Twinkle, twinkle, Liam Payne, Louis, Harry, Niall and Zayn. One Direction rule my life, you know I'm their future wife, twinkle, twinkle, Liam Payne, Louis, Harry, Niall and Zayn. <3

*sigh*

Plus writer's block is taking it's toll. :(

One Direction Stole My Heart Facebook Cover.
 
http://www.facebook.com/pages/One-Direction-Stole-My-Heart/361093473966035?ref=hl
 
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Dear Diary,
 
The Norwegian Lundehound kept scratching at our front door because he wanted to go outside. Fact is, I wanted to go outside too. But then my aunt said no and tried to lock him in the cellar. He went crazy, barking and howling. He must be afraid of the dark. My aunt finally lost her temper and went into the cellar.
 
I haven’t heard any barking since.
 
I opened the door to the cellar and called for him a bit later. I looked for him, but I couldn’t find him.
 
I asked my aunt about him. All she did was push a bowl of stew towards me. It tasted funny. She stared at me with the strangest of smiles on her face. After that, I puked in the bathroom because I had the most terrible thought that she had killed my dog and turned him into the stew I just ate.
 
She just laughed when I accus
 

I didn’t get to finish my journal entry because suddenly I find Niall sitting next to me on the bed where I lay on. I yawn and stretch, feeling my bones creak to every moment. My reflexes are awfully sluggish in the morning so I make no attempt to get dressed. In good time, I’m back on the pillow, snuggling with the covers.
 
“God, I’m so tired…” I mumble.
 
Chuckles and he cracks a grin. “It’s noon.”
 
Inwardly I scoff and nestle deeper into the bed. “I don’t care.”
 
“You went to bed late.” He tells me.
 
“How’d you know?”
 
“I…do.” There was some self-consciousness hidden in that beatific voice. Awkward choice of words. He either does that because he’s being honest or he’s trying to get my attention.
 
I sit up, sleepiness beginning to depart from me. “Oh?”
 
He does nothing but smirk.
 
Like the castle, the village seemed to have no sign of life. However, with more observations, you could sense that the citizens didn’t leave very long ago – or so I think. The bakery still had an indistinct fragrance of frosted cakes. Sliced, moldy bread was laid out on someone’s table, with the knife rested on its side like someone meant to finish cutting it but never came back. The library had open books with flipped pages. A dress was half sewn in the tailor’s shop. A fireplace hadn’t been cleaned of its ashes. Someone – or maybe something – had pressed the stop button on the tap and everyone vanished into thin air.
 
“So where did everyone go?” I ask. The air is dusty and leaden with old stories as we quietly venture inside a house. In a child’s room, I find a little stuffed toy rabbit on the ground. I pick it up from the wooden floorboards, brushing cobwebs off its faded red tunic. The black button eyes stare back at me, lonely, introverted, ignored.
 
“Go?” He repeats, and then corrects me. “Oh no, nobody just decided to leave. They fled, rather.”
 
“From what?”
 

He runs a light finger over the spine of books on a shelf. He looks like he’s debating answers or he’s having a hard time remembering. Or he has a secret hatred. From the way he says it, it sounds like a jumbo mess of all three. “A…witch.”
 
“A witch.” I don’t mean to sound blasé, but the first image that pops into my brain is a Halloween type witch, wearing black robes and flying on a broomstick. Like the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. I suppose that the witch he’s talking about isn’t like that, though. And I’m right, oddly.
 
“Aye.”
 
“What was her name?”
 
He inhales. Exhales. “That is not important.”
 
I don’t pressure him because he looks like he is on the verge of tears for some reason.
 
But he says that there was a legend of a woman in this land, long before he was born. An aristocrat, born to a duke and duchess and had six younger sisters. When she was young, she was often pampered and spoiled with anything she wanted. Once her first younger sister came along, everything changed. All attention turned to the newborn baby, and then another, and then another. She was tasked with being the responsible one of the family after her mother died during the seventh childbirth. Her father was part of the kingdom’s court so he was usually away at war or running errands that lasted for weeks. Being the eldest didn’t just mean responsibility, nevertheless. It meant that you had power and authority. She impaired her sisters for independence. She exploited their guilt, she tyrannized the servants and housekeeper – she ruled with an iron arm.
 
Not only did she hate her sisters, but many times was she overlooked because she was plainer than the rest. Men came to their door of the younger girls with sweet words while no one came for her. In her jealousy she killed each one of them on every day of the week. On Sunday, she poisoned her youngest sister. On Monday, she killed her next youngest sister by pushing her out an open window. The next day she locked her sister in a trunk with a deadly scorpion. The next day the next victim drowned in a well. The next day she set dogs on her fifth sister. As for the last sister, she was beginning to be suspected by the local officials, so she decided to kill her a different way.
 
She tried to make her sixth sister go insane. Fed her lies that a man murdered their father. Induced that someone was out to hurt them. The only way to prevent that from happening was to kill that man. The younger sister, trusting her because she had no other to turn to, agreed. She was taken in by the parents of the man, where she did try to kill him – and was caught red-handed. She was condemned to death.
 
At this point there were many versions to the story. Some say she somehow acquired magical powers and became a demon-like creature. Some say she became beautiful after her sixth sister died. Some say she set the bubonic plague on the kingdom. Either way, they were in jeopardy to the witch. And so, they left their belongings, stopped their work, and simply abandoned their country in search of a safer place.
 
So far, they have been waiting for millennia to return home, almost as long as Niall has been waiting for me. They don’t know how long to wait, but still, they wait. Rumor has it that the witch still lingers in the kingdom, but rest assured, Niall thinks that she is most definitely gone.
 
“So…” I say, trying to take in every piece of information he throws at me. “What is her name?”
 
Niall pauses. Reluctantly. From his mouth slips a name I dare not say.
 
I breathe. I swallow. “Oh.”
 
For inside, I am screaming.

Not sure why the updating takes so long. Probably because I'm being lazy. :P
 

 
Dear Diary,
 
Each day I spend with Niall feels like a blessed dream. I use to think my hallucinations were terrifying but fear does not weigh down on me much more.
 
Though one thing – what would my aunt say?
 
~Lyric
I could get lost in the castle for as long as I want, following the endless, twisting hallways to innumerable rooms and dead ends. I could wander here for days upon days. I could spend an eternity living here just for searching for the entrance door or my room. Most of the places look identical, wit h the same pattern of tapestries, plants and rugs. No landmark and no sign to blatantly point out where to go.
 
Niall takes me on a tour of the vast palace today, decidedly that if I were to live in his world, I would have to know it. The ballroom and throne room is too big for comprehension. The kitchens are much too clean to be real whist the stables practically smell anything but good. The bedrooms are too decorative for me to withstand. Apparently everything I judge is either too much of this or too much of that, but in the end I have to manage.
 
When I see that the castle is literally empty without anyone, I ask him who takes care of the horses, laundry, cooking and all sorts of tasks with no one living here.
 
A glimmer of a smile. "Do you dine in heaven?" He asks me, leaving me with that to ponder over.
 
He continues to point out his relatives and family in the hall of portraits. The first king. His ancestors. His grandfather. His father. His mother. His brothers. Sisters. They all have blonde hair with a bit of brown roots at times, and gorgeous blue irises rimming a dark pupil. They all have charming smiles with faint dimples. They all have a pale complexion with flawless skin. It isn't hard to imagine why women kept chasing after Niall - at least in his stories. It isn't hard to wonder how they all adored the royal family. It isn't hard to inference how many of them wanted me to die so they could take my place. The number is quite terrifying, actually. I had more jealous, cunning haters than that of appreciative, kind supporters.
 
There were lots of portraits of Niall, all of them painted and portrayed at the same flight of steps. There was one for every year, one for each birthday. I faced nineteen different Niall, from when he was an innocent, vulnerable baby to a playful preteen to a rebellious teenager and now into a young adult.
 
“I used to hate having to stand for hours while the artist painted.” He remembers as we walk arm-in-arm down the hall. “My mother scolded me for fidgeting.”
 
I commend him for even making it through nineteen years. I could never make through half.
 
Another portrait catches my eye as we pass the nineteenth Niall. I stop. “Who is that?”
 
He looks up too. He doesn’t seem at all shocked. He looks as if he is acknowledging a very old friend, wistful and a bit nostalgic. “That is you.”
 
‘That is you’ plays over like a broken tape recorder.
 
For a moment I think he is lying. Or at least I try not to believe him. That woman in extravagant clothing cannot be me. I don't have those same gray eyes, flecks of coolness and serenity in my gaze. I don’t have a thin face, softened by dark hair falling over my shoulders. I cannot be that beautiful, that captivating, that pleasing to eye. “That is not me.” I say, subconsciously shaking my head. “It’s impossible.”
 
“Possible, love.” He gently spins me around to the opposite wall where mirrors hang side-by-side in rows and columns, to make the hall seem bigger. “Look at yourself.”
 
My gaze goes up and down, back and forth. Niall is always correct in this world, I find.
 
He leads me to the gardens, laughing when a surprised, “Oh!” pops from my mouth.
 
Surrounded by dazzling colors, exotic flowers bloom before my eyes, all unique in their own ways. Intense, bold roses with thorns and coquettish ones with pale and delicate petals. The stone walkway is covered with fallen flowers from trees, a scheme of hues that vies for my attention. I have never been enthralled by mere vegetation before.
 
He tells me that I used to be enchanted by the castle’s impressive gardens.
 
“Bluebells, hollyhocks…” He gestures towards the blossoms. “I don’t know what that one is…”
 
“Snapdragons.” I say. Either it was my instincts kicking in from a life before or I dedicate too much time to listening to my aunt ramble about random flowers on her sewn carpets. “Pansies, marigolds, lilies, lilacs.”
 
Give or take. All the living flowers in our house have wilted. I forget to water them sometimes.
 
Niall follows me around in the labyrinth of blooms so I don’t get lost. If there is a place to get lost in, it’s either the castle or the garden. Or his eyes. I think he knows that - the part about his eyes, I mean. I would never had let myself get caught up with strangers like him if I had a sense of decency and logic. But all reason I had in control with myself seems flown away, like birds taking off with a beat of their wings in the trees. It is a dream after all. A dream, hallucination, vision, figment of my imagination. I’m going insane with these phantasms I keep having and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
 
I look back for a brief second and he’s right behind me, no more than a few inches away. I slow down a little and his hand almost slides into mine. I give him a teasing smirk and pull my hand away from his outstretched one.
 
Then I pick up my skirts and run.
 
This entire garden walk becomes more like a chase. I can’t typically run in dresses like these salient gowns but I somehow do. I don’t know these walkways, but for this moment, and only this moment, I begin to accept that I have walked this place a thousand times before. It’s only the slippers that bother me so I kick them off and leave them dispersed on the ground. I don’t have enough time to arrange them neatly before Niall catches up to me. I dash away into a new world of blindingly pink perennials and purple orchids.
 
Though he gives me time to run. I know he can probably catch up to me in a full second if he wanted to. But he doesn’t and lets me have the last word just to see my gloat before I turn the corner.
 
The grass seems to spring from the dirt that my feet impaled over, dropped petals prickling my ankles. My heart pounds as I take in deep breaths of clean smells, a rich grassy and pollen aroma to the garden. The moist air is relieving and innocent, and I have not breathed such warm and steady air in so long before. I duck under a tree branch, brushing by it and shaking a few more flowers from the stems as I pass under it.
 
My aunt says that it’s most unbecoming of a girl like me to be laugh loudly, talk to unfamiliar people, be clumsy and act like I belong in a mental hospital. Today’s quite the exception, because in ten minutes flat I have checked off the list of what to not do.
 
Including tripping. It must be the ends of my dress or something.
 
I sprawl. Niall finally gets around the corner and is practically in stitches when he doubles over in laughter. A sight I must be! My face grows hot as I fumble to my feet, brushing the foliage from my skirts.
 
Because that’s when I raise my eyes and see a fountain.
 
The shrubbery, in a circular formation, surrounds the marble fountain, tall and cold. Two frozen figures pose in dancing postures, their clothes flowing over their bodies as if the wind wafted around them. They stood on a platform of glass, so anyone who looked at it could view it as skating on ice.
 
Ice. Roses and thorny vines climb around their stretched arms, clinging to their legs and body, dominating most of the view. They entwine with adhering moss. Water sprouts from their mouths and fingertips, a cold stream spraying. The wind sweeps the droplets towards me and I feel a light mist on my arms. Bewitched, I lean forward, extending a hand to feel the water and stone statues.
 
“Don’t fall in.” I hear Niall tell me, somewhere behind me.
 
I stretch farther but my shortness thwarts me. “I can’t touch them.” I say. It’s odd to realize that I’m pouting over that fact.
 
“The water is freezing, you know.” He says, standing besides me as he admires the dancing figures too. I stop leaning over in case I actually do fall in.
 
I shrug, dipping my hand in. “Like Alaska’s waters. I can handle it.”
 
I pick up my skirts and climb onto the fountain. I am so close to the water’s edge that even without touching it I can feel the iciness emanating. Then I put my feet slowly, shivering slightly. It nips at my toes as I slide the rest of myself in the fountain. The water laps at my thighs. I look at Niall, who doesn’t stop me. He just stares at me with raised eyebrows, hands clasped behind his back and a charmed grin. Perhaps he remembers that I used to do this back then.
 
I step forward again, silently hissing at the cold. If this water were an object it would cut like a knife. Or, maybe not a knife because knives make too clean of a cut. Maybe glass, because the edge is jagged and just as harsh. If you get cut by glass, tiny shards of it sometimes lodge onto your skin.
 
The waterfall is right in front of me as I advance closer. Clear lengths of water spill. I reach out a hand and touch it, breaking the flow. I push the flow some more and stoop under, and then straighten.
 
Above my head are the statues. Through the waterfall is a blurry world. A water-swept, hazy, shadowy world. The flowers’ colors blend together as I peer through with fascination, a rainbow that cannot be seen plainly. Then I see Niall, colors of blonde hair and deep red clothes. And two sapphire eyes. No doubt, the waterfall makes everything look like a dream from the inside.
 
Which, ironically, makes it a dream within a dream.

Harry winced every time Scarlett and Lana broke out into another catfight. He flinched whenever they screeched at each other like parrots, squawking angry words at each other and arguing about the smallest of things. If the situation got extreme, they would consult him. Staring at him with seething eyes. Asking him who he agreed with, so either one would have the pride of bragging to each other. But then it would start all over again in less than ten minutes, and he would be victimized. They could go on and on and on for an entire day.
 
He just wished that Lana would be less stubborn and listen to Scarlett. She wanted to learn how to ride horses, but yet she never gave her the chance to teach. She would merely take one concept; look at it, and then question it like the method might make her horse throw her off. She flung every technique around like it didn't matter to acknowledge during riding. And whatever she understood, she never took in to heart. He had to admit, Lana was that type of person and couldn't easily be convinced. Frankly, it annoyed him too but sometimes he considered dumping her, but there always was a reason why to turn his theory around. He just couldn't do it.
 
He stood behind the fence, leaning on the railing and watching his friend rub her temples in agitation, and while gritting her teeth, asked Lana to take it easy. "You need to relax," She told her. "In order to feel comfortable, you need to be comfortable with the horse. I'm not going to rush you, but if you want to make Eowyn stop fidgeting, you need to relax."
 
Of course, his girlfriend took it the entire opposite way, accusing her of saying that she was stupid.
 
“Oh my God Lana!” Scarlett was on the edge of tearing out her hair. “Please! Horses are sensitive.”
 
Lana rolled her eyes, and then caught Harry’s eye. He stared back at her unfalteringly, silently giving her the look that told her to listen to his friend. The brunette blinked, deflated that her boyfriend didn’t support her, and turned her focus back to the ginger.
 
“Fine.” She replied icily. “Please continue.”
 
Where did that come from? Scarlett thought. “So I’m going to walk you around the pen a couple of times so you’ll get used to riding. Remember to look straight ahead and keep your back straight. Plus, when you ride, your shoulder, hip and heel should all be aligned.” She said, taking the lunge line. “Ready?”
 
“Just go already.” was her torpid reply.
 
Holding back a retort, Scarlett led her around the pen, keeping good note of how Lana rode. She was a little stiff, a little bit on the tense side, from the angle she viewed Lana at. Was she still too nervous or was it because she was still annoyed at her? She couldn’t tell, but either way she figured that it would be hard to correct her.
 
“Hang on.” The ginger said, stopping. Eowyn, the palomino, also stopped submissively. “Your arms need to move with the motion of the horse. Keep your elbows light. You’re still a little tense.”
 
“I’m not tense.” She disputed. “I’m calm enough.”
 
“No you’re not. You really – ”
 
“You’re not me. I would know if I’m tense.” Lana had a way of looking down condescendingly at Scarlett, proudly glaring from her high perch on her horse. She was two feet taller than her, and already that much distance in height could make her unbelievably patronizing.
 
The ginger frowned once the palomino jerked her head. “Give her a little more rein. She’s not used to heavy hands.” She pulled an extra couple of reins out of her hands.
Lana didn’t thank her. As an alternative to escape Scarlett wanting her to ride under her lead, she insisted that she ride around the pen by herself, putting up an excuse of “I have to figure it out by myself. It’s the only way for me to get in touch with Eowyn.”
 
Of course, Scarlett protested. Veritably, she even put up a rather good fight. But in the end Lana had the last word of possibly buying her entire farm and all of her horses, and that’s what made the ginger shut up, even though it wasn’t very realistic. Yet with power, money and ambition combined in a stuck-up, dogged girl, even the wildest of horses could be broken in. Scarlett backed down and left the area, even though she should’ve just stayed and watched to be sure nothing bad happened.
 
“I swear, she acts more like a donkey than Mary!” She growled, irritably sweeping auburn hair that had fallen from her ponytail to her face. “Even she’s easier to handle and that’s saying a lot.”
 
“Who’s Mary?” Harry nearly lost his foothold on a slimmer tree branch and he clung onto a thick one above his head. He blushed a little at the fact that he was only four to five feet off the ground and still terrified of falling out of the sycamore tree. He inhaled and reached up for another branch, pulling up, mentally urging himself to reach the same high spot his friend already managed to reach in allegedly under a minute.
 
"Oh, she's our new donkey." She said casually, swinging her legs.
 
"What happened to Chip?"
 
"Died."
 
"Oh...oh, um, okay." Harry beat down a squeak as he lost his foothold once more. Luckily, he was holding on to the tree branch he was aiming for, and he struggled profusely. "Er, help?"
 
"Think that extra serving of potatoes finally got to you, Curly." She chuckled, watching him dangle from the lofty branches. Then she reached down with a hand and hoisted her friend up steadily by the arm. He alighted down once he got a firm hold, positioning himself on the other side of the tree, back leaning against the trunk. He glanced down at his hands and brushes the splinters off, though they left behind little pricks in his skin. Maybe he was out of shape, but Scarlett would soon fix all of that.
 
“You do realize I’m going to college.” He told her, enjoying the scenery through the thick array of leafy branches and viridian leaves. “So I have to leave earlier in August to move all my stuff to the dorm.”
 
“Oh.” She said, feelings significantly dampened. “Really?”
 
“Yeah. But I’ll try to come back for next summer.”
 
‘Try’ didn’t always mean a 100% chance guarantee. It often meant things like ‘maybe’ or ‘probably’ or even ‘unlikely’.
 
‘I’ll try not to forget to come back’.
 
‘I’ll try not to get caught up in law, business and sociology that I don’t want to come back to visit’.
 
All of those thoughts struck a deep chord within her. Emptied of sunniness, she snuggled up closer to the tree for comfort.
 
When he noticed that she didn’t say anything after that, he decided to start up a new conversation, one that he meant to start for a while. “Hey, you know how you’re really good at making stuff from scratch?”
 
She turned her head a little, leaves swaying in the breeze and shielding her view with the twist of branches. “Yeah?” She asked. “What about it?”
 
“There’s some good majors for engineering at the college I’m going to.” He answered. “Have you applied? I think you would go far in that field.”
 
“I would…?”
 
“Of course. You’re a genius in that brain. What’s your GPA?”
 
“3.4.”
 
“See? You’d get in. What are your SAT scores?”
 
“Harry, I never took the SATs.” She confessed.
 
He looked around the tree, careful not to lean too far. “What’ s that supposed to mean?”
 
“I’m not going to college.” She said, bringing her knees up to her chin and putting her arms around her legs. “I’m staying with Mom and Dad to help out the farm, and then I’ll take over later.”
 
“Can’t you just sell the farm once your parents retire?”
 
“In this economy? Oh, no. Nobody wants to buy a farm. Everybody in America invests in the stock market and medicine and law. That’s why I need to keep this farm open. So I didn’t take the SATs.” She explained. “My siblings can go to college, though.”
 
“That sucks.”
 
“That’s good!” She protested. “I’d rather muck out stalls all day than sit in a classroom. Trust me – I cannot stay still in a seat. It’s a miracle that I got an above average GPA.”
 
Laughter, followed by the sound of the wind.
 
Truth be told, Scarlett did want to go to college. The sound of majoring in engineering, which she was particularly good at it, was tempting and desirable. If she went, she would gain so much from her professors and intelligent peers, get a degree and even a job outside of the farm. Maybe she would build something as famous as the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the Great Wall of China in Beijing. She would achieve so much – but what would she leave behind? The horses, the goats, rabbits, butterflies, cows, chickens, the apple orchards, the wide open plains, her home. In London she doubted that you were allowed to race trains or stargaze on rooftops or race horses whenever you liked. It was a foreign world to her and the thought of being there made her fairly scared.
 
“So you’re not going?” He asked.
 
“I don’t think so.”
 
The way she said it sounded too resolute and ending, like there was no other option to be made. But it escaped her mouth too quickly to be fixed and she ended up giving Harry a stanch response that neither favored. She wanted to take it back, but she couldn’t, and so she left it hanging in the air like the heat of July.

BUT STILL.
 
HAPPY 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY ONE DIRECTION!!
 
I meant to post this yesterday. :p
 
I forgot. I was busy celebrating. (Which is having a spending spree on 1D-related items at the mall. I spent almost $100 on t-shirts, books, CDs and DVDs alone. Pllbbbbb...talk about being overpriced! Plus I was sobbing over the Torn performance on Youtube. And reblogging random stuff that made me tear up some more on Tumblr. And tweeting the boys.)
 
Heh.
 
In case you worried, I'm not dead *yet*. I'll still be updating, except...let's just say that time's been a little bit on the iffy side.
 
But I do have the stuff planned out and I'll only *consider* abandoning my fanfics once Niall decides that Nandos is disgusting.