Shell

“Fran panicked. “We’re all doomed!”
I looked at her and couldn’t help but smirk she seemed to
lighten my mood, whilst blackening her own. “But I’m not a spy,
Fran. Neither are you, we’re innocent!”
“I know that. You know that. But they are suspicious, all of
them.” She made a circle with her finger and pointed her eyes
toward a group of children that all seemed under the age of five.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Those children are really on to us.”
― Sophie Wilkinson, The Beginning

“maybe even just time travelled; we hadn’t really decided yet.
Personally, I’d rather go with parallel universe, mostly because
it just sounded so much cooler. We had no idea how or when
we could get back, which meant that we might be lost in time
forever. Fran’s parents were missing in some other timeline or
maybe even this one. We hadn’t actually gotten that far though,
to be honest. I had no idea if our actions would affect the future,
but I really didn’t think we were that important. Also, I hadn’t
had any sleep for fifteen hours. And to tie it all up, I think that
we are about to be bombed.
Eek.”
― Sophie Wilkinson, The Beginning

“The smallest objects in the room began to spin round and
move close to the mirrored object in the room. I managed to duck
as a chair came flying toward my head and missed me by a few
millimeters. I could feel myself being pulled in, being dragged
like someone was physically pulling me across the room. It was
hard not to begin to move forward. I couldn’t stop myself. I tried
to grab onto an object, but my hand slipped, and I went flying.
Fran’s arm caught me, but she wasn’t strong enough; we both
went flying toward the mirror. Faster and faster we were falling,
falling downward in a horizontal room. I felt like I was about to
hit the floor, like I was going to fall and fall forever.
I was scared for Fran and especially scared for me. Eventually,
we were consumed by the light. It was hard to breath. I couldn’t
feel, hear, or see anything.”
― Sophie Wilkinson

“Ladies, bonjour. My name’s Madame Fi-Fi.” Her French
accent was thick, and I could hardly understand a word she was
saying. “Welcome to the Gay Paris.”
We both sniggered under our breaths, immature I know;
Madame Fi-Fi gave us a stern look.
“You are the new dancers?” she asked, sounding pretty
disappointed. “You looked taller in your pictures”
“Erm…” Fran smiled. “We were wearing high heels.” Fran got
on her tiptoes and fell over and knocked over a coatrack.
Great first impressions.”
― Sophie Wilkinson, The Beginning