Lindsey Agnes
Knightley

I never thought that I'd actually say this but I did have fun at the Ingrams' home. I don't think I have laughed so much in a year, as much as I've in only twenty-four hours.

After Ethan and I returned to the living room, we found that everyone was already half-asleep. Resulting in Mrs Ingram and Lucy shooing everyone away to their respective rooms.

It was pretty late so Lucy and Dave decided to stay there and the triplets ended up with Allison and me in her room. 

The room was exactly as I had pictured it. It literally screamed Allison Victoria Crimsom with its bright coloured wall papers and light furnishing. A tower of stuffed animals stood at one cornor while art supplies like brushes, poster paints and charcoal pencils were adorning one corner of the room.

Ethan also showed me his room and it was a reflection of him. Posters and cut-outs of his favourite bands and musical artists hung on one wall. It had posters of Kurt Schneider, Marina and the Diamonds, Halsey, Alex Goot, Zyrah Rose(when my eyes landed on the girl group's poster, he said: "What, they're pretty good singers), One OK Rock("What? Not all boy bands are bad.") and Lindsey Stirling(finally a Lindsey whose name is spelt the same way as my own).

I don't mind boy and girl bands. I was just glad that there weren't any cut-outs from a girlie magazine, the kind of that teenage boys(or teenage girls, too) are notorious for. Though, I can't actually imagine Ethan having such pictures in his room, nor can I imagine Mrs Ingram allowing it.

But then again, I don't think he'd let me in there were any girlie magazine pictures there.

Another corner of the room had a messy pile of books stacked over eachother.
Even though those books were seemingly disarray, I couldn't find a single page that had any sort of disformality in it.

Lacey, Macey and Allison started plaiting eachother's hairs when Ethan and I went back to her room. Him and I then just went in a corner where Kacey sat and looked at the blonde trio with an expression that said Well, what are we supposed to do?

I didn't join then because I'm not really a plait person, myself. I know how to plait but I keep my medium length hair down, most of the times.

Fortunately, we were able to play a Monopoly with Allison, Lacey and Macey later. Macey won three times in that game.

Ethan stayed there till about one A.M. and then he and Kacey retreated to his room.

Allison and I on the floor futons, while Lacey and Macey slept on her bed. The pyjamas that she'd given only reached about half of my lower legs but they were more comfortable to sleep in rather than day time trousers.

Though, the futons were actually a nice change.

I woke up the same time as the cousins and the smell of a typical Sunday wafted through the kitchen as we entered it.

Then the scene from last night repeated, with everyone assembling and gathering around the round table.

After breakfast, all the kids(including the teens) were ushered away to do their homework. Having nothing else to do, I borrowed a few pieces of paper from the cousins and started doing my own homework, sharing books with them too. I had called Ms Bragge in the morning to tell her that I might get even more late and she surprised me by saying that she didn't expect me at Edenfield by lunch time.

We completed our homework by lunch and then I had to stay over for lunch, too. Not complaining about that, anyhow.

I am now in Edenfield with my homework tucked away in a binder, showered and with changed clothes, just randomly walking across the premeaval house.

I don't know how to explain it but today, it's one of those afternoons when sunlight streams through everywhere and you have a pleasant sense of serenity.

My feet pound against the Turkish carpet laid on the stairs. The one in the 1890 Edenfield was blue while this one has a reddish tint to it. The stairs are quite wide; about seven to nine feet with gold railing accompanying it.

Only one paranormal thing happened last night. I was Dylan in my dream.

Though, it wasn't like I was controlling his body. It was like I was watching his every action from the back of his head. The strangest thing is that it didn't feel weird at all.

The dream started with Dylan talking to Howard about some tampering. He then went on a late night expedition, walking on the streets till he absent mindedly reached the cemetery and then, he met Gellert Palmer. I couldn't hear his thoughts but that knock knock poem was enough to send electrical currents throughout my body.

Woof.

Huh?

I look around myself to see where that sound came from. It's weird since it felt like a dog bark.

There's isn't a lot of chance for straying domestic pesticides here, a dog is way out of the options.

The whistling of a bird from a nearby balcony rings across the first floor, distracting me from the dog bark. Now, that's a sound that I'm used to hear.

I focus-- straining on my ears.

Eyes squinted, I walk over to the balcony and an unexpected smile creases my lips. In the balcony, I am greeted by several streaks of sunlight. It's usually cloudy or rainy here and I am very glad that it's a sunny Sunday.

From the edge of the balcony, I look over at the trees where the birds dwell.

Three nestlings chirp enthusiastically as their parents feed them with mashed worms. Unknowingly, the corners of my mouth droop. I tuck my hands into the jean jacket pockets and I peddle away from the balcony.

The sound of blades clashing rings throughout the wooden walls of the coridor near the balcony. The corridor has several chairs and a few small table with flower pots on them.

Blades?

There's a library on the first floor, several balconies, a movie theatre at the opposite side and... a fencing court. That's probably where the sound of blades is coming from.

Speaking of the court, I haven't been there for almost five years now. I vaguely remember Dad teaching Dylan fencing there and a loud shout whenever somebody scored a point.

A strident Yeah! echos throughout the hallway.

Unable to contain myself, I tread towards the fencing court. My feet prance against the posh carpet as I move in between the paintings hung on the walls.

The court's door is closed and I open by colliding both of my hands on it.

Two men hold fencing blades in their gloved hands as they fence. They're both wearing the black protective masks and padded uniforms. One of them targets the other with the tip of his blade and the electrical scoring machine blares through out the court.

The shorter of the two untangles his grey hair from the black mask and the other also stops.

Alfred wipes the sweat from the forehead as he says,
"You win again, Master Dylan."

"Again with the Master title," Dylan sighs, "and this isn't even a win. You moved your blade from your chest just as I was about to target. You didn't even parry for God's sake!"

"You underestimate your own fencing, Master. I can't say more." Alfred brushes his thin lined moustache as Dylan sighs loudly.

"Why do I even bother?" Dylan shakes his head and places his blade on a nearby table.

"You two are pretty good."
Deciding to make my presence known, I step into the court and take in every inch. Dark coloured fluers-de-lis are printed on the light coloured  wallpaper. A bejeweled chandelier emanates light from the outside world, creating little raindows as it refracts from the glass windows.

"Like Gran Amelia used to say: 'Music for the lass and fencing for the lad.'
Though, Kathy was far more better at fencing than music."
Dylan shakes his head and continues,
"And not just fencing, it's the art of fencing."

Tall portraits of the previous Knightleys, along with separate ones for their wives, are enclapsed with golden frames. There are portraits of Grandad Christopher and Gran Amelia Rosales, my parents: Charles and Jennifer. There's also a portrait that I haven't seen before and it's of Dylan.

Dylan? When did his come here?

I look back at my brother and see him with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes are locked on his portrait with a bored expression, rather than on me.
"Dreadful portrait, isn't it? Looks like I'm taking a mug-shot."

"And I tried, in vain, for it to not look like that. But you weren't listening to me that day." Dylan's irises shift to Alfred who just shrugs his squinted eyes off.

"When did your portrait come here?" I ask, eyeing his portrait and then our family crest adorning the centre of the court:
a flaming red phoenix in between daffodils.
Our family motto cascades the spiralling edges in the Greek alphabet, but the same quote is written with the Latin alphabet in the middle.
"Filodoxía kai Písti páno ap 'óla."

"Ambition and Loyalty above all."

"On my twentieth birthday. Like somebody we know, it was an ordeal. All daughter-in-laws also get their own portraits once they're married and only portraits of three generations stay here before they're moved to the attic.

"And you'll get your own portrait when you're twenty," he adds with an after-thought.

I raise a brow and say,
"I wasn't asking because I wanted one for myself. I was asking out of general curiosity." I also shake my head and another question pops into my head,
"You're saying that I'll also get a portrait, then how come the only female portraits are of the daughter-in-laws."

"That's because Grandad Christopher and Dad were the only children of their generation. You and Kathleen are the first in-born females after two generations," he says nonchalantly.

This takes me by surprise.

At least, Kathleen was.

A few more moments of silence pass, with only the sound of Alfred tucking away the gear intact.

Alfred leaves Dylan's blade as he walks out of the court.
"Your blade?"
I point my finger towards the fencing sword on the table.

"It's an épée, to be exact. And I always tuck away my gear on my own."

Okay, so it's an épée.

He takes his mask from the table and his epèe, still not making eye contact with me.

"I might have to go to Ireland in a week or two. I'd recommend if we arrange the trip for the fourth memory during the time in-between."

With that, he surveys the court and walks out with his equipment.

He stops for a second before saying outloud,
"And you need to work on your snooping skills, Lindsey."

Hello everybody! Man, this chapter was fun to write.

I don't know what it is about fencing(or 'the art of' fencing) but I've always loved it to the core. Though, some people get irritated when fencers shout while scoring a point but I love that part the most. The energy they resonate during that shouting is just awesome. If you'd like to see the difference between a foil, épée and sabre(and also why Dylan was stressing on the term épée) then look below:

Also, you might have noticed that the flow of the chapter breaks at one or two points. That's intentional because those actions are happening out of the blue and Lindsey doesn't expect them AT ALL, hence the break in the train of thoughts.

Oh and there are no fencing SWORDS, they're BLADES. There are three types of blades: the foil, èpèe and the sabre. Dylan uses the èpèe. I didn't include much detail about that because I felt it might sound a little pretentious since Lindsey, herself, is more of a music expert than a fencing one.

Also, the Knightley family is, in fact, in Greek.
Again, I noted it from Google translate and I know it's in modern Greek, rather than medieval one.
I'll try finding someone who can help me there...

Also, you'll find out its significance later on. ;)

Anyways, here's this week's question:
Why isn't Dylan making any eye contact with Lindsey?

Thank you for reading and have a fabulous week.

Avoid weird typos.

Love,
MS Zame:)