Every day, I offer you a glimpse into a fairy tale world yet draped in a modern wrap, delivered to you with a crisp, crackling bow, in the form of one single paragraph. Enjoy.
In a small, close-knit town, there lived a young girl who wished for something. Something new, something different. Every day she wished and wished. Would she find a new job? Would the right love come along? Would she ever really know what pure happiness could be for since she could remember, it was only a life of this – safe, ordinary and pleasant. Not terrible, not terrific. “It just is,” she would say . And it was just that. She had longed for a tempestuous romance and to feel sheer exuberance. But never had she known true passion or true pain.
This young woman was called Chloe and though she liked her name, she too was never passionate about this either. “If only I had a name that triggered a stir in my heart like Penelope, Camelia or Guinevere,” she bemoaned to herself. “But instead I must settle for this name – neither horrid nor heart-pounding. It just is.”
And the village that surrounded her charming yet cramped bungalow left her just as still and unaffected. The winding streets would carry travelers into CarthMoore and what she saw as a chilly, empty, lonely place. There were shops to visit but nothing interesting to buy, restaurants to stop for a bit but nothing exotic to order and people in the buildings, in their cars and along the streets, just wandering and looking as empty as she felt each time she strolled into town. Would she ever know the sensation of sweet anticipation of a spring saunter into the village? Would she ever care enough to model her best outfit hanging in the closet or make an effort to strike up a conversation with a new person at a sidewalk café? Probably not, she thought to herself. Because it is after all only a village, and everyone knows that a village cannot change. It just is.
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