Black.

That’s all I remember after I’d entered Dr. Navil’s Supersonic Time Travel Machine. It was fast but extremely uncomfortable. Even though I was short I still had to squat a little for them to close the hatch.

I swear I could hear us slowing down, and my heart began to race.

I was excited and nervous. This was where I got to meet her. All bouncing curls I wish I had and deep brown knowledgeable eyes.

What if she though me ignorant and wouldn’t do it to see me? Or perhaps her curiosity would be peeked, and she would succumb to what I had to say…

Which was honestly a colorful assortment of fangirling questions.

What if it was the wrong era and I’d missed her life comepletly? After all, she hadn’t had a normal life-span of the human race.

No more time to think, for the hatch opened with a hiss. I climbed out and looked down at the plain brown dress I wore.

Yes, dress.

This was 1810, and all the ladies wore dresses with hoop skirts and corsets cinched tight. No, I didn’t have a hoop skirt(for sure not a corset!), but I figured that my role-play of a poor girl who ran away from home would work. Perhaps these people would even take me in out of pity!

I could only dare hope so.

I smoothed out what wrinkles had begun to form during my wild ride and hurried off into the town outside of the little wood in which the machine had settled.

I looked and saw old but fashionable house with gorgeous architecture that some people in my era would have died to have on their front porches. There was not much landscaping to look at.

Nice but simple. I had to be in the right place. All I needed was to try to get information from someone that could point me to Steventon.

I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as I possibly, stealing here and there, while still looking out for a very approachable person who could help.

As I dashed into a dark corner, I thought of something quite sadly.

I had never ever been to England in my life. But oh, I wish I had before! It was actually quite splendid despite the overcast skies. There were horse-drawn carriages which gave me royalty vibes. Dry-stacked stone that could have been used on a castle. Streets of stone which triggered my cottage-core loving self.

This was a place where dreams came true, I was sure of it.

I kneeled down in the darkness and coughed when I saw the person I was waiting for.

The seemingly cheerful countenance on her face boosted my confidence. But when she turned gracefully in my direction, her face seemed to freeze in half smile, half disbelief.

“Please,” I croaked, cough cough, “ I’m looking for my grandmother. She lives in Steventon and promised to look after me when my father died.”

“Mercy!” She said under her breath. “Poor child…” Her outcry to pitiful sorrow as she took in my condition. “Dear child, what is you’re name?”

“Katelyn Reynolds,” I said meekly, making sure I used my full name to sound more appropriate but not meeting her eyes less she would see my uncomfortableness in case I messed up the accent.

The woman shook her head disapprovingly. I took it not meant for me, but whoever was supposed to be looking after me. She muttered something that I couldn’t make out this time.

With a soft pat on her brown curls, she straightened up and pointed down the street. “Steventon is that way, Miss Reynolds.”

I thanked her, deciding not to ask any more questions because I feared she was far too nervous to hang around much longer.

So I quietly stole my way down the street towards my goal and one step closer to my hero…

Jane Austen, here I come.