She awoke often from a dream - a cool wind enveloping her, whispering Miranda, Miranda, Miranda...
Only, her name was not Miranda.
The closest she had ever come to that name was in the form of an old key, which she had held tight to, for as long as she could remember. She kept it in her treasure box.
On the side of the key was one word engraved into the metal.
Miranda.
Who was this Miranda?
What was the place burned into her memory?
As she grew older, the vivid memories of this mysterious place grew stronger and stronger.
Miranda never left her thoughts for long.
Until one day, when she discovered that Miranda was not a person at all.
Instead...
Miranda was a place..
Miranda Castle.
But, why did she have a key to such a place?
A key to a castle?
And how, how did she get it?
Castle Miranda was built in 1866 by Milner, an English architect.
It had been commissioned by the Liedekerke-Beaufort family, who during the French Revolution had left their previous home, Vêves Castle.
She pondered this new information, as she inspected her key.
Still wondering why she had it.
She could hear the chatter of her family from outside of her bedroom door.
A family she never felt attached to.
A family she looked nothing like.
A family she could not wait to get away from.
She spent her days daydreaming.
And, with each daydream her memories of Castle Miranda became clear as water.
She remembered a grand kitchen, where she sat and nibbled on fresh bread, and ate soup poured in wooden bowl fulls by Cook.
It was during dreams of Cook's big bowls of delicious soup, and the sound of chalk on a chalkboard, that her memories came flooding back ten fold.
She could not have been more than 3 years old in those vast memories.
She was now 17.
But she remembered.
Somehow, she remembered...
During world war II, Miranda Castle had become an orphanage.
It operated as such until 1980.
Is that how she got the key?
Had she once lived there?
The castle was left to ruin.
But one day, she vowed to return to Miranda, to Belgium...
To the truth....
♥
Miranda Castle is a real place.
As for my tale...
Well, you be the judge ;)
This was so lovely, Vanessa! I am going to go to that link right after I finish posting this comment to read more about Miranda Castle. I love old ruins (especially castles) and would love to read more about them. Thanks so much for the inspiration! xoxo
Posted by: Jessica | April 22, 2012 at 09:11 AM
OOooOOooooOOoo spooky! If the walls could talk. I love how you ponder old things, little one with the old soul. **blows kisses** Deb
Posted by: Deborah Bauernfeind | April 23, 2012 at 08:21 AM
Maybe that girl is still out there somewhere, and your tale is more real than you can imagine. Truth is stranger than fiction. I believe in your tale. The castle is amazing!
It would take millions of dollars to renovate it...how sad it came to be in such a state of disrepair. It reminds me of the Anastasia tale. Some spirits are there trying to piece the past together.
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