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E P I T O M E
I G O E
H A N N A H B E R N A D E T T E
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EPITOME
e⋅pit⋅o⋅me
–noun
1. a person or thing that is typical of or possesses to a high degree the features of a whole class: He is the epitome of goodness.
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You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.
James M Barrie, Peter Pan.
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The Little Match Girl; Hans Christen Anderson.
my favourite story, ever.
She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.
"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.
But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.
E P I T O M E
I G O E
H A N N A H B E R N A D E T T E
-
EPITOME
e⋅pit⋅o⋅me
–noun
1. a person or thing that is typical of or possesses to a high degree the features of a whole class: He is the epitome of goodness.
-
You see, Wendy, when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.
James M Barrie, Peter Pan.
-
The Little Match Girl; Hans Christen Anderson.
my favourite story, ever.
She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.
"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.
But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.
- Last seen 5 hours ago. Member since February 1, 2008.
- I'm a jade dragon poet for 288 comments.
- I am a 16 year old girl (Great Britain)


















- I am in the groups Maniacally Macabre
- I have 288 comments, 7 contests, 35 poems, 1 story
Active Contests
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anything and everything goes, really.
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prewrites allowed, enter what you wanna (: x
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four prompts, run away with them please.
My Poetry
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12 lines, 3 comments, October 14
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We'll write the blues together,
add a dash of green and a glimmer of foamy white,9 lines, 5 comments, October 8 -
19 lines, September 26
My Stories
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The stair gasps beneath his heavy tread, weighty boots turning carpet to dust as his hand snakes up the oak banister. Silence presses down hard on the musty air of this house, and with one final heave, the man’s bulk settles799 lines, 2 comments, August 16. In 600-2000 words
Guest Book
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Concrete Angel on October 9Ooooo! Wow! I just read the story you put on your page here. I LOVE it! It's so beautiful!
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Miyabi on September 14Awesome page and poetry

I could only quickly view, seeing as I have to get off of the computer right now haha, but I'm going to return and comment your work. -
emma... on August 12helloooo :] thanks for favoritizing me.
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alaska. on August 12thanks for the add. (:
I'll be sure to check out some of your work.
