Progressive U Creative Writing

The smell of the fallen leaves and the Cedar trees wafted in through the open window. Although Fall had made itself known, the air was still slightly warm.

Elizabeth awoke one morning in China for a study abroad and tried to figure out what to eat for breakfast. She walked through the door to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator.

In so many ways it seems like nothing has changed since the first time i met you and even had you.. like you are the same AMAZING guy..

This is my first story in a long time.

This is a short piece inspired by a section of the poem The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. I am writing a complete book based on this poem. This is only a part of it.
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The sun began to rise over the harbor in Long Beach as Owen Krenshaw crested a small sand dune at a light jog. He had been up for hours just thinking.

“Elesiayah! Elesiayah,” Arabel’s childish voice called insistently as her little hands tugged determinedly at the thin blanket that covered Elesiayah in her narrow bed. “You have to get up now! Mama says it’s time!”

Elesiayah groaned and opened her emerald eyes. Arabel was kneeling on the bed beside her, her brown eyes wide as her expression flickered between excitement and stubborn insistence at Elesiayah’s refusal to cooperate with her. “I’m up, I’m up,” Elesiayah muttered around a yawn. “What’s your hurry, little one?”

Val’Kieran ben Trouja dea Xeannairceoch la Rei’va, the Warrior Prince, was dreaming again. He knew he was dreaming. With that same instinct that had saved his unworthy skin more times than he cared to count over the past four centuries, he knew. And he could not stop it any more than he had been able to stop his enemies from coming at him in swarms over those same endless centuries. He wasn't even sure, in truth, that he wanted it to stop.

She was in his dreams. She was always in his dreams, shining in her fierce beauty. Her long auburn hair blew out before her as she stood her ground, surrounded by his kin, facing him with all the furious anger of the ages burning in her eyes. That righteous fury had her aura shimmering and pulsing in time to the blood that raged in her veins. That anger was as beautiful as it was frightening.

Ron got back from the barbeque with a “Kiss the Cook” apron on and his trusty spatula still in hand.

The parts where they are thinking should be in italics, but I don't know how to do it.

“Do you love me?”