Original: "Waking World" (Part One)
May. 30th, 2010 08:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
evewithanapple.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
inthewildwoodI wasn't originally planning on posting this as a two-parter, but since it had grown to over two thousand words by the halfway point, I decided to split it in half and post this while I wrangled with Part 2.
Title: Waking World (Part One)
Characters: Alice, Cecily, assorted others.
Summary: "It was then that she began to understand."
Alice was five when she stumbled across her cousin Martin kissing his best friend in the barn. Her mother and aunts had been fussing over his fiancée, working on her dress, but the endless discussions of sewing bored her, and she slipped away easily without being missed. She wandered out the front door, down the hill, and pushed open the barn door. Martin was braced against the far wall, his friend Geoffrey standing between him and the wall, hands in his hair, eyes closed. They were kissing, too- not the kind that people did when bidding each other goodnight, but real kissing, like what her parents did when they thought she was asleep. Both of them had their eyes closed, and Martin had his hand on Geoffrey’s hip, pushing his own against the other mans’.
Geoffrey was the first to open his eyes and notice her. He let out a surprised yell, and Martin jerked back and spun around. Alice stood in place, eyes wide, looking from Martin to Geoffrey and back again.
“Martin-” Geoffrey began, but Martin cut him off. “Alice won’t say anything.” He gave her a look that was half-commanding, half-pleading. “You won’t, will you? Promise me.”
Alice nodded obediently. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she had seen, or what it meant, but she trusted her cousin. He had kept his own mouth shut for her, when he caught her stealing apples from the orchard; she owed him. If he asked her not to say anything, then she wouldn’t.
The wedding was held three days later. While Martin’s bride beamed and her new husband nodded politely to the well-wishes of his relatives, Alice craned her neck towards the back of the church to see if Geoffrey was there. There was no sign of him.
It was then that she began to understand.
* * * *
As a child, Cecily was diligent about making confession to the parish priest. Every month, she trotted down to the church to confess the sins of the previous fortnight, to receive penance and to be absolved. How she’d been jealous of her friend Isobel’s new ribbons, even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to covet her neighbour’s belongings. How she’d lied and said she didn’t see Emmeline Hill push her brother into a mud puddle, because he had always teased her, and she’s been glad to see him humbled. How she’d lingered in the marketplace to watch a puppet show even though her mother had told her to come straight home. At the end of every confession, she’d be assigned a penance- usually a few Ave Marias or small acts of charity- and she would be on her way, her conscience assuaged for the time being.
Her father died when she was nine. He had been ailing for awhile- having stumbled home drunk on multiple winter nights, he had finally caught pneumonia and expired. Her mother sobbed when he drew his last breath- not from sorrow, but from relief that it was finally over. From her position in the corner, Cecily quietly shared her mother’s thankfulness that it was finally over. No more wages wasted in the tavern. No more beatings when they couldn’t come up with dinner and her mother took the blame across her face. No more shouting while the children cowered outside. No one mourned Cecily’s father, not even Cecily herself.
She knew it was a sin. She knew her commandments- Honour thy father and mother. She went through the motions, moving her lips in silent, meaningless novenas while her father’s soul was prayed for. But she couldn’t feel it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t feel grief or regret for her father. Only relief that the man who had loomed over her for all of her life was finally gone.
When she went to the priest that month, she didn’t confess any of this. She couldn’t. Shame lodged deep within her, binding her tongue and keeping her from confessing that she hadn’t loved her father, hadn’t mourned him, was glad that he was dead at last. She couldn’t bring the words to her lips. And so she left the confessional that month with her conscience even more weighed down than it had been when she went in, with the knowledge that she had lied to a priest and compounded her original sin with the sin of deceit. In later years, when she looked back, she always thought that that omission had been what let the sins into her life.
By the time Alice was fourteen, she could flirt with the best of them. She knew how to smile and bat her eyelashes and swing her hips, and she knew very well how to enjoy doing it. She liked the feeling of eyes on her, appreciating the way she moved and smiled. It was fun. It never went anywhere, of course; she liked the attention, but that was as far as it went. It was like a game, a more grown-up version of chase or knucklebones, with a smile or an appreciative whistle as the prize. And Alice always won the prize.
Until Emmeline’s cousin came to town, that is. Her name was Petronilla, and she was everything Alice wasn’t- tiny where Alice was tall, her head capped with sleek dark hair instead of Alice’s red curls, creamy-faces where Alice was covered with freckles. Her face was perfectly round, her eyes dark and alluring, her hips swayed in time to unheard music. She accepted the adoration of the village boys with a guileless smile, as though she had no idea why they turned scarlet when she smiled at them, or stuttered when she spoke. Normally, Alice would have hated her, with her too-perfect face and innocent smiles. Normally, she would have joined the other girls in turning up their noses at her. But, in a twist that surprised everyone- even her- she didn’t. She bore no ill will towards the other girl, and if anyone insulted her in her presence, she was sure to let them know that she wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she fell in with the boys as she had so often done when she was a child, trailing Petronilla’s footsteps and blushing hotly when she spoke. She wasn’t sure why, but looking at the other girl made her forget all about the flattering attention she got from the boys and yearn from a smile or laugh from her. It made no sense, but Alice was never one to question.
Even odder was that the other girl seemed just as enamoured of her. She took to walking arm in arm with Alice, whispering secrets in her ear and dancing with her at fairs instead of picking one of the boys who vied for her attention. “I’d rather not give them the attention,” she said once to Alice, “because then they think that I’ll say yes again and again and again, and it just get so annoying. Don’t you think?” Alice, who would have agreed if Petronilla had suggested that the sky was green, nodded.
On her last day in the village, the sun beat down, and Alice suggested going for a swim. There was a water hole near the edge of the forest, surrounded by trees so that it was always shady. Alice went in first, shedding her dress and jumping in in her shift. When she noticed that Petronilla hadn’t followed her in, she turned back towards the edge to look. The other girl smiled at her, guileless as always, then dropped her dress around her ankles and wriggled out of her shift, leaving her covered only by the shadows that rippled from the trees overhead.
Alice’s mouth was suddenly dry. “W-what are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Now thoroughly disrobed, the other girl stepped into the water, walking until it pooled around her waist. “I’m swimming.” She dove under the water suddenly, then bobbed up again, her hair slick and wet where it lay on her shoulders. She kicked effortlessly, swimming over to where Alice was until she could feel Petronilla’s legs brushing against hers’ under the water. Alice swallowed hard.
“It’s nice in here.” Petronilla said, still with her customary innocence in her voice. Both her arms snaked around Alice’s shoulders, and she leaned forward to softly press her lips against the other girls’. She tasted sweet, Alice thought, like honey and wine. Intoxicating, too. Their legs were kicking together underwater, and Alice lost herself in the flickering shadows and the press of the other girl’s mouth against hers’.
She left the next day, and Alice waved goodbye long after she had disappeared over the hill. Her cousin Jack had come to bid her farewell as well, and he looked at Alice curiously after she had left.
“Why you?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have though she’d take to you.”
Alice only smiled.
After Cecily’s father died, they discovered quickly that the scarce wages he had brought into the household had been all that kept them afloat. Lord Robin took pity on them when he declined to take possession of their livestock, but even with the cow to keep them warm, it was a bitterly cold, hungry winter after he died. There was little improvement over the years, as they struggled to bring in enough to survive. Cecily’s mother grew gaunt, the younger children hollow-cheeked and pale. Cecily, who had always been skinny, grew bony, her dress hanging off her shoulders.
When she was thirteen, her mother suggested her for the Lady Marian’s maid. Her old one had recently died, and she hoped that placing Cecily in the lord’s household would allow her the food and shelter she needed, and the wages to support her mother and sisters. Lady Marian accepted her gladly, and Cecily started service at the manor shortly after her fourteenth birthday.
Serving in a noble household was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Like the other maid, she was given old clothes of the Lady Marian’s to wear; they still hung off her, but they were warmer and more comfortable than anything she had worn before. Lord Robin was generous with the food that the servants were allotted, and there was always extra to wrap up and take home on her spare days. She slept in a shared room with one of the kitchen maids, in a bed stuffed with straw. Even though the stuffing sometimes poked through the mattress, it was softer- and warmer- than her spot on the floor at home. It was like a magic story, one where the girl who was good enough, devout enough, was finally rewarded with riches beyond her wildest dreams. It was too fantastic to contemplate.
Then there was her mistress. Cecily had gone to work apprehensively, not knowing what to expect from Lady Marian. She and her husband were kind to their tenants, yes, but how did they treat their servants? Would she be beaten for making mistakes? Would she be dismissed? For the first fortnight she spent working there, she walked on tiptoe, certain that her first misstep would be her last. It wasn’t until Lady Marian, noticing her anxiety, assured her that her place was secure that she began to breathe easily, and even then she still took care not to do anything that might upset her employers. Her mother and sisters depended on it.
Gradually, as she spent more and more time at the manor, her attempts at pleasing went from being driven by anxiety to being motivated by respect for the woman she served. Her early apprehension had been completely unfounded; Lady Marian was a good mistress, and a kind one. She knew the names of her maids and their families, and often asked after them, especially if she knew that they were struggling. The men and women who worked for her practically worshipped her, and it didn’t take long for Cecily to join them. It was like having a friend instead of a mistress; one who she looked up to and trusted. It was something she had never imagined when she first went to work at the manor.
For awhile, she ascribed the feelings she held towards Lady Marian as admiration. She felt similarly towards her old friends in the village, after all; what else could it be? But slowly, she began to notice things that couldn’t be ascribed to friendship. Like her breath catching when she watched her mistress dancing at balls. Or blushing and feeling heat pool in her stomach when she helped dress her. Or imagining herself in Lord Robin’s place when he put an arm around his wife. The odd feelings and thoughts gathered, swirling in the back of her mind as she tried her hardest to ignore them until the day when they burst to the forefront and forced her to recognize them for what they meant.
She was carrying a basket of freshly-washed linens up the stairs to her lady’s chamber when she accidentally stepped on her skirt instead of the stair, and she tumbled forward. Her chin hit the stone floor and bounced, sending her teeth colliding into her lower lip and tearing the skin. Blood ran out of her mouth and down her chin, but she didn’t notice; she was too preoccupied with the basket, which had rolled out of her hands and across the floor, leaving its contents in its wake. She gaped in dismay, and scrambled to her hands and knees, trying to grab as many of the linens as possible before they had to be washed all over again. It was then that Marian- who had probably heard her yelp when she fell- came around the corner.
Cecily cringed instinctively. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to drop it, but I tripped- I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I stepped on my skirt-”
“Cecily-”
She grabbed for another piece of linen. “I should have been watching where I was going. I’m sorry. I’ll wash them again-"
“Cecily.” Marian knelt in front of her, taking her face in her hands. “Were you hurt?”
Cecily blinked. “I- a little. It’s nothing. You don’t have to that.” she added hastily, as Marian tilted her face sideways to examine the cut. Cecily shivered. A not-unfamiliar sensation was running through her, starting with Marian’s fingers on her chin and running down to the soles of her feet. It frightened her. She pulled out of the other woman’s grasp, climbing to her feet. “I’m fine, really. I’ll just take those back to be washed again.” She picked the basket up, but Marian took it out of her hands.
“Have someone look at your lip.” she said gently. “I can take these. Go and make sure you’re alright.” She stood, and walked back down the hall, her skirt swishing around her heels. Cecily watched her go, one hand help to her lip, now certain- if she hadn’t been before- that she was in very deep trouble.
Title: Waking World (Part One)
Characters: Alice, Cecily, assorted others.
Summary: "It was then that she began to understand."
Alice was five when she stumbled across her cousin Martin kissing his best friend in the barn. Her mother and aunts had been fussing over his fiancée, working on her dress, but the endless discussions of sewing bored her, and she slipped away easily without being missed. She wandered out the front door, down the hill, and pushed open the barn door. Martin was braced against the far wall, his friend Geoffrey standing between him and the wall, hands in his hair, eyes closed. They were kissing, too- not the kind that people did when bidding each other goodnight, but real kissing, like what her parents did when they thought she was asleep. Both of them had their eyes closed, and Martin had his hand on Geoffrey’s hip, pushing his own against the other mans’.
Geoffrey was the first to open his eyes and notice her. He let out a surprised yell, and Martin jerked back and spun around. Alice stood in place, eyes wide, looking from Martin to Geoffrey and back again.
“Martin-” Geoffrey began, but Martin cut him off. “Alice won’t say anything.” He gave her a look that was half-commanding, half-pleading. “You won’t, will you? Promise me.”
Alice nodded obediently. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she had seen, or what it meant, but she trusted her cousin. He had kept his own mouth shut for her, when he caught her stealing apples from the orchard; she owed him. If he asked her not to say anything, then she wouldn’t.
The wedding was held three days later. While Martin’s bride beamed and her new husband nodded politely to the well-wishes of his relatives, Alice craned her neck towards the back of the church to see if Geoffrey was there. There was no sign of him.
It was then that she began to understand.
* * * *
As a child, Cecily was diligent about making confession to the parish priest. Every month, she trotted down to the church to confess the sins of the previous fortnight, to receive penance and to be absolved. How she’d been jealous of her friend Isobel’s new ribbons, even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to covet her neighbour’s belongings. How she’d lied and said she didn’t see Emmeline Hill push her brother into a mud puddle, because he had always teased her, and she’s been glad to see him humbled. How she’d lingered in the marketplace to watch a puppet show even though her mother had told her to come straight home. At the end of every confession, she’d be assigned a penance- usually a few Ave Marias or small acts of charity- and she would be on her way, her conscience assuaged for the time being.
Her father died when she was nine. He had been ailing for awhile- having stumbled home drunk on multiple winter nights, he had finally caught pneumonia and expired. Her mother sobbed when he drew his last breath- not from sorrow, but from relief that it was finally over. From her position in the corner, Cecily quietly shared her mother’s thankfulness that it was finally over. No more wages wasted in the tavern. No more beatings when they couldn’t come up with dinner and her mother took the blame across her face. No more shouting while the children cowered outside. No one mourned Cecily’s father, not even Cecily herself.
She knew it was a sin. She knew her commandments- Honour thy father and mother. She went through the motions, moving her lips in silent, meaningless novenas while her father’s soul was prayed for. But she couldn’t feel it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t feel grief or regret for her father. Only relief that the man who had loomed over her for all of her life was finally gone.
When she went to the priest that month, she didn’t confess any of this. She couldn’t. Shame lodged deep within her, binding her tongue and keeping her from confessing that she hadn’t loved her father, hadn’t mourned him, was glad that he was dead at last. She couldn’t bring the words to her lips. And so she left the confessional that month with her conscience even more weighed down than it had been when she went in, with the knowledge that she had lied to a priest and compounded her original sin with the sin of deceit. In later years, when she looked back, she always thought that that omission had been what let the sins into her life.
* * * *
By the time Alice was fourteen, she could flirt with the best of them. She knew how to smile and bat her eyelashes and swing her hips, and she knew very well how to enjoy doing it. She liked the feeling of eyes on her, appreciating the way she moved and smiled. It was fun. It never went anywhere, of course; she liked the attention, but that was as far as it went. It was like a game, a more grown-up version of chase or knucklebones, with a smile or an appreciative whistle as the prize. And Alice always won the prize.
Until Emmeline’s cousin came to town, that is. Her name was Petronilla, and she was everything Alice wasn’t- tiny where Alice was tall, her head capped with sleek dark hair instead of Alice’s red curls, creamy-faces where Alice was covered with freckles. Her face was perfectly round, her eyes dark and alluring, her hips swayed in time to unheard music. She accepted the adoration of the village boys with a guileless smile, as though she had no idea why they turned scarlet when she smiled at them, or stuttered when she spoke. Normally, Alice would have hated her, with her too-perfect face and innocent smiles. Normally, she would have joined the other girls in turning up their noses at her. But, in a twist that surprised everyone- even her- she didn’t. She bore no ill will towards the other girl, and if anyone insulted her in her presence, she was sure to let them know that she wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, she fell in with the boys as she had so often done when she was a child, trailing Petronilla’s footsteps and blushing hotly when she spoke. She wasn’t sure why, but looking at the other girl made her forget all about the flattering attention she got from the boys and yearn from a smile or laugh from her. It made no sense, but Alice was never one to question.
Even odder was that the other girl seemed just as enamoured of her. She took to walking arm in arm with Alice, whispering secrets in her ear and dancing with her at fairs instead of picking one of the boys who vied for her attention. “I’d rather not give them the attention,” she said once to Alice, “because then they think that I’ll say yes again and again and again, and it just get so annoying. Don’t you think?” Alice, who would have agreed if Petronilla had suggested that the sky was green, nodded.
On her last day in the village, the sun beat down, and Alice suggested going for a swim. There was a water hole near the edge of the forest, surrounded by trees so that it was always shady. Alice went in first, shedding her dress and jumping in in her shift. When she noticed that Petronilla hadn’t followed her in, she turned back towards the edge to look. The other girl smiled at her, guileless as always, then dropped her dress around her ankles and wriggled out of her shift, leaving her covered only by the shadows that rippled from the trees overhead.
Alice’s mouth was suddenly dry. “W-what are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Now thoroughly disrobed, the other girl stepped into the water, walking until it pooled around her waist. “I’m swimming.” She dove under the water suddenly, then bobbed up again, her hair slick and wet where it lay on her shoulders. She kicked effortlessly, swimming over to where Alice was until she could feel Petronilla’s legs brushing against hers’ under the water. Alice swallowed hard.
“It’s nice in here.” Petronilla said, still with her customary innocence in her voice. Both her arms snaked around Alice’s shoulders, and she leaned forward to softly press her lips against the other girls’. She tasted sweet, Alice thought, like honey and wine. Intoxicating, too. Their legs were kicking together underwater, and Alice lost herself in the flickering shadows and the press of the other girl’s mouth against hers’.
She left the next day, and Alice waved goodbye long after she had disappeared over the hill. Her cousin Jack had come to bid her farewell as well, and he looked at Alice curiously after she had left.
“Why you?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have though she’d take to you.”
Alice only smiled.
* * * *
After Cecily’s father died, they discovered quickly that the scarce wages he had brought into the household had been all that kept them afloat. Lord Robin took pity on them when he declined to take possession of their livestock, but even with the cow to keep them warm, it was a bitterly cold, hungry winter after he died. There was little improvement over the years, as they struggled to bring in enough to survive. Cecily’s mother grew gaunt, the younger children hollow-cheeked and pale. Cecily, who had always been skinny, grew bony, her dress hanging off her shoulders.
When she was thirteen, her mother suggested her for the Lady Marian’s maid. Her old one had recently died, and she hoped that placing Cecily in the lord’s household would allow her the food and shelter she needed, and the wages to support her mother and sisters. Lady Marian accepted her gladly, and Cecily started service at the manor shortly after her fourteenth birthday.
Serving in a noble household was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Like the other maid, she was given old clothes of the Lady Marian’s to wear; they still hung off her, but they were warmer and more comfortable than anything she had worn before. Lord Robin was generous with the food that the servants were allotted, and there was always extra to wrap up and take home on her spare days. She slept in a shared room with one of the kitchen maids, in a bed stuffed with straw. Even though the stuffing sometimes poked through the mattress, it was softer- and warmer- than her spot on the floor at home. It was like a magic story, one where the girl who was good enough, devout enough, was finally rewarded with riches beyond her wildest dreams. It was too fantastic to contemplate.
Then there was her mistress. Cecily had gone to work apprehensively, not knowing what to expect from Lady Marian. She and her husband were kind to their tenants, yes, but how did they treat their servants? Would she be beaten for making mistakes? Would she be dismissed? For the first fortnight she spent working there, she walked on tiptoe, certain that her first misstep would be her last. It wasn’t until Lady Marian, noticing her anxiety, assured her that her place was secure that she began to breathe easily, and even then she still took care not to do anything that might upset her employers. Her mother and sisters depended on it.
Gradually, as she spent more and more time at the manor, her attempts at pleasing went from being driven by anxiety to being motivated by respect for the woman she served. Her early apprehension had been completely unfounded; Lady Marian was a good mistress, and a kind one. She knew the names of her maids and their families, and often asked after them, especially if she knew that they were struggling. The men and women who worked for her practically worshipped her, and it didn’t take long for Cecily to join them. It was like having a friend instead of a mistress; one who she looked up to and trusted. It was something she had never imagined when she first went to work at the manor.
For awhile, she ascribed the feelings she held towards Lady Marian as admiration. She felt similarly towards her old friends in the village, after all; what else could it be? But slowly, she began to notice things that couldn’t be ascribed to friendship. Like her breath catching when she watched her mistress dancing at balls. Or blushing and feeling heat pool in her stomach when she helped dress her. Or imagining herself in Lord Robin’s place when he put an arm around his wife. The odd feelings and thoughts gathered, swirling in the back of her mind as she tried her hardest to ignore them until the day when they burst to the forefront and forced her to recognize them for what they meant.
She was carrying a basket of freshly-washed linens up the stairs to her lady’s chamber when she accidentally stepped on her skirt instead of the stair, and she tumbled forward. Her chin hit the stone floor and bounced, sending her teeth colliding into her lower lip and tearing the skin. Blood ran out of her mouth and down her chin, but she didn’t notice; she was too preoccupied with the basket, which had rolled out of her hands and across the floor, leaving its contents in its wake. She gaped in dismay, and scrambled to her hands and knees, trying to grab as many of the linens as possible before they had to be washed all over again. It was then that Marian- who had probably heard her yelp when she fell- came around the corner.
Cecily cringed instinctively. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to drop it, but I tripped- I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I stepped on my skirt-”
“Cecily-”
She grabbed for another piece of linen. “I should have been watching where I was going. I’m sorry. I’ll wash them again-"
“Cecily.” Marian knelt in front of her, taking her face in her hands. “Were you hurt?”
Cecily blinked. “I- a little. It’s nothing. You don’t have to that.” she added hastily, as Marian tilted her face sideways to examine the cut. Cecily shivered. A not-unfamiliar sensation was running through her, starting with Marian’s fingers on her chin and running down to the soles of her feet. It frightened her. She pulled out of the other woman’s grasp, climbing to her feet. “I’m fine, really. I’ll just take those back to be washed again.” She picked the basket up, but Marian took it out of her hands.
“Have someone look at your lip.” she said gently. “I can take these. Go and make sure you’re alright.” She stood, and walked back down the hall, her skirt swishing around her heels. Cecily watched her go, one hand help to her lip, now certain- if she hadn’t been before- that she was in very deep trouble.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}