Emily.

Emily's Pov.


He stormed up to us and dragged us into the car. It was eerily silent all the way home and I could see beads of sweat glistening on her brow.
I didn't so much as blink, I would be gone soon anyway.
We were marched inside to the living room, where piles of Christmas cake lay untouched on several plates. Tissues were strewn around the floor leading to the plush sofa where Celeste's large, bubbly mother sat bawling for all she was worth and blowing her nose loudly on a huge hanky. Celeste's father retreated to a nearby armchair, and sat hunched over with his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Celeste looked very nervous, but not scared.
"I'm sorry." she murmured softly.
There was still not a reply from either of them, just the rhythmic ticking of the small round clock on the overcrowded mantelpiece, Celeste's mother's low sobbing, and her father's heavy breathing, who was now looking very much like a large intimidating bull.
"Go." panted her father. "Go now before I do something I regret."
I made as if to go to the spare room, but instead went into Celeste's. We stared at each other for a while, both of us still sopping wet and shivering from the cold. Eventually I couldn't help it, I broke into a grin at the sight of Celeste standing there, looking very much like a candle, her flame red hair sticking up at all sorts of odd angles and her white dress patterned with mud and an assortment of leaves.
But there was a light shining in her eyes I'd never seen before, and her smile mirrored mine.
"Do I need to say I'm sorry?" I asked tentatively.
Celeste snorted. "I'm not." she rolled her eyes.
****
I was "asleep" when Celeste's father came, and there is no other word for it, trundling up the stairwell. He practically banged down the door in an attempt to get into Celeste's room. She sleepily stumbled out, rubbing her eyes and yawning.
"Dad it's nearly two a.m, can you please give out to me in the morning?"
He ignored her.
"Who was he?" he demanded, spitting and raging, his face turning a curious shade of purple, "and what has she-" he pointed at me, (I was standing outside the room at the time) "-got to do with it? And do you know what you have done to your mother? AT CHRISTMAS FOR CHRISTS' SAKE!?! You had better say your prayers, Celeste Anne Young, because I am not finished with you yet, you can be sure of that."

****
The next morning Celeste was awoken by her father at half six. I got up with her, after twiddling my thumbs for a good seven and a half hours. It turned out that this was going to happen until she went back to school, a week from now.

After a morning of sweeping, mopping and removing all signs of Christmas, Celeste and I were permitted to get dressed and have some breakfast, much to Celeste's relief. Suddenly, Celeste groaned.
"Ugh. I still have to do that stupid project." she grumbled, "And Mum's taken my laptop. And any Christmas presents I may have acquired. Ugh, I hate her. And him."
"Mmm. That's really horrible." I shrugged.
She looked at me strangely, and muttered something I couldn't quite catch before retreating to her bowl of soggy shapes she called cheerios.

Neither of Celeste's parents would make so much as eye contact now, and you could hear the mutterings of "that boy they were with" from her parents room at night. Only on the day before Celeste started for school again was she even allowed to re-start her history project, and use her laptop in doing so.
Celeste approached me beforehand.
"Um, Emily..." she began uncertainly, pointedly looking at anything but me, "Emily would you be able to tell me what really happened? So I could use that instead?" she trailed off at the end.
"Er, sure. But um, what's really bothering you?" I searched her face, which was creased with worry and ultimately, stress. She wrung her hands.
"Emily what happened to Jared? Where is he? And what's going to happen to you when I go back to school?" she whispered. She was concerned, worried even, about her dead brother, and when she was going to see him again, which I knew she wouldn't. And I was going to have to break the news. Great.
"He's gone. Moved on. Died, whatever you want to call it." I bit my lip. Celeste went as pale as me and flopped down on the floor.
"W-what?" she whimpered, "He's just, he's just... gone?" I nodded solemnly, "B-but I, I had so many questions, I- I wanted to, I-" and with that she broke down.
I didn't have the heart then to tell her that I too, if all went going to plan, would be following after him soon

*****please feedback this might be the last time I post.

 

I didn't really feel that I should for a few reasons.

1. Lack of readers. Any that did take the time; like you and elanme, and a few others; thank you so much. Everyone else I had to beg. Or blackmail. 

2. If I finished it someone might take it or publish it or whatever. It's not -obviously- worth that but some people are desperate and well, ugh idk.

3. I am currently editing it on my laptop; there were just too many mistakes and the description was crap. Now the whole prologue is different and stuff. It was pointless writing it when all I wanted was to scrap the whole thing and start again.

4. I'm not as active as I was; and I certainly won't be soon as I'm starting secondary in a few weeks, and won't have the time. (in america it's like, middle school or something.)

5. My main character is two years older than me, and I am starting to wonder if I should change it to be more of well, advanced. I have 3 younger siblings and was always conscious of them noting something I didn't want them to, or discovering a new word .

I may continue in a while, but you can be guaranteed it will be a bit of a longer while then normal...

 

wtf?
Arimay I had this idea long before I joined kaw.
I didnt read your story until a month ago.
They dont travel through a mirror.

It's nothing like your story.

So get your facts right before you accuse people of things u imagine.

 

I have ideas for book 2, Avenging Emily.
But it's From the perspective of a girl called Iris.