Young Writers Society

I always thought dying would be easy. But this isn’t easy. This is agony,
agony,
agony,
agony,
agony.
My insides are ripping themselves to shreds, and the sheets are covered with sweat.
I always imagined bloodstains, and an easy death…
I don’t think I want to die anymore. But I know I must, and soon.
The murderer leaves the room, the door swings close softly, and their victim gasps, gulping their last, precious breaths. There is no drop of blood on the sheets or the flagstones. Their eyelids flutter and scrunch themselves up as they try to shut out the pain. Then for a moment all is still.
Their hands grasp for the knife in their side and pull with all their remaining strength.
Dying is the hardest thing to do. But death… death will be easy…
Poppy blossom stains begin to open on the clean white linen bed.
*
*
*
“I can’t believe he slept with her!” Jen’s pretty black-brown eyes are filled with tears. “I can’t believe it.”
She lets out a tiny, miserable sob. Bill sits with her and squeezes her hand, anger raging within him.
*
His earliest memory is the two of them in the Cunning kitchen that smells of pies and cheese bread. Jennifer’s cook was a dark skinned woman with permanent dimples who hummed as she worked, and had just left a Victoria Sponge sitting on the side of the table that neither of them were big enough to reach.
His new friend, with her brown hair already set in spiral curls, persuaded him to help her. “Come on, William,” she said. “We’ll share it.”
The tablecloth was large print gingham, and when he finally agreed, she took hold of it, each chubby hand grasping tightly to a red square. Bill took the cloth next to her, his own hands looking dirty and brown against the white cloth.
“One, two, three,” Jennifer commanded, and they tugged, then held their hands out to grab the cake as it came down.
They missed by a quarter of an inch and it landed upside-down on his face.
They laughed and laughed until Bill’s mother came in to tell him it was time to leave, only to see the pair rolling around and staining their clothes in Victoria sponge.
*
The snow swirled around them and laughter hung in the air once more. Jen was wearing the present Bill gave her for her fifteenth birthday that morning, a soft blue cloak, over her dress. They were both scraping snow up in gloved hands and laughing whether their shots missed or hit their mark.
Bill stopped for a moment and looked at her, feeling overwhelming emotion rise in his throat as he watched her methodically form her next snowball. After a moment she turned and frowned.
“Come on, Bill. Why’ve you stopped?”
He blurted it out by accident. “I love you, Jen.”
She cocked her head, the perfectly formed brown curls bending with her. “Well of course you do. You and me, we’re like brother and sister.”
“No.” Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed her hands. “I’m in love with you.”
Jen paused for a moment, then tweaked his cap. “Silly Billy,” she said cheerfully. “Of course you’re not.”
*
That was three years ago, and they haven’t mentioned it since. Now they are sitting at the foot of her bed mourning the unfaithfulness of another. He is suddenly filled with rage, with a desire to do something. The simple truth is, he would rather kill himself than have his beloved Jen remain unhappy. She may not love him, but he will love her -her scent, her laugh, her pianist fingers, her nervous smile- forever. But what? What can he do?
“Neither can I,” he murmurs, holding Jen’s hand, and looking at the beginnings of grey dawn outside. “Neither can I.”
But what?
*
*
*

The northern English sky is velvety blue and covered with thick January clouds, and the pick of London society are curled up under eiderdown quilts in the castle that will hold the first great wedding reception of the new year. Jen curls her toes appreciatively as she walks, feeling the cold stone of the corridor beneath her bare feet. The wedding night may be in two days' time, but she cannot wait, and has carefully sneaked past her maiden aunt playing chaperone to pay Henry a visit.
*
The White's ballroom was warm, and scented with spiced wine and a mixture of women's perfume. Jen, who lived in London anyway and so didn’t need to come in for this out-of-season event, was chatting with faithful Bill. He was unaware of the dark speck of dirt on his crooked nose that Jen was reluctant to point out, preferring to see lady's reactions when they saw it and giggling into her hand. As Bill gestured greatly to prove his point, Jen watched Henry Golden, the most wanted boy in all of London. He approached the two White girls, Elsa and Elena first, as was the custom. Elsa, a society girl who Jen thought of as her only competition in any form, looked pretty, but demure with her blonde hair swept over her ears. He dropped her hand and began making his way through bustles and headdresses, and she saw him share a few words with his father, and glancing in Jen’s direction, before making straight for her.
“Miss Cunning, tonight you look like Aphrodite,” he said, pressing her hand to his lips. “Will you dance?”
Like every other girl, she was already a little bit in love with him, his unique turquoise eyes and the golden hair that went with the name. She nodded and stood with him.
The whole of London society looked on and she saw her mother surrounded by clucking matchmakers, nodding with enthusiasm.
She saw, but she didn't note. All she could concentrate on was Henry's hand on her back and the way his eyes seemed to pierce through hers and straight into her soul.
*
The White Family had once again decorated their ballroom with wax fruit and wheat, piled up beautifully around the pillars that were draped with red and gold ribbons, even more magnificent than the year before. Jen stood by one of these, Bill waiting as always by her side, and watched Henry as he came in, outshining every other man there with his pearly smile. Once again, he first greeted Elsa -who was running the show this year for the first time. Jen had to grudgingly admit that she looked lovely, wearing pale gold brocade over sewn with gold chiffon and sequins, her blonde hair curled down her back. Jen gave a little scowl before letting her face smooth back into its normal carefree lovely self. Jen, along with every other debutante in the room including Elsa's little sister Elena was wearing that season's colour, crimson.
She lost sight of Henry in the crowd and whispered to Bill, "Where's he gone?"
But Bill, who always seemed distant where Henry was concerned, only shrugged.
Half an hour later, he appeared as he should have, and, kissing her hand and making his apologies, led her to a quiet corner.
"I can only think of you, Jennifer," he said. "Please, won't you marry me?" Then, furtively looking around, he produced an unboxed ring from his breast pocket.
"Oh yes!" she exclaimed and he slipped it onto her finger.
As they left their hiding spot to go and tell the news, she caught sight of her reflection and admired the beautiful girl who stared back, the girl who was promised to Henry Golden.
*
Henry's room is in the Western Wing, and she gently taps the wooden door. There is no reply, and she assumes he must be asleep. She opens the door and slips into the room in her nightdress.
There are two figures beneath the white sheets, the smaller slightly rolled away from the larger, but it is clear by Henry's pose -one arm thrown out and on his side facing his companion- that Jen is not the only one he can think of now. She looks once at the slim figure, slimmer than herself, and in the dark can see the slight glow coming off of all too familiar pale blonde hair.
*
*
*
"Elsa..." The name echoes off the ancient walls and its owner draws a breath, pressing herself into the doorway, hoping not to be noticed.
It doesn't work, though, for suddenly he is there, he is everywhere, and the scent of his sweat and hunger is almost as overpowering as his arms, his body pressed against hers. She protests, but remembers her mother's words: Should it ever happen to you, Elsie, God forbid, let it. You may lose your life otherwise.
She does.
*
William Upton was, Mrs. White always said, a nice boy, and that thought came to Elsa as she sat with him one summer's afternoon in the Cunning's garden. Bill was certainly not handsome, with a big crooked nose and watery blue eyes, but he was nice, and the Whites were brought up to believe that that was the one most important quality a person could have.
Jennifer Cunning snatched the book off her servant and immediately began to flick through the pages. At fourteen, Elsa thought she was already a beauty, with big brown eyes and perfectly set curls. It was a pity that she was not, as Mrs. White remarked sadly, a nice girl. She was vain, and treated poor Bill, who had already convinced himself that he was in love with her, awfully. Elsa smiled sadly as Jen went through the pages at a terrific rate. Bill watched her with rapture, and Elsa felt another pang of pity. It was sad that he couldn't see past his infatuation.
"Here it is," Jen said, dropping the book in Elsa's white linen skirt. "You see? He is a poet. There's his poem. And he said that he couldn’t find words to describe me. So there.” She smiled daintily at them, and Bill grinned back.
“That’s because there aren’t,” he assured.
Jen looked at Elsa, her mask faltering for a second. “Has a poet ever complimented you?” she said, with that hint of challenge that was familiar in her voice.
“No,” Elsa said happily, taking a sip of her lemonade sitting on the little white wrought-iron table. “No, never.”
Jen lifted her head in triumph, and Elsa let her. If it made Jen happy to be superior in such a silly affair, then so be it.
*
Elena passed her elder sister a glass of white wine and lemonade and the two sipped the drink, pleasantly fizzy and refreshing, turned to survey the bright, modern-built ballroom. The Golden family’s summer dance was as much a tradition as the White’s autumn ball and this year was the opener to the season.
“Oh, look at Miss Cunning, Elsie, she does look pretty,” said Elena, pointing to where Jen, dressed in green, was greeting the host. Elsa nodded but her stomach lurched at the sight of Henry Golden’s face. She could not help it. Elena, who was fifteen and had just come out, sensed the change in her sister’s manner with astonishing perception. “Elsie? Are you alright?”
Elsa nodded tightly and handed the drink back, feeling that perhaps the lurch might be more than simply nerves. She began to make her way through the brightly-coloured crowd to the cloakroom.
“I do believe you are avoiding me,” said a silky smooth voice as she hurried down the empty corridor.
She faltered for only a moment, and his breath was on her neck. “You look very beautiful tonight, Miss White,” he whispered, and she felt shivers up her spine. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn and meet his lips with hers, but her sense of propriety stopped her.
“And you sir,” she replied. “are courting Miss Cunning.”
She began to make her bid for freedom, but Henry caught her skirts. “Not even one kiss, Elsa?”
She shook her head. “Please, Henry.” She turned and met his piercing eyes and fought to concentrate. “Do not make me do this. If you stop courting Jen then we may begin, but until you decide to break off the courtship that the whole of London is talking about…”
He looked down. “My parents want me to marry her.”
“Then do, or tell them not. But I won’t go behind her back, Henry, I won’t.”
He sighed and rubbed his neck, and she walked away.
*
The night, though joyful for many, was already causing Elsa stress. She had never suspected that the running of the ball could be so much work, and only thought more highly of her mother for doing it all those years before she delegated the task to her eldest daughter.
She was coming back from a visit to the kitchens, her mind flurried with thoughts of canapés and of Henry’s latest greeting, when her stomach gave a lurch at the sight of a familiar pair of eyes staring out of the darkness.
Before she could walk past he grabbed her waist. “Please, Elsa,” he said, with an urgency she had never heard before. “You fill my dreams, my mind…” he sounded close on the point of tears. “Why won’t you be mine?” She attempted to break away, although she knew he was sincere, there was no trace of drink on his hot breath. “I’ll make it honest, make it proper.” He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a glittering ring. Elsa’s eyes widened, and her heart swelled for him even more. He was being truthful.
“Marry me,” he said, pleading. “And run away. To the North, or Ireland, just out of London, Elsa. Please.”
Elsa looked into his turquoise eyes, then remembered the biting stares of Jen, and as tenderly as she could pried his hands from the small of her back.
“I’m sorry, Henry,” she said softly. “But it cannot be. You’re courting Jen, and I won’t betray her, and I won’t leave my family.”
“Never?” he asked, his eyes losing their glint.
She did not answer with words, only gave him her most sympathetic look and reached down to squeeze his big hand with her white fingers, before walking away.
The next time she saw him, he was beside Jennifer Cunning who looked delighted with the jewel on her hand and the boy who held it, looking distracted.
*
He is clearly drunk. Even now, above the smell of sin that clings to the white sheets, she can smell the drink. The January night is cold and though Henry is warm, Elsa has rolled away from him. She shivers, and not only with cold. She knows that deep down she loved him as he loved her, his careful way of treating her, his intensity, the way his touch used to send shivers up her spine, at the same time that she disliked how he misused his charm and good looks and flirted with every girl in London. But she had never thought him capable of such cruelty. She is bruised black and blue, and though it is vain, is now worrying that she will not be able to wear her hair up the next day because of the marks staining the back of her neck.
The door creaks as it opens and Elsa starts. The profile is small and straight, but it is clear who she is. As Elsa struggles up to appeal to her, Jen turns on her heel and runs.
*
*
*
Bill knows what it is he has to do.
The wedding will be tomorrow, and it will be perfect for his beautiful Jen.
He glances at the note that he took from the parlour maid. It simply reads, in familiar curving writing:
Yes. As the sun sets.
The thought that they plan another rendezvous turns his stomach.
He has it all planned out as the sun sets.
*
As is tradition, Jen has spent the day before the wedding out of Henry’s sight. But that doesn’t mean they should spend the night apart too.
Only now her plans are not so lovely as they were last night.
She knows what she has to do.
*
My darling Elsa,
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t apologise enough. I can’t believe I’d… I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I can’t…
I promise I will make an honest woman of you. I won’t let you deny me, not now, Elsa, not now I’ve ruined you… please, please, I promise you I will never hurt you again. Please, I’m beside myself.
Come to me, my room, at sunset, and I promise I will do all in my power to cure this, to undo this awful thing I’ve done, to try and wash away the stains.
Forever yours, Elsa, and with all my love and the entirety of my being,
Henry.

Elsa writes her reply with shaking hands and sends it with the parlour maid. Her parents and sister have been worrying about her all day, and now, she knows what she must do if she is to put this right.
*
Bill waits in the corridor of the Western Wing, watching the shadows methodically, and strangely calm despite the rage until the one that he has been waiting for appears.
He jumps.
*
Jen picks up her candle and drawing a last breath, makes her way to Henry’s room, her anger gathering as if for a storm.
*
Elsa walks barefoot and in the nightgown she spent the day in to Henry’s room. Her heart is ripping in two, between her family and him, who she thinks she may be in love with, and who has promised, in spoken and written word, to make this all better.
*
She barely screams as he draws her into the room beside her destination, resigned somehow. He frowns in disgust.
Jen would have shown more spirit.
*
When she opens the door, it’s clear that he was expecting someone, but probably not her. Probably perfect little blonde Elsa, a good girl who reads her Bible.
“Jen,” he says, jumping off the bed and wiping down his shirt. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Shouldn’t I?” she asks with venom, and moves towards him, taking the knife she stole from the kitchens from behind her back.
*
Bill thrusts the knife towards Elsa, but before he can reach her, she blocks it with a little silver handled dagger. He stares. “You were going to kill him?” he says hoarsely.
Elsa shakes her head fervently, her breathing heavy. “I was going…” she looks down, and he smiles to see shame spread across her face. “I was going to kill myself,” she whispers, blood rushing to her pale skin.
*
Henry’s eyes widen, the irises little globes lost in the whites.
“Jen, you wouldn’t-” he begins, but she cuts him off, shrieking,
“And you would never betray me, would you?”
He hangs his head, lost for words. She approaches a few more steps.
“You’re going to pay for this,” she says with gritted teeth. “You are going to pay with your life.”
*
“I’ve ruined myself, and wrecked Henry’s life, I’ve stained my family’s reputation…” Elsa’s eyes fill up with tears and she looks imploringly at Bill. “Do it. Please, do it.” She blinks hard, but the tears spill over. Bill just looks at her, with no emotion. She pauses. “But Bill, do it for me, not for Jen. She doesn’t love you.” She bites her lip and Bill begins to go red with rage. “She never will. Please, just stop living for her, start living for yourself. You don’t love her, I know you don’t, you just have to see that…”
Bill’s hand is shaking with rage, and Elsa draws a deep breath, then thrusts her white-clad torso towards him. “Now do what you came here to do,” she says with all the courage she can muster.
*
“Jen, please…” Henry moves towards her slowly. She finds she is frozen to the spot. “Jen, please don’t do this. They’ll know it was you, you’ll hang for it, please, Jen…”
“You can’t stop me,” she says, but her voice is trembling.
*
The knife clatters to the floor. She collapses into him sobbing, and he puts his hands tentatively on her back.
*
Bill leaves the room, and shuts the door behind him.
Jen will not love him, he can see it clearly. Elsa was right. Elsa was.
And if she will not love him, then he will die.
The execution man will earn another pair of boots soon enough.
*
There’s the bloodstains. I suppose that means I’m dying, dying, dying.
dying.
Mother… Elena…
Henry.

--

A/N: Well, does it work? Very experimental, comments much loved!

PS - YWS did away with my editing of the "agony"s at the beginning and the "dyings" at the end... they're supposed to be one line after each other each a little further to the right. Anyway, thanks for reading!

"The murderer leaves the room, the door swings close softly, and their victim gasps, gulping up their last, precious breaths. There is no drop of blood on the sheets or the flagstones. Their eyelids flutter and scrunch themselves up as they try to shut out the pain. Then for a moment all is still. "

This confuses me. Are you talking about the murderers or the victims, and how many of them are there?




" “Silly Billy,” she said cheerfully. “Of course you’re not.” "

That's mean. No problems here, but I just wanted to say that I don't like how she didn't take him seriously.




"As Bill gesticulated greatly to prove his point"

I think gestured would work better there.



"She had, naturally, followed the fashion and like every other debutante in the room save Elsa, even Elena, who were wearing that season's colour, crimson."


A little unclear here. Who's wearing the crimson, and what's the other person wearing?





"It doesn't work, though, for suddenly he is there, he is everywhere, and the scent of his sweat and hunger is almost as overpowering as his arms, his body pressed against hers. She protests, but remembers her mother's words: Should it ever happen to you, Elsie, God forbid, let it. You may lose your life otherwise."

So Henry rapes her? And later he kills her?





"although she knew he was sincere, there was no trace of drink on his hot breath"

Semicolon instead of the comma.




"prised his hands from the small of her back."

I think you meant pried?




"Henry is warm Elsa has rolled away from him."

Comma after warm.



I enjoyed reading this, but the transitions and flashbacks got a bit confusing. So who's dieing? And apparantly Henry didn't kill Elsa, but did Bill? And did Bill kill himself? And did Jen and Henry get married, or did Bill kill Henry? This left me VERY confused, but if you just cleared things up a bit and maybe expanded it, it'd be a better read than it already is. Nice first draft, though.

Hi! I thought this looked very interesting, so it's going to be my first critique on the entire site! You should be vey flattered.

I always thought dying would be easy. But this isn’t easy. This is agony,
agony,
agony,
agony,
agony.
Painpainpainpainpainpain.

I love the first line, and the repeated agony is good for effect. But the 'painpainpain' bothers me. We get it, they're in pain. That's what you got across with the whole 'agony' thing. Maybe something a little more in-tune with their thoughts besides that they're in pain; what are they thinking? "Get it over with?" Are they having flashbacks?

The murderer leaves the room, the door swings close softly, and their victim gasps, gulping up their last, precious breaths. There is no drop of blood on the sheets or the flagstones. Their eyelids flutter and scrunch themselves up as they try to shut out the pain. Then, for a moment, all is still.

Cut the 'up' after gulping. Gulping down, maybe, but it sounds best just as 'gulping'. And, also, is there a particular reason the victim is referred to as 'they'? Unless it's some big mystery, I'd like to know if it's a he or a she.

Dying is the hardest thing to do. But death… death will be easy…

Death, the afterlife, heaven, hell...if he/she is assuming it'll be easy, I'm guessing they think they're headed to a better place? Dying is a serious moment. What is your victim thinking? Are they thinking about their killer? What comes next? Family or friends they're leaving behind? Let us into their heads!

She lets out the tiniest, most miserable sob so far. Bill sits with her and squeezes her hand, anger raging within him.

There haven't been any other sobs so far. Maybe, "She lets out a tiny, miserable sob."

“One, two, three,” Jennifer said commandingly, and they tugged, then held their hands out to grab the cake as it came down.
They missed by a quarter of an inch and it landed upside-down on his face.

Jennifer commanded, or Jennifer said. 'Commandingly' is a little awkward to me. And I don't understand how, if they're sitting at a table, the cake could land on his face. He'd have to be lying on the table at an exact angle, or crouching behind it for it to hit him.

I like this whole next paragraph a lot, except for one thing. Fourteen year old girls don't often say 'Silly Billy'. I get what you're trying to convey, but it just sounds juvenile.

“Neither can I,” he murmurs, holding Jen’s hand, and looking at the beginnings of grey dawn outside. “Neither can I.”

It's been so long since the "I can't believe it!" portion that I was wondering what Bill was saying this for. I'm not really sure it's a big deal, but it took me a moment to make the connection.

WARNING! WARNING! Here in this next paragraph, you switch from present tense to past. I noticed it earlier, but thought perhaps it was just a one-time prologue-ish deal. Please, pick one and stick to it.

He was unaware of the dark speck of dirt on his crooked nose that Jen was reluctant to point out, preferring to see lady's reactions when they saw it and giggling into her hand.

"...preferring to see a lady's reaction when she saw it, giggling into her hand."

OR

"...preferring to see ladies' reactions when they saw it and giggled into their hands."

OR something along those lines that makes more sense grammatically. I like this bit, though. It characterizes Jen more.

Like every other girl, she was already a little bit in love with him, his unique turquoise eyes and the golden hair that went with the name

No need to put golden in italics, methinks. It is rather distracting.

Over the next few paragraphs, you switch tenses again from present to past and back and forth. Decide on one.

"Oh yes!" she [s]said delightedly[/s] exclaimed and he slipped it onto her finger.

I like the next paragraph about her finding Henry cheating on her. I also like the paragraph after that, with Elsa remarking about Jen and Bill. It's good to see Jen from another's view.

And then, it talks about Elsa telling Henry he must stop courting Jen before she'll let their relationship begin. How does Elsa feel saying this? Does she wish to be with him? Is this just to get him to stay away? Let us into her head.

Forgive me, I'm getting tires and my parents are calling me for dinner. Let me go ahead and skip these next few paragraphs about Elsa and Henry (which are very good, might I add) and the letter from Henry (which I also like) and go straight to the ending, which is very, very effective. I love how you tie their different stories together at the end, but maybe give us a little more time with one of them before switching to the next? And, another thing, I now realize why you don't give the gender at the beginning. So ignore my above suggestion and keep it as it is.

But you could add a bit more suspense, a bit more description towards the end. It's kind of sudden to me. Maybe give us emotions, thoughts, descriptions of the setting, descriptions of each others faces. Anything.

I really, really enjoyed this. Will you be posting any more? Or will it end at Elsa's death? Either way, I think it tied together very well at the end. Sorry for not being more in-depth. There were a lot of other things I'd like to have touched on, but I simply ran out of time.

~Evi

Hi Stella! Sarah here.

The murderer leaves the room, the door swings close softly, and their victim gasps, gulping their last, precious breaths.

I think 'closed' should have a 'd' at the end, no need for a comma in between last and precious [it detracts from the flow, and also that fragment would be better phrased as, "the door slowly swings shut.'

Their eyelids flutter and scrunch themselves up as they try to shut out the pain.

'Their' < I find this a bit too nebulous, can you please expand?

Then for a moment all is still.

I find this too vague and too overused, you can do better!

Their hands grasp for the knife in their side and pull with all their remaining strength.

Again, I'm not a big fan of 'their.' Could you maybe use either their name, or if that's impossible, 'the man' or 'the woman.' Though, I know this is a mystery and so you may not be able to do that, so I'll stop rambling. xD

Dying is the hardest thing to do. But death… death will be easy…

There's no need for the ilipses at the end of this sentence, I think it takes away the effect that you could have obtained if you simply punctuated with a fullstop.

Bill sits with her and squeezes her hand, anger raging within him.

T'would be much better if you showed how the anger was raging in him, rather than just state it was.

His earliest memory is the two of them in the Cunning kitchen that smells of pies and cheese bread.

Don't you mean, his earliest memory of the two of them? Because I doubt she'd be in his earliest memory ever. And anyway, 'of' wouldmake more sense. Also, there's a bit of a run-on sentence and the tenses are somewhat mixed up. I rephrased: His earliest memory is the two of them in the Cunning kitchen; it smelt of pies and cheese bread.

His new friend, with her brown hair already set in spiral curls, persuaded him to help her. “Come on, William,” she said. “We’ll share it.”

His, him, he. ^_^ Use different ways of naming him.

The tablecloth was large print gingham, and when he finally agreed, she took hold of it, each chubby hand grasping tightly to a red square.

It would sound better as, 'grasping a red square tightly.' You can't really grasp to something.

Bill took the cloth next to her, his own hands looking dirty and brown against the white cloth.

Nix 'cloth' to avoid repetition.

They laughed and laughed until Bill’s mother came in to tell him it was time to leave, only to see the pair rolling around and staining their clothes in Victoria sponge.

You can't stain your clothes in sponge. I would say, 'staining their clothes in jam', to be more specific. Victoria sponges do have jam in them, right? Oh, and since you've been capitalising 'sponge' all this time, it would be consistent to do it here. Aye?

Jen was wearing the present Bill gave her for her fifteenth birthday that morning, a soft blue cloak, over her dress.

Rephrase: Jen was wearing the present Bill had given her for her fifteenth birthday that morning over her dress: a soft blue cloak.

They were both scraping snow up in gloved hands and laughing whether their shots missed or hit their mark.

Target would be a better word than mark.

Bill stopped for a moment and looked at her, feeling overwhelming emotion rise in his throat as he watched her methodically form her next snowball.

Now they are sitting at the foot of her bed mourning the unfaithfulness of another.

Comma after bed.

But what? What can he do?

Nix 'but what' , I don't feel it does much for the effect you're trying to create.

The northern English sky is velvety blue and covered with thick January clouds, and the pick of London society are curled up under eiderdown quilts in the castle that will hold the first great wedding reception of the new year.

'The pick' is the wrong word, I don't feel it makes sense. Were you trying to say 'select' or something along those lines?

The White's ballroom was warm, and scented with spiced wine and a mixture of women's perfume.

I think you meant,'with a mixture of spiced wine and womens' perfume.'

He was unaware of the dark speck of dirt on his crooked nose that Jen was reluctant to point out, preferring to see lady's reactions when they saw it and giggling into her hand.

Lady's should be ladies'. And you kind of need to rephrase this sentence, or it won't make any sense: He was unaware of the dark speck of dirt on his crooked nose but Jen was reluctant to point it out, giggling into her hand and watching other ladies' reactions when they saw it.

Elsa, a society girl who Jen thought of as her only competition in any form, looked pretty, but demure with her blonde hair swept over her ears.

Nix the comma after pretty and insert it after demure.

He dropped her hand and began making his way through bustles and headdresses, and she saw him share a few words with his father, and glancing in Jen’s direction, before making straight for her.

He wouldn't make his way through bustles and headdresses, he'd make his way past them.

Jen gave a little scowl before letting her face smooth back into its normal carefree lovely self.

A face doesn't have a self. xD And 'normal carefree lovely self' is a bit overdoing it. I'd do, 'back into its normal, carefree air' or something like that.

Overall Comments

I

Eeee, this was just my kind of story, Stella, and it was fantastic. Not perfect, but fabulous.There were a few small things, mainly that I found the use of asterixes a bit too abundant near the end, I think you could have done away with a few of them. Oh, and I also got rather confused, but I always do with multiple plotlines. It's just me being obtuse, so don't worry about that. I did really like this story, it had that touch of originality you add to all your work. Just avoid the use of petty cliches in your sentences, because you are so much better than that. Oh, and in Henry's letter, where he said 'wash away the stains,' this annoyed me somewhat, because I found it too chick lit. You know, an opportunity to work in the title in the story. You already did this in dialogue later on, and I don't know 'wash away the stains' just sounded corny/melodramatic. It spoilt it a bit for me, and I think this story would be a lot better without it. Okay, you probably want to slap me with a giant fish now, so I'll stop. xD

II

Henry - I think he was a very solid character. At the start, he was all outshining and golden hair, and I was kind of rolling my eyes thinking, yet another overdone perfect love interest. But as I read on, I discovered he was far from perfect, which I really should have presumed in the first place, as you'd probably have remembered to give characters their flaws. One thing - I think you should make the ball scene and Jen's description of him less cliched. I know all the girls were after him and everything but I still think you should have made it less like there was a golden light shining above his head. Or maybe I'm over-exaggerating? I think also, you could have made it more obvious when he gave her the wedding ring that he wasn't completely sincere. Obviously Jen thought it was, but to the reader, could you just build up suspense more by adding a few clues that he's not completely in love with her and may be forced into giving her the ring? Oh, and I liked the whole plot with Elsa and him, I found it very well thought out. He kind of reminded me a bit of Alec D'Urberville, though that's not mainly because you're being unoriginal, it's just because I just watched it and...well...I kind of inject Tess of the D'Urbervilles into everything I read or write, after watching the film or reading it. Okay, that was really off topic and isn't helping you at all.

III

I wasn't sure what time this was sit in, but with the ball and everything I have a vague estimate of somewhere in the 1800s. Heh, anyway. I think that sometimes the narration was a bit too modern for a historical novel. I mean, I know since it's not being narrated in first person you don't need to go all archaic on us, but maybe just make the language just a teensy bit older, and faithful to the time this is set in. You did demonstrate this sometimes, but just try to keep it consistent, or it gets a bit unnerving.

IV

Sorry, I don't really have anything more to say so this really wasn't a very helpful review. You must forgive me though. ^_^ I really enjoyed reading this, and that was key.
Well done and thanks for the read!
-Sarah

Hi! I don't really have any nitpicks on this story that the other reviewers haven't covered, but I don't really get the ending...Who dies and who kills whom?? I feel like Bill wanted to commit suicide, yet at the ending I don't understand who's dying...I think the ending should be made more clear...maybe add a part at the funeral of whoever died and the execution of the murderer? Anyway, other than that, great job on this! I loved the idea in this, although it's a conventional theme, you seemed to portray it in an excellent, original way...So, gold star for you!

fluteluvr77<3