “I started making her last week. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“She’s beautiful,” I say, my tone full of wonder and interest. He looks so astonished, almost as if he’s forgotten I’m there. The look in his eyes tells me he’s in love with his own work. A masterpiece. He acts innocent only to hide the insanity within him. I take a step towards the light coming through the small window almost hidden behind yet another bookshelf. “So why did you decide to come here?” Oliver says, not taking his eyes off the machine.

“No reason. What’s wrong with visiting an old friend?”

He gives me a soft look, almost as if he feels sorry “Friends? I can’t remember the last time you stayed round for tea. Now tell me, what is the problem?”

“I tell you, there is no problem.”

Giving me a stern look, he turns towards the kitchen. “I am making tea.”

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