Summer's Inevitable Fall
"But what does it do?"
Ali's insatiable curiosity was getting the better of her again. She had meant to only make the briefest of appearances at this country fair, far enough into the Dreaming that she didn't think it wise to bring the goslings. It was a nice fair, to be sure, but the bruises visibly lining both her arms and continuing in secret along most of her body put her in no mood to enjoy the rides or games for long. No, she'd come only to take a turn about the field, pet someone's prize farm animal (or vegetable, she wasn't picky), buy something pretty, and then go home again to rest.
In the far corner, relegated to a space somewhat removed from the other tents and booths, a plain white pavilion had been struck. The open sides allowed shadowy glimpses of gleaming metal and steampunk dreams. There were few visitors, despite the genial solicitations of the sidhe greybeard standing in front. It would be unkind, Ali reasoned, to leave without showing him at least as much attention as she gave everyone else--perhaps a little more, to make up for the general disinterest of the crowd.
Her generosity seemed to be well rewarded, as she found herself in the company of a man she imagined must be of House Dougal (she certainly wasn't going to ask) and a great machine with many spinning, turning, and smoking parts. She had no idea what it did...
"Go ahead and press that button, my dear," her host offered in answer to her question, "the big red one: you'll see for yourself."
And, giving into her curiosity, she did. The machine started with a jolt--a jolt to her more than itself, strong enough to knock her almost mercifully unconscious. While she lay on the ground, the machine continued its display of wonders: a panel, when slid away, was revealed to hide a cavity just big enough for an adult, and lined in dread cold iron. Mechanical arms unfolded from the sides scooped Ali up and deposited her therein, and everything closed up again before she awoke.
Nobody at the fair was the wiser. They'd all guessed the Duchess wouldn't remain long.
---
Previously...
With the coming of spring and all its possibilities, Ali knew they wouldn't all be kind to her. Having finally learned the wisdom of contingency planning, she sought to make arrangements for a variety of unfortunate outcomes. Some were more palatable than others.
One such plan would be, she knew, unpalatable in a month's time, relying so heavily on catering to the whims and wants of a man who should by all rights be given no such thing. But at the moment, it could be borne as a necessary evil. So, one spring's night, after they'd found their comforts in each other but before either was quite so sated as to be incapable of the conversation, Ali drew the sheets around them both and explained what she wanted from him, and what she offered in return. It was a long conversation, full of careful explanations, but one from which she did not allow herself to flinch. Her gaze hardly even wavered, except when she drew out the treasure she had brought to entrust to his care.
"Take this," she explained, showing him a bit of the intricate cat-whisker lace she had safely stowed in a bag of quilted silk, "and tie it around my left wrist. Do not touch it before then, or it will not work, and I will be quite lost."
---
Ali woke, still in her stifling cell, alone and terrified. She was left there until she had exhausted herself beating against the walls, the chorus of laughter her struggling encouraged echoing faintly in the box but deafeningly in her ears. The place and the company she found herself in when she was finally pulled out, and the promises made to her as much with rough hands and leering looks as much as words, were only half understood by her now fractured mind. But it was still enough for her to pray for the mercy of a quick death.
Ali's insatiable curiosity was getting the better of her again. She had meant to only make the briefest of appearances at this country fair, far enough into the Dreaming that she didn't think it wise to bring the goslings. It was a nice fair, to be sure, but the bruises visibly lining both her arms and continuing in secret along most of her body put her in no mood to enjoy the rides or games for long. No, she'd come only to take a turn about the field, pet someone's prize farm animal (or vegetable, she wasn't picky), buy something pretty, and then go home again to rest.
In the far corner, relegated to a space somewhat removed from the other tents and booths, a plain white pavilion had been struck. The open sides allowed shadowy glimpses of gleaming metal and steampunk dreams. There were few visitors, despite the genial solicitations of the sidhe greybeard standing in front. It would be unkind, Ali reasoned, to leave without showing him at least as much attention as she gave everyone else--perhaps a little more, to make up for the general disinterest of the crowd.
Her generosity seemed to be well rewarded, as she found herself in the company of a man she imagined must be of House Dougal (she certainly wasn't going to ask) and a great machine with many spinning, turning, and smoking parts. She had no idea what it did...
"Go ahead and press that button, my dear," her host offered in answer to her question, "the big red one: you'll see for yourself."
And, giving into her curiosity, she did. The machine started with a jolt--a jolt to her more than itself, strong enough to knock her almost mercifully unconscious. While she lay on the ground, the machine continued its display of wonders: a panel, when slid away, was revealed to hide a cavity just big enough for an adult, and lined in dread cold iron. Mechanical arms unfolded from the sides scooped Ali up and deposited her therein, and everything closed up again before she awoke.
Nobody at the fair was the wiser. They'd all guessed the Duchess wouldn't remain long.
---
Previously...
With the coming of spring and all its possibilities, Ali knew they wouldn't all be kind to her. Having finally learned the wisdom of contingency planning, she sought to make arrangements for a variety of unfortunate outcomes. Some were more palatable than others.
One such plan would be, she knew, unpalatable in a month's time, relying so heavily on catering to the whims and wants of a man who should by all rights be given no such thing. But at the moment, it could be borne as a necessary evil. So, one spring's night, after they'd found their comforts in each other but before either was quite so sated as to be incapable of the conversation, Ali drew the sheets around them both and explained what she wanted from him, and what she offered in return. It was a long conversation, full of careful explanations, but one from which she did not allow herself to flinch. Her gaze hardly even wavered, except when she drew out the treasure she had brought to entrust to his care.
"Take this," she explained, showing him a bit of the intricate cat-whisker lace she had safely stowed in a bag of quilted silk, "and tie it around my left wrist. Do not touch it before then, or it will not work, and I will be quite lost."
---
Ali woke, still in her stifling cell, alone and terrified. She was left there until she had exhausted herself beating against the walls, the chorus of laughter her struggling encouraged echoing faintly in the box but deafeningly in her ears. The place and the company she found herself in when she was finally pulled out, and the promises made to her as much with rough hands and leering looks as much as words, were only half understood by her now fractured mind. But it was still enough for her to pray for the mercy of a quick death.