The Time Keeper's Daughter Vignettes
I needed a place to compile all my little TKD Vignettes. New ones need to be written soon! And I think I want an icon. Must search stock soon. I'm picky.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Topaz Jewels
"Papa," she said one afternoon as she peered at her father's bench. "Are those diamonds?"
The year was 1875. She was ten years old.
"No, my darling girl. I rather think they'd be poor diamonds! They're topaz crystal. They're to focus the beam." He gestured to the contraption he was making-- it looked like a cupbaord to her, except it puffed steam and occasionally glowed a strange blue. It smelled funny. She was afraid of it, and kept away.
"What's a beam?"
"You see this jewel? How it's covered in tiny facets? Time is like that." He adjusted his glasses, which had begun to slip down his nose. "What is time but a collection of moments that make one glimmering gem? This little crystal tells my machine where to go."
"I don't understand, Papa." She wrinkled her nose.
He laid a kiss upon her forehead. "You will. Don't worry, dear. You will."
The Timekeeper's Daughter - co-written by Denise of FantasyBath.
Climbing the steps of the tower, something she had done every morning since her mother had passed away years before, she gazed across the city she called her home. She could see the largest clock tower in the distance, through a silvery cloud of lifting haze. Her fingers found her throat and rubbed the stones of the necklace that was her legacy.
She paused for a moment, studying the majestic tower, which gleamed a dull bronze in the pale light of the breaking dawn. It pealed a cascade of sweet, clear tones, like running water or tinkling chimes. Any moment, the city would come alive.
But this was her favorite time. Those few moments alone when all was quiet. She watched the merchants open their shops and stalls, each with the hope of a good day of trade. Rich resins from the orient and the spicy wild roses that only grew in the black soil of the nearby mountain foothills.
As she gazed upon the sleeping world, just yawning awake, and she thought of what the future would hold. She knew she would be taught things never spoken of in the schools of her town. She would learn the secrets of the clocks, the magic between the ticks and the tocks and deep brass tolls. She would learn to bend and shape time to her liking, to visit places she had only glimpsed in the reverie of her dreams. And her father would teach her-- the first girl to be passed this hidden knowledge.
The amber stones of her necklace warmed beneath her fingers. She brought them to her lips and kissed them. She took one last look at the city and turned to ascend the winding stairs.
The Timekeeper's Daughter- The Clock Shop
She remembered his shop vividly; it smelled of oil and sweat, crackling electricity. She would attend to her studies at the low bench, and he would work from early morning until supper without a break, muttering all the while. She remembers the day she fell asleep atop her musty Latin books-- when she awoke, he was gone. All that was left of her father was a letter sealed with red wax and an old brass key. With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Nebula Beyond
A burst of steam, a flash of light, and she is flying. Jumping through time is the ultimate rush. She'll never forget the first time-- the scent of violets and the reek of the streets, so many smells it almost made her wretch. But then she saw it-- the cosmos-- just for a moment, glittering like a faraway jewel. The blinked, and she was in a parlor filled with unfamiliar books. Stunned, she sat upon the green divan until her fingers ceased to tremble.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Curious Traveler
At first glance, he saw a pretty girl by the flower cart. Flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She said her father was a clock-maker, a Time-keeper. Such an odd choice of words. He never quite knew what the smile that hooked her lips meant. It was her own special secret. It was only as he walked away that he noted her curious manner-- her strangeness of dress, the key in her hand, the way she met his gaze directly. He turned around to wave goodbye and she was gone.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- A Coy Mistress Indeed
/ Had we but world enough, and time... /
The year was 1889. She was in London, searching for one Mr. Samuel Seward, a scientist and a particular devotee of Tesla. It was her hope that his expertise would help her discover her father's trail. She had expected to find an elderly man, hunched over with bushy gray eyebrows and perhaps a stately cane. What she found was something entirely else.
Mr. Seward was a young man, slender and debonair with locks the color of Autumn russet. She visited with him often for tea, but never ventured into his laboratory-- common people might say that electricity has no scent, but she knew better. She remembered it all too well. But he doted upon her, bestowing gifts and all the while asking many questions she would not answer. And one day he gave her a ring, studded with honeyed gems, and a hopeful gaze. She kissed his hands and thanked him.
The next morning, she was gone. The ring was left upon her pillowcase.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Gaslight Romance
"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright," he quoted as he approached.
"Sam... Mr. Seward. I didn't expect you to turn up." She flushed. "It is good to see you." They stood beneath a lampost which spilled jaundiced light across the cobblestones of the street. The year was 1891.
"It has been an age, hasn't it? You look as lovely as ever; you haven't aged a day. But of course I'm here. Who else could have called upon me in such a manner?" The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. He looked tired, pained.
"I just wanted to say..." she hesitated for a moment. "I wanted to say I was sorry for leaving you in such haste. I--"
"Let's dispense, shall we? I know who you are, Genevive. I figured it out. You're Doctor Shelley's girl."
Stunned, she managed only a nod. And then, with surprise, "Doctor...?"
"Mmmhmm. As I said, I figured it out. And perhaps a great deal more than I meant to."
He leaned down and kissed her softly. The lamplight flickered. "I will find you again," he whispered, in the dark. Then there was light once more, and Mr. Seward was nowhere to be seen.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Hot Air Balloon
The air was thick with the scent of strange foods-- spicy, pungent, odd. The year was 1893, and it was her first time in America. Chicago was not much to her liking, but the cloudy gray sky reminded her of home.
They called it the World's Fair-- an exhibition of the technology in the new age. New scientific and medical advancements. A ferris wheel reaching up into the heavens.Steam power beginning to give way to petroleum. Even the President was in attendance-- people came far an wide to catch a glimpse of him. Bodies were pressed tightly together; there was scarce room to move. She figured that if he were anywhere, he'd be here. Among the great minds, where he belonged. Her father never could pass up a good experiment.
"Miss? Hey Miss!" She turned to see the man with the exquisitely greased white handlebar mustache standing on the platform behind her. "Schultze's Amazing Hot Air Balloon!" read the banner in swirling red letters. "We're going on a maiden voyage. Lookin' for some pretty girls for the picture. Interested?"
"Do I get to ride?"
"Sure, if you're not gonna faint like the rest of 'em!" His eyes gleamed. He reminded her somewhat of Father Christmas.
"Then yes sir, I am interested."
"Bernard Schultze." He extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you. Come on aboard."
The flame of the burner delighted her. While the other ladies swooned, she grinned eagerly. This was nothing compared to her usual manner of travel. As they lifted up high above Jackson park, she was amazed at the tangle of bodies beneath her. It was then she saw the man with the russet hair in the crowd. What she had found was not what she had been seeking.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Way Home
Every so often she would wear his key about her neck; the worn brass bore the marks of her fingerprints and the warmth of her skin. Acquaintances reckoned it odd and speculated in the salons-- what could it be? An inheritance? The key to an attic filled with riches? A relic? Such an odd girl, but so pretty-- cheeks like roses and eyes that gleamed topaz like jewels.
In truth, the key was more fantastical than anyone could ever suspect. The life of a Timekeeper is not easy. She wore the key for one simple reason-- so that no matter where she was in time or place, she could find her way home.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Girls of Monmartre
She had been in Paris for nigh a month when she began hearing whispers about the girls of Monmartre. As she entered the cabaret, she could not discern whether the trembling in her stomach was the fluttering of anticipation or fear. She was immediately overwhelmed by fumes of lilac toilette, and the spirits as odd and varied as the clientèle. Women in coattails and top hats, dwarves, men with skin the color of melted cocoa.
She had scarcely claimed her seat when the can-can was struck up, and out came the girls painted in lurid rouge. They whirled feverishly, lifting up their voluminous skirts to kick out their long legs, their faces as feral as cats. The feathers from their hair soon littered the floor. Caught somewhere between ecstasy and wonder, she found that she could not breathe.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Topaz Jewels
"Papa," she said one afternoon as she peered at her father's bench. "Are those diamonds?"
The year was 1875. She was ten years old.
"No, my darling girl. I rather think they'd be poor diamonds! They're topaz crystal. They're to focus the beam." He gestured to the contraption he was making-- it looked like a cupbaord to her, except it puffed steam and occasionally glowed a strange blue. It smelled funny. She was afraid of it, and kept away.
"What's a beam?"
"You see this jewel? How it's covered in tiny facets? Time is like that." He adjusted his glasses, which had begun to slip down his nose. "What is time but a collection of moments that make one glimmering gem? This little crystal tells my machine where to go."
"I don't understand, Papa." She wrinkled her nose.
He laid a kiss upon her forehead. "You will. Don't worry, dear. You will."
The Timekeeper's Daughter - co-written by Denise of FantasyBath.
Climbing the steps of the tower, something she had done every morning since her mother had passed away years before, she gazed across the city she called her home. She could see the largest clock tower in the distance, through a silvery cloud of lifting haze. Her fingers found her throat and rubbed the stones of the necklace that was her legacy.
She paused for a moment, studying the majestic tower, which gleamed a dull bronze in the pale light of the breaking dawn. It pealed a cascade of sweet, clear tones, like running water or tinkling chimes. Any moment, the city would come alive.
But this was her favorite time. Those few moments alone when all was quiet. She watched the merchants open their shops and stalls, each with the hope of a good day of trade. Rich resins from the orient and the spicy wild roses that only grew in the black soil of the nearby mountain foothills.
As she gazed upon the sleeping world, just yawning awake, and she thought of what the future would hold. She knew she would be taught things never spoken of in the schools of her town. She would learn the secrets of the clocks, the magic between the ticks and the tocks and deep brass tolls. She would learn to bend and shape time to her liking, to visit places she had only glimpsed in the reverie of her dreams. And her father would teach her-- the first girl to be passed this hidden knowledge.
The amber stones of her necklace warmed beneath her fingers. She brought them to her lips and kissed them. She took one last look at the city and turned to ascend the winding stairs.
The Timekeeper's Daughter- The Clock Shop
She remembered his shop vividly; it smelled of oil and sweat, crackling electricity. She would attend to her studies at the low bench, and he would work from early morning until supper without a break, muttering all the while. She remembers the day she fell asleep atop her musty Latin books-- when she awoke, he was gone. All that was left of her father was a letter sealed with red wax and an old brass key. With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Nebula Beyond
A burst of steam, a flash of light, and she is flying. Jumping through time is the ultimate rush. She'll never forget the first time-- the scent of violets and the reek of the streets, so many smells it almost made her wretch. But then she saw it-- the cosmos-- just for a moment, glittering like a faraway jewel. The blinked, and she was in a parlor filled with unfamiliar books. Stunned, she sat upon the green divan until her fingers ceased to tremble.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Curious Traveler
At first glance, he saw a pretty girl by the flower cart. Flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She said her father was a clock-maker, a Time-keeper. Such an odd choice of words. He never quite knew what the smile that hooked her lips meant. It was her own special secret. It was only as he walked away that he noted her curious manner-- her strangeness of dress, the key in her hand, the way she met his gaze directly. He turned around to wave goodbye and she was gone.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- A Coy Mistress Indeed
/ Had we but world enough, and time... /
The year was 1889. She was in London, searching for one Mr. Samuel Seward, a scientist and a particular devotee of Tesla. It was her hope that his expertise would help her discover her father's trail. She had expected to find an elderly man, hunched over with bushy gray eyebrows and perhaps a stately cane. What she found was something entirely else.
Mr. Seward was a young man, slender and debonair with locks the color of Autumn russet. She visited with him often for tea, but never ventured into his laboratory-- common people might say that electricity has no scent, but she knew better. She remembered it all too well. But he doted upon her, bestowing gifts and all the while asking many questions she would not answer. And one day he gave her a ring, studded with honeyed gems, and a hopeful gaze. She kissed his hands and thanked him.
The next morning, she was gone. The ring was left upon her pillowcase.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Gaslight Romance
"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright," he quoted as he approached.
"Sam... Mr. Seward. I didn't expect you to turn up." She flushed. "It is good to see you." They stood beneath a lampost which spilled jaundiced light across the cobblestones of the street. The year was 1891.
"It has been an age, hasn't it? You look as lovely as ever; you haven't aged a day. But of course I'm here. Who else could have called upon me in such a manner?" The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. He looked tired, pained.
"I just wanted to say..." she hesitated for a moment. "I wanted to say I was sorry for leaving you in such haste. I--"
"Let's dispense, shall we? I know who you are, Genevive. I figured it out. You're Doctor Shelley's girl."
Stunned, she managed only a nod. And then, with surprise, "Doctor...?"
"Mmmhmm. As I said, I figured it out. And perhaps a great deal more than I meant to."
He leaned down and kissed her softly. The lamplight flickered. "I will find you again," he whispered, in the dark. Then there was light once more, and Mr. Seward was nowhere to be seen.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Hot Air Balloon
The air was thick with the scent of strange foods-- spicy, pungent, odd. The year was 1893, and it was her first time in America. Chicago was not much to her liking, but the cloudy gray sky reminded her of home.
They called it the World's Fair-- an exhibition of the technology in the new age. New scientific and medical advancements. A ferris wheel reaching up into the heavens.Steam power beginning to give way to petroleum. Even the President was in attendance-- people came far an wide to catch a glimpse of him. Bodies were pressed tightly together; there was scarce room to move. She figured that if he were anywhere, he'd be here. Among the great minds, where he belonged. Her father never could pass up a good experiment.
"Miss? Hey Miss!" She turned to see the man with the exquisitely greased white handlebar mustache standing on the platform behind her. "Schultze's Amazing Hot Air Balloon!" read the banner in swirling red letters. "We're going on a maiden voyage. Lookin' for some pretty girls for the picture. Interested?"
"Do I get to ride?"
"Sure, if you're not gonna faint like the rest of 'em!" His eyes gleamed. He reminded her somewhat of Father Christmas.
"Then yes sir, I am interested."
"Bernard Schultze." He extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you. Come on aboard."
The flame of the burner delighted her. While the other ladies swooned, she grinned eagerly. This was nothing compared to her usual manner of travel. As they lifted up high above Jackson park, she was amazed at the tangle of bodies beneath her. It was then she saw the man with the russet hair in the crowd. What she had found was not what she had been seeking.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Way Home
Every so often she would wear his key about her neck; the worn brass bore the marks of her fingerprints and the warmth of her skin. Acquaintances reckoned it odd and speculated in the salons-- what could it be? An inheritance? The key to an attic filled with riches? A relic? Such an odd girl, but so pretty-- cheeks like roses and eyes that gleamed topaz like jewels.
In truth, the key was more fantastical than anyone could ever suspect. The life of a Timekeeper is not easy. She wore the key for one simple reason-- so that no matter where she was in time or place, she could find her way home.
The Timekeeper's Daughter-- The Girls of Monmartre
She had been in Paris for nigh a month when she began hearing whispers about the girls of Monmartre. As she entered the cabaret, she could not discern whether the trembling in her stomach was the fluttering of anticipation or fear. She was immediately overwhelmed by fumes of lilac toilette, and the spirits as odd and varied as the clientèle. Women in coattails and top hats, dwarves, men with skin the color of melted cocoa.
She had scarcely claimed her seat when the can-can was struck up, and out came the girls painted in lurid rouge. They whirled feverishly, lifting up their voluminous skirts to kick out their long legs, their faces as feral as cats. The feathers from their hair soon littered the floor. Caught somewhere between ecstasy and wonder, she found that she could not breathe.