As you leaned in to get a better look at her feet, the bucket holding you up started to tilt. You tried to grab onto something, but to no avail. You fell, hitting your head and the ground below, making a loud thud. Everything went hazy, then went black.
"You poor thing," you heard as you begin to wake up, "are you alright?" You fuzzy vision cleared, and above you saw an angel. She had wavy red hair, blue eyes, and the prettiest face you'd ever see on a grown up. Then you realize that she is the lady you saw in the window. She looked at you, concerned.
"Who are you?" you asked. You then noticed that you were on a really soft sofa in her living room.
"Why, I'm Abigail LeBlanc," she said, "but you can just call me Abby. And you are?" You tell her your name and greet her. "You had a nasty fall, are you alright?" She talking to you like a child.
"Yeah," you reply, "Is this your house?"
"Why, yes," replied Abby, "you like it?" You can tell she was trying to be very sweet. Perhaps she thought you were cute.
"Yeah," you tell her, "It's huge! I've never seen anything like it, Mrs. Lebla- I mean Abigail."
"Just Abby, child," she said, "Oh, and its just Ms., not Mrs." Sweet, you thought, she was single!
"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize. "So... uh, Abby, how'd you get this house?"
"Well it was my parents'," explained Abby, "but they decided to move to a nice place up north. So, as a gift they left me this place." She said it with a smile.
You and Abby talked for a few minutes about the house as you lied on her sofa. She even offered to call the butlers to bring you something. But you were fine.
"So," she said, "gotta girlfriend?"
"Well, ugh..." you were caught off guard by her question, "No, not really." You blush and begin eating a sugary treat the servants sat on the table.
"Aww, don't worry, sugar," said Abby, "you're still a kid and have loads of time to find that special someone. Unlike me." She giggled. But she wasn't that old. Besides, to you, she looked great.
"What are you talking about Ms... I mean Abby? You are very pretty." When you finished your sentence, she smiled and blushed a light red color.
"Aww, thanks, sweetie," she said. "Say, how old are you anyway?"
"I'm 19, ma'am," you say confidently.
"Oh, I see," said Abby, kind of surprised, "I look soo much younger."
"Thanks..." you pause, "I think. How about you?"
"Well, I'm 32 years young," she giggled at her 'clever' statement. Wow, she was eleven years older than you. And yet, you couldn't help but feel attracted to her. Could it be that she was becoming accompanied to you, too? 'No way,' you thought, 'she's a very wealthy woman. What would she want with a 'teen' like you?'
"So, young man," said Abby, "is there anything I can do for your poor hurt self?"
Actually, there was something: her beautiful feet. You could trust Abby. But how would you get to them.
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