Fleur's Door: A Fictional Narrative

A nasty sneer crept across Malfoy’s lips. “Why? Is your family too poor to see a Healer for

“There, we can see your beautiful face again,” she says, depositing the washcloth into the murky water, and extracts the bandages and tape from the medical kit. “It's not bleeding, but knowing you, you'll figure a way to open it up again.” She grins.

Scarlett awoke to the sound of her alarm and a pounding at the door, "Turn that blasted thing off!" her aunt Beatrice bellowed from the other side. Groggily, Scarlett sat up and groped around her side table for the alarm clock. She shut it off and sat in place for a few seconds to collect her bearings. Scarlett swayed slightly as she stood from the bed and walked slowly towards her door, noting the fact that her aunt was gone, she headed to the bathroom. Doing routine things like; peeing, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair into two pigtails at the sides of her head. She then headed back to her room and dressed for school in her white tank top and red hoodie. Grabbing her ipod, headphones, and school bag she sat down at the front door

" Oh sorry. " Pete ran into the room, returning in a few moments with a piece of paper and a

"Can you help make sure the bandages don't move?" Roy asked, knowing full well that it was a pointless task as after the saline was poured on the sheet would do the same thing. However, he knew that his crew needed to do something to feel useful, even if was something so simple.

Moving about the room, she stopped here and there, fingering objects that caught her attention. The room was formal and pretentious and she wasn’t a fan. She missed her tents filled with carpets and furs and cushions, hand carved toys littering the floors and her bed tucked behind brightly colored sheer fabric. She had just thrown another log on the fire when a tall man let himself into the room closing the door loudly behind him.

“You should come back tomorrow so I can take a look at your arm and make sure it’s healing and the herbs are working.” He finished securing the dressing.

“I’ve got something for that.” I set aside my weapons and anoint her arm with the burn medicine. “You have good sponsors,” she says longingly. “Have you gotten anything yet?” I ask.

Beckett returned home at six o’clock, her mind already focused on her date with Castle. The moment her shoes were off and her purse was set aside, she went straight to the bathroom and started her shower. She wanted her hair to dry naturally, but in order for that to happen she needed to be in and out of the shower as soon as possible. She forced herself to take her time in the shower, resisting the urge to rush and end up dressed and waiting for an hour before Castle showed up.

“What happened?” the doctor asked. In response, she motioned her hand back and forth. Nodding, the doctor gently examined the wound, careful to not induce additional pain.

During the last few days, Percival had fantasized about being in such a position with Fleur, but they were in his bed and comfortably settled beneath blankets, not collapsed on the ground with dozens of people looking on. Regardless, Percival, unable to control his physical reaction to being planted right on top of Fleur, grew aroused, but he prayed she did not feel his hardness against her thigh.

In the story "Fleur" the use of inanimate objects influences the character's actions and directs the plot of the story. In particular, the most prominent items are poker, money, and alcohol. When Fleur joins Dutch, Tor and Lily in their poker game they assume that because she is a woman she cannot possibly know how to play and does not stand a chance at winning. Immediately, Fleur proves them wrong as she continues to win games on a stretch, the three men eventually lose all their money, but this does not stop them from getting back at Fleur. In the end, Fleur gets raped as a consequence of the type of people that these men are with their addiction to poker and money and at the end fueled by the use of alcohol.

She shivered in his embrace, one hand coming up to cup his neck as she allowed her lips to roam his heated skin. Her other hand ran along one of the arms wrapped around her lythe frame. As if the sensuality of touch had become to much to resist. Despite the fact that she was just beginning to truly understand that.

Adhering to her responsibilities, a shaken Sister Françoise arrived at the kitchen where she began preparing the day’s meals. As she kneaded her disgust, sorrow, and anger into a overworked batch of dough, a single tear rolled off her cheek and landed with a plop on the flour covered countertop. Slamming the dough down, she removed her apron and returned to her room. Finding Sister Agatha missing, Sister Françoise impetuously packed a bag containing her few belongings, but chose to leave behind her beloved hairbrush on Sister Agatha’s

He looked away, glancing over the bandaged marks on his arm, fighting valiantly against the heat starting to rise to his face. It had been a long night, but it would look great. Laurie’s stuff always did. He rose to his feet, fixing