Song of Yvette

The little girl accidentally wandered on the old rail-track. Now mostly an overgrown pathway. She had heard the road was forbidden. Talked about in hushed tones. Curiosity got better of her and she walked on. Alone. Ignoring the whimpering dog.
The trees, lush and green. The birdcalls loud. The footfalls crisp. The sun overhead, strong.
Derelict caravan. Angelic gypsy. Silk on her skin, flowers in her hair and song on her lips.
Yvette!
Wasn't she a myth? A folklore?
Perhaps.
The little girl was found on rail-tracks. Enamoured by the phantasma. Talking to herself. And singing the song of Yvette.

Courtesy : Friday Fictioneers

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Jinxed!

The "To-let" scribbled messily on the facade drew attention. The building was mired in shadows, even in bright day light. The place had definitely seen better days. The weed-grown yard of the derelict, perhaps it missed the hands that had tended rose-beds. The red skin scraped off by the claws of green moss. The gaping hollows in place of doors and windows. The soul and skeleton bared. The classic, and if I am not mistaken, British flavor of the frontage. Abandoned. Forsaken. I am told the place is jinxed. Misfortune has befallen various owners. The "To-let" slapped in sheer mockery.

Linking with Alphabe-Thursday : J