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Want to try to make one or see what other people came up with?! Every story will participate in The Doll Palace ratings. Good stories will be awarded with Dollpoints.
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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Peg
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 | [story] Put Your Sneakers On |
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 5 with 4 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-02-22 07:22:06 |
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Wrong section. Remind me later, okay? So, I need your help. I want some characters, who I can manipulate and twist into one of my evil fantasies. This, I hope, is one of those I can finish. At the end, is something I've been working on, writing and rewriting for the past few days. So, at least, its not TOO out of place.
xxxx
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Personality:
Appearance:
Other:
xxxx
“I shouldn't love you, but I want to.”
It had taken hours to move the large pieces of furniture from the room. Everything that hadn't been bolted down had been taken, moved to the basement of the very building. It was one of those small rooms, the kind that could be fashioned to suit any purpose. For the past couple of years, it had served as the school counsellor's office. A small room, cramped and professional looking, with a small bathroom and an attatched waiting room. It was, almost, unfriendly in it's appearance. With it's plain white walls and colourless furniture.
The girl who stood in the waiting-room looked around with a frown. She was a pretty girl, with her bright blue eyes thickly outlined with black, the lids coloured just as dark, the long lashes curled and packed with mascara. Her lips, painted brilliant, sparkling red that seemed to dance beneath the faint light bannering through the closed window. The long mahogany locks that had previously fallen in a blanket of silk to kiss her waist had been pulled back, a couple of stray strands that had been missed had been tucked behind her right ear.
She had tucked a paintbrush behind her left ear, a pencil nestled through the centre of her ponytail. There was a desk in the centre of the room, on and around it were different coloured paints and a bucket of water. There were also a couple of plastic plates for mixing. She was inadequately dressed, considering the fact she was more than likely to leave flecked with paint. A pair of loose-fitting black pants hung from her hips, a flame-red shirt clinging tightly to her upper half with a loose, button-down black shirt, short sleeved with the collar neatly folded.
Lilieane Hume had been shocked when she had received the call. She had moved out of home no sooner than the holidays had started, renting a small apartment from her best friend's father. It had been obvious her mother's condition was getting no better, the lapses in memory were often hard enough when she had the distraction of school, but without it, it had been unbearable. Her father's drinking was finally out of control, too. So it had been a shock when the call had come through, considering her father didn't answer the phone, and the school didn't know her number. It was more of a shock, though, to hear one of her teacher's voices. One she didn't know very well, at that.
She turned as the door opened, her eyes falling on the woman standing in the doorway. |
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