How I started to write.

How I started writing these stories is often more interesting than the stories themselves. These are stories I have heard from Ysabelle, who was once known as Anna Oldfield. You see, Anna isn't quiet like most people I know. For one thing, she is the only one who met me, rather than me meet her. She is also one of the few who, technically, doesn't exist. I didn't know that at the time, but I think I better start with the first story she told me.

It started some time summer 2001. At this time I had no direction, no real pastime. If you asked me what my hobby was, I would have probably have hung my head, or said reading. But it was around this time I started to think about things. Strange things. All my life I've had stories in my head, and in the past I tried to put them to paper, but it never worked. I'd get bored, or something would stop me. But something happened last summer. I was one day in my room, reading a good book and listening to some music when I decided, for whatever reason I had, to go get a glass of water. This was a typical day for me. Nothing interesting had happened and I was happy enough to just be reading, and happy enough to have some good music. I ran to the kitchen, opened the tap quickly, and let icy cold water run over my hand before turning it off. Then, wiping my brow with my wet hand I returned, sipping the water as I went.

When I returned to my room, I had the surprise of my life. On my bed was sitting a girl. I didn't know her, and had never seen her before, and to be honest, I thought she looked shifty. I gasped, and dropping the glass of water, I closed the door.

'Who on earth are you?' I exclaimed, looking at her.

She looked up. She had long flaxen hair that hung around her small shoulders, keeping them warm. The hair was frizzy, as if she had plated them the night before, and then undone them. She wore a black tight strap top, clinging to her thin, almost flat figure. She couldn't have been much over eleven as her body was boyish and under developed, although I couldn't tell much from the pair of baggy black trousers that engulfed her body from the hip down. She looked up at me through the eyeliner and her green eyes smiled at me. Her pout was replaced with a small purple-lipped smile and she said, 'Hello Xandra, nice to meet you.'

'Xandra?' I asked, 'That's not my name..'

'It will be one day,' she replied quickly, standing up. She was thin, nothing to her. She looked ill, a little anaemic. The black eyeliner washed any remaining colour out of her face. The worse thing was that she was only a couple of inches shorter than me. As she looked me in the face, she allowed herself another smile and said, 'you will be one day. I have a proposition to make.'

'What?' I asked, flabbergasted, 'who are you?' I repeated, 'Why're you in my room? Get out or I'll phone the police.'

She laughed, actually laughed at me, and said, 'you're bluffing about the police, but if I know Xandra right, the question is not, why am I on your property, but why do I want to see you so bad.' She reached behind her back and brought out a long, white thin hunting knife. I stared at it. The blade had been stained with blood, and not washed properly. I stepped back in fear, wondering if she was going to try to kill me. The girl smiled in a macabre fashion and raised the knife to her wrist. ' If you scream then I'll kill myself.' She said simply.

I looked at her, my mouth open in astonishment. I blinked, unbelieving the sight in front of me, and then managed to stammer, 'what do you want with me?'

'I know you Xandra, and if you're true to yourself, you know me as well.' She said, tilting her head to one side. I stared at her knife in her hand. Was she crazy? Was she some psycho who decided to come in my room? Would she really kill herself? She continued, unabashed. 'I know you know my story. But instead of me, you play the main character. I it was a penknife instead, I believe..' She ran the knife down her arm slowly, almost sensually.

'I never got that far,' I said, 'It never even touched my skin. I just..'

'.Just thought about it,' she finished. She smiled again and said, ' I went that far. It was the only thing I could do to save myself.'

Okay, I decided, she was a psycho. I quickly felt around behind me for my phone. Feeling it, I pressed the on button, and tried to keep her talking. 'So who are you?'

'Ysabelle, but most people call me Yis.' She replied quickly.

'So what do you want with me?' I asked.

'Xandra, I know that you know my story. Do you remember a girl called Anna? if I remember right.'

'I wrote a story for class, what about it?' I said offhandedly.

'Well, did you ever think the story was true?'

I stopped in my tracks. True? Stories aren't true except maybe in the strange subconscious way, but what she was suggesting was a literal representation of the truth. I thought for a second and asked, 'true? You mean, I created you?'

She laughed hollowly, and said, 'No! Sweet Lady no, you can't create things, you're just human, but you're a little more perceptive than others.I was told to come here and give you this. '

I hadn't noticed the plastic bag on my bed. She picked it up, struggling with the weight, and placed it in my hand. I slipped my phone into my pocket as I brought out the ancient looking book the weighted even more than my physic's textbooks. I looked at it, throwing it from one hand to another. The symbols on the front I couldn't understand. I looked at it and asked, 'it's a book.'

'It's your job to write it up,' she said, using the knife to push some of her hair back.

I looked at her, and then at the book, and back again. Then, unsure what to do I opened the book. More symbols. I turned the pages, and although the handwriting changes, they were still symbols. 'I can't read this,' I said.

'Nonsense!' she said, 'you know how to read it of course! You wrote it. Alright, it's a translation from the original English text, but it was the only one I could get my hands on.' I looked at her dubiously, but allowed her to explain herself. 'These are the Amethyst Chronicles, the first half written by Jéscika Garret, but Amethyst wanted you to write the rest.'

'Why?' I asked.

'She read fan fiction long ago, and remembered yours.' She said. 'You'll join fan fiction soon, write some extremely bad stories before you start writing good ones and then will separate into two and you'll write fiction for fiction press. And this will be the story you write.' She turned to the last pages, 'it will be your master piece.'

'Right..' I said, checking the phone in my pocket. I took it out quickly, but she was faster than I was.

The knife barely grazed my hand as it knocked the phone out of place. I swore, but she said, 'Xandra, you'll learn how to write, and then, maybe, one day you'll make a final version of the Amethyst chronicles. It isn't just about Amethyst though. There's one story about us, and then a prophet Geuidun chose to announce his coming to the world, and lots of older tales that most can't remember. You'll write them all.'

'Yeah, right, I can't hardly spell, ' I snorted in contempt, 'trust me, the day I write anything and not get it back with a bad comment will be the day hell freezes over. I failed my last English exam.'

'You got a C.' she said, rolling her eyes. 'That's not bad.'

'Yeah, but everyone else got a B.'

'Xandra, your English grades will pick up. Promise.' She said, touching my face. Then, dropping the knife she hugged me and said, 'Good bye..'

She disappeared in front of me, and I sat their shocked. I collapsed on my bed, and waited for something to make sense. Then, after about half an hour I got up to write. Something I had never done before. Ysabelle returned, often, and has told me many new stories. I've written one about her, called My Liberty dear. I have also begun the translation of the old book, that stories The Kathaerodous. All the others are stories she's told me that interest me.

Please read and review.

Thank you, Xandra the Blue.