Romans & histoires Eleanor Calder

And standing in front of it was Eleanor. She wasn't wearing a lab coat. She was wearing a simple, dark dress, her hair disheveled, her eyes sunken. She looked like a woman who had been living in a bunker for weeks, which she had. She didn't look up when we entered. She was staring at the glass cylinder with a look of terrifying, maternal longing. "She’s almost ready," Eleanor said. Her voice was a dry rasp, devoid of its usual melodic control. "The lattice is 98% mapped. She won't have your flaws, Isabella. She won't have the Sterling corruption. She’ll be the perfect archive."

Emily Warner, the crazy and happy go lucky side-chick in all of the stories. She is happy that all of her friends met the man of their dreams but she hasn’t. She has never met a man who even remotely loved her. As a kid, she always hoped for a crazy life story like beauty and the beast or toy story or finding nemo. But she worked at a nine to five job, at the age of twenty nine, she was single, while all of her friends were either getting married or pregnant. And there she was sitting in front of the television, eating chips out of her hair.

The lights flickered back on—and Eleanor was standing in the doorway. Not on a screen. Not a projection. In person. She looked exactly the same as she had in the recordings—ageless, graceful, terrifyingly calm. Her silver hair gleamed in the dim light. Her eyes, a sharp gray-blue, swept across the room until they landed on Adrian. Maya froze. “You’re… alive?” Eleanor smiled faintly. “Alive enough.” Adrian’s voice was low and venomous. “You did this.” “I created you,” she said simply. “And now, I’ve come to finish what I started.”

I gently ask. I felt Eleanor take a deep breath then replied. "Then you wouldn't be this Elegant and sophisticated Hestia I knew. You wouldn't be this strong Hestia that is sitting on my lap right now." Eleanor replied, sincerely. "It's funny, you see me as a strong woman but every time I look at myself in the mirror all I can see is a coward woman." I somberly replied. "Hey agápi you're not a coward..." Eleanor said, gently soothing my hair.

She used her power to shrink the corpses of the minotaurs that she killed, then put them in a jar. In a blink of an eye, she’s now in front of us. “Clementine… you’re not planning to revive those, aren’t you?” Leo asked who’s also with us now. Since when did he get here? “Hmm…. Maybe yes, maybe not,” Lady Clementine said, then smirked. “Are you serious? Don’t tell me that you’re going to use that in one of our rooms?” Prince Leo asked him and Lady Clementine answered him with a smile.

he said and turned to leave. "By the way, I'm Edward Nates. What's yours?" He said as he turned back. Then he remembered that I got no name. "So since you are like my personal property now, I would need to give you a name. So I would call you... Ella". "Duh" I replied and entered.

They had known for a hundred years that someone named Eleanor would come, would hide, would hear her name called from the well. Thomas stepped forward from the circle. "We told you about the return," he said softly. "We didn't tell you what returns. It's not a thing, Miss Cross. It's a person." He paused. "It's you." Eleanor tried to run, but her legs would not move. The voice from the well spoke again, louder now. "Eleanor Cross, born 1995, died never. You have been expected since 1923. Come home."

Her beaded fingers floated idly through the pages, and it was clear that she wasn't really reading anything specific at all - her eyes strayed more to her own face in the window than to the designs on the dresses and gloves. She waited. For someone — anyone — to let go of the morning's grip on formality. The door groaned open. Eleanor moved in like a professional ghost, no hesitation no knock, She moved in quietly and unobtrusively, as silently as a snake in a grass, as if each step had been practiced and perfected. "Eleanor," she answered, her voice as smooth as liquor from a bottle, "you have the talent for dressing up even the dullest hours with flair."

“Good. You’ll be bored, but I’ll have someone intelligent to walk around with. Besides, I think you have an eye for things - when you’re not pretending to be all business.” Killian raised a brow. “You think I’d have been better off in a gallery?” “I think,” Eleanor said, eyes twinkling, “you were born with the capacity to see value beyond numbers and ledgers. But your father got to you first.” Killian chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “And yet here I am - still your loyal, corporate son.” “For now.” She winked, then turned her attention to the first row of photographs on the nearest wall. “Some of the proceeds tonight go to a charity I care about, but I’m also looking to acquire a piece or t

ASTRID I breeze into the headquarters of The Michiavelli winery, trying to quel my ever mounting excitement. It’s not everyday that lady Eleanor — the baddest bitch on the planet if I do say so myself — calls me into her office. It’s not everyday that she has something “urgent” to discuss with me. Lady Eleanor is my role model. I love that woman so much, I would give her my kidney in a heartbeat if she asked nicely. Hell, I would force the kidney on her even if she didn’t ask nicely.