Title: WHEN THE CLOCK BROKE
Word Count: 80,000 words
Song: ‘Time’ by Anastacia
Pitch: Twenty-year-old Aidelle smashes a timepiece as Phillip leaves her, sealing herself in a timeless reality. When she finds out he was blackmailed, Aidelle must cross volatile ‘timestreams’ to rewrite their breakup or be erased forever.
250:
Miss Aidelle Masters stared at the ground so hard, she thought her gaze would burn the stonework steps of the taxicab station to a shingly mess. A pair of boots – the latest black with knife-sharp eyelets – marched into her sight. She’d wondered when the shoes would find their way into her private space.
“Are you waiting for him?” asked the owner of the shoes. “So obedient, but a shame you share none of your sister’s petticoat trim.”
Aidelle faced the socialite bully’s snarl, equal eyes and – gasp! – a poker-straight nose. She wasn’t alone. In the ten minutes the flock by the taxicab shelter had twisted their faces in Aidelle’s direction, she’d filled a page of her pocketbook with sine, cosine, and tangent calculations. Now she’d run out of inked distractions. Well, she’d run out of ink.
“Aphrodisya.”
“Masters.” Aphrodisya Vallente’s eyes swept down Aidelle in one sharp movement. “No dress today?”
Aidelle kept her mouth a wordless line.
“Shame,” Aphrodisya said. “Your shoddy frills would’ve well matched the shoddy lines of your features.”
Bile seared up Aidelle’s throat. She shot the shelter a glare. One girl, hand twirling locks, lowered her paper fan and displayed a sterile smile.
“No defence? Well, you cannot even—”
Aidelle’s cheeks flamed, and this time her words escaped. “What is it, Aphrodisya? Because I have my fiancé and you don’t?” Gah, curse her uncontrollable tongue!
Fibres of Aphrodisya’s hair frizzled in the August heat as she parted her vicious lips. “You know you don’t deserve him.”
Miss Aidelle Masters stared at the ground so hard, she thought her gaze would burn the stonework steps of the taxicab station to a shingly mess. A pair of boots – the latest black with knife-sharp eyelets – marched into her sight. She’d wondered when the shoes would find their way into her private space.
“Are you waiting for him?” asked the owner of the shoes. “So obedient, but a shame you share none of your sister’s petticoat trim.”
Aidelle faced the socialite bully’s snarl, equal eyes and – gasp! – a poker-straight nose. She wasn’t alone. In the ten minutes the flock by the taxicab shelter had twisted their faces in Aidelle’s direction, she’d filled a page of her pocketbook with sine, cosine, and tangent calculations. Now she’d run out of inked distractions. Well, she’d run out of ink.
“Aphrodisya.”
“Masters.” Aphrodisya Vallente’s eyes swept down Aidelle in one sharp movement. “No dress today?”
Aidelle kept her mouth a wordless line.
“Shame,” Aphrodisya said. “Your shoddy frills would’ve well matched the shoddy lines of your features.”
Bile seared up Aidelle’s throat. She shot the shelter a glare. One girl, hand twirling locks, lowered her paper fan and displayed a sterile smile.
“No defence? Well, you cannot even—”
Aidelle’s cheeks flamed, and this time her words escaped. “What is it, Aphrodisya? Because I have my fiancé and you don’t?” Gah, curse her uncontrollable tongue!
Fibres of Aphrodisya’s hair frizzled in the August heat as she parted her vicious lips. “You know you don’t deserve him.”
Gold
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