{"id":251942,"date":"2026-07-13T01:39:03","date_gmt":"2026-07-12T22:39:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/an-eternity-of-this-amanda-osborne\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T01:39:03","modified_gmt":"2026-07-12T22:39:03","slug":"an-eternity-of-this-amanda-osborne","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/an-eternity-of-this-amanda-osborne\/","title":{"rendered":"An Eternity Of This – Amanda Osborne"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Genevieve had long ago fallen asleep, slumped beside of me on my chest, her soft, deep breathing sliding warm over my skin, one arm draped boneless across my stomach, her hand curled slightly about my hip, the other curled against her, under her cheek. I had never thought that tonight, the events of tonight, would ever happen. Every touch, kiss, and cry were burned indelibly into my memory. It had been more than I’d ever expected my scorned flesh to experience.<\/p>\n

And now as I laid here, one hand stroking her bare back, the other behind my head on the pillow, I knew that if I wanted to keep her near me, that was the last thing I could ever say to her. Before she’d finally drifted off to sleep, she’d promised me that she would love me, want me, forever. That she’d never leave me. What I’d said to her before her breathing had grown deep and even was the cold, unavoidable truth.<\/p>\n

If she never left, she would be the first not to. \u273d \u273d \u273d Everyone I had ever loved had left, either in hate and disgust or fear and meaningless pity. My devotion had always been scorned, my need for acceptance and affection carelessly tossed back to me. My worship was an abomination, a grotesque insult to their sensibilities. My mother, a beautiful, cold, hard woman had hated me. When I had been pushed out of her body and she’d seen the monstrous deformity that her only child bore, nothing I could ever do from that moment on would ever earn her forgiveness for being born to her.<\/p>\n

My entire childhood, if one could call it that, had been an endless circle of me loving her despite myself, wanting to be held by her, kissed by her, and she reviling me, refusing even to touch me unless it was necessary or to strike me. Until I was nearly eight years old, I hadn’t understood her loathing or the fear that would come into her eyes whenever I entered the room. But one afternoon, after a particularly vicious fight, she’d dragged me to her wardrobe, where a single tiny vanity mirror hung, and ripped the leather from my face and made me look.<\/p>\n

As soon as I’d seen the skull and veins and the missing noise, I’d understood. She’d left me there, locking me in the tiny room with the mirror, until I’d gone half mad, screaming and choking, retching. When she’d finally drug me out and towed me to my room and locked the door behind me, I’d laid on the hard-wooden floor, knowing that I was a monster.<\/p>\n

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.<\/p>\n

Cover designed by BetiBup33 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author\u2019s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Amanda Osborne Visit my website at https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/AuthorAmandaOsborne\/ Printed in the United States of America ASIN: B07KW7GTLG When I unlocked the door, it was silent and dark inside.<\/p>\n

The mirror stood eerily quiet. I set the basket down before the mirror and turned to face the wall. The clock struck midnight. Behind me, I heard the mirror, the mirror, slide quietly open. Then a voice, like the slide of silk across heated skin: “I thought I instructed you to leave your hair down.” To Ellen, who huddled over a tiny laptop in our father\u2019s business and read my very first version of this story and told me how much she loved it.<\/p>\n

Your encouragement and belief were the very first that made me believe I could be a writer. I love you so much, big sister. PROLOGUE It had been the scandal that everyone had talked about for months: Young opera ingenue disappears from stage as Opera goes up in flames and rushes to the altar with a young nobleman. The tragedy of the fallen chandelier, the drowning death of Philippe de Chagny and the shock of Christine Daae’s sudden elopement were on the lips of Paris gossip mongers in every parlor, at every cafe, and during every dinner party.<\/p>\n

Rumors and speculation on the sordid details flew through the fashionable parts of town and even through the less savory sectors of the city. It was all anyone could talk about. The Opera Populaire had closed its doors for nearly a year. Raoul de Chagny – now the Comte de Chagny after the death of his brother – and his young bride promptly sailed for England. And the whispers of a hideous, obsessed musician that had fallen in love with a beautiful face and voice were no longer debated amongst the vacationing Opera staff.<\/p>\n

‘That night’ would remain fresh in their minds…for as long as it was a worthy tidbit of gossip. In time, as great scandals do, it faded and was forgotten. The Opera Populaire re-opened its doors. A new Season began.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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