Get help with any kind of project - from a high school essay to a PhD dissertation
Belle French was dragged out of the pleasant haze of her dreams the day following her encounter with Mr. Gold by the sound of her phone's alarm blaring from on top of her chest. Ignoring its unpleasant sounds, she tried to bury herself farther into the warm mountain of cushions and sheets that has been her bed, although it was to no avail, and thus groaning in frustration she crawled from bed. Blue eyes scarcely opened, she fumbled for the telephone, promptly turning off the beeping and then slipping it into the pocket of her plaid pjs. The very first thing that she recognized afterwards walked into the bathroom and splashed a ice cold water onto her head to wake herself up was that it was Sunday. She groaned. She had forgotten to switch off her alarm again and as a result she was now wide awake at seven in the morning to the one day she didn't have class for zero reason. She let out a tiny sigh as she trudged in what she presumed could be referred to as a kitchen, but in all honesty had been more of a 4 by 4 square with a fridge, an oven, and a sink, to allow herself a cup of tea. When she waited for the water to boil she looked begrudgingly around at her tiny one bedroom apartment. It was all of seven hundred and fifty square feet, sparsely supplied with the cheapest effects she could detect on craigslist, and completely on the incorrect side of town. It was cramped and sad but it was all she could afford. She'd grown up at a provincial little town several miles outside of Sydney, Australia. Her dad had become the mayor and she'd dwelt in a castle of a home. She spent the greater portion of her being ordered by her dad's PR company. She had been told exactly what to wear, and what to say, where to go, who to speak to, that which to dismiss, when to smile...