Victorian Stories

The view of her was marvelous- even from across the room, he saw the glimmer of red in her mostly brown hair, and the creaminess of her fair skin. She was like a real life porcelain doll from the Victorian era- somehow fit into a corset to make her waist as invisible as possible, then buried under finest-silk dress and otherwise. To him, she'd be perfect as his bride. He excused himself politely, as all princes are taught...

I thought they buried you in the snowLast winter-- but, pray, was that me?Curious, how I’ve nowhere to go,But pace the graves at half past three:Mysterious ‘tis, where goes my mindThese bleary days since I spied you last;It seems I’m cloistered from my kind,Lost, amazed, in the winding past.But look at you! As snowflakes white,Trellised atop the gravestone’s perch!How does your trembling lip invite,Like toll of midnight b...