Emily and the Lady of the Manor

Emily hesitated for a moment, looking at Aria, who smiled at her. "I have no need of sleep," she said to Elara.

"Wonderful, then we shall both stay up and discuss my storied ancestor Isolde!" Elara said. "You would be bored to tears by the natter of two old ladies, Emily dear, and I wouldn't want to keep you up. There's a nice warm bed upstairs, and you'll have the perfect dress in the morning, Bessie knows the one I mean. Goodnight!"

The thought of wrapping herself in a warm blanket was enough to persuade Emily to say goodnight to Elara and Aria and stand up from the table. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Lady Elara," she said, keeping her voice steady as she prepared for another naked walk.

Emily followed the servant, Bessie, through the empty halls of the manor. "The other servants 'ave gone to bed early, Mistress's orders," Bessie remarked. "I see why now. You'd cause something of a commotion, Miss Emily, 'specially among the menfolk. Nearly fainted myself when I took your cloak and saw nothing underneath!"

"That was... kind of her," Emily said. Returning her cloak would have been a lot simpler, but this was the best she could hope for in lieu of that.

Emily was led to a room on the west wing of the manor. It was an expansive chamber, walls adorned with floral wallpaper. Deep mahogany woodwork framed the room, lending a rich contrast to the lighter walls. Tall, arched windows draped in soft, diaphanous curtains dominated one side of the room. Their design incorporated stained glass inlays depicting dragonflies.

In one corner stood an ornate wooden wardrobe, its doors carved with more dragonflies and vines. Opposite the wardrobe, a vanity table with an ornate mirror provided a space for personal grooming. The table was dotted with porcelain dishes filled with brushes, combs, and assorted vials of scented oils. Soft, braided rugs cushioned the stone floor. A stone fireplace was built into one wall, its mantel adorned with trinkets and keepsakes.

But what caught Emily's eye most of all was the four-poster bed in the center of the room. Its frame was carved from the same dark wood as the trim. The mattress was covered in crisp white linen and a fluffy duvet. The pillows, following the overall theme, were embroidered with dragonfly patterns.

Emily confirmed by feel that the duvet was stuffed with down feathers as she pulled it off the bed and wrapped it around herself, holding it tight against her bare skin.

"Goodnight ma'am," Bessie said. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight Bessie," Emily said, collapsing onto the mattress the instant Bessie closed the door. With the duvet wrapped around her, she was warm, comfortable, safe and hidden from the eyes of the world.

Emily awoke to soft rays of sunlight spilling through the diaphanous curtains of her room. She was still wrapped in the duvet, which was a far more agreeable thing to sleep in than her scratchy cloak. Slowly, she pulled herself up to a sitting position, yawning and blinking the sleep out of her eyes. The duvet slipped to her waist as she surveyed the room.

While she was sleeping, the servants had brought in a claw-footed bathtub, which sat beside the fireplace. Inviting curls of steam rose off the water. Soaps, scrubbing brushes and various cleansing oils had also been provided.

The servants had also brought Emily's promised outfit. On a chair near the door hung an assortment of garments--Emily saw petticoats, a corset and a light blue dress, complete with a bonnet, as well as a pair of stockings and buckled shoes. There was more clothing in this one outfit than she had worn at any time since arriving in Thessolan. Getting dressed may actually take some time, for a change.

Giddy at the prospect of proper clothes, Emily climbed out of bed and into the tub, where she vigorously scrubbed herself clean so that she would be fresh for the new outfit. Once done, she toweled herself off and sat down at the vanity table to brush her hair and apply makeup. How nice it would be to have makeup again!

Watching herself in the mirror made Emily self-conscious of her body. She'd been walking around just as she was now, for days, outside! Of course, she'd had the cloak recently, but she'd still stripped off regularly for Stoneshell practise. And before then... so many people had seen her most intimate form, many more than she'd ever expected.

But that was over now. She had an outfit. As long as she was careful with the Stoneshell's power, there was no reason it wouldn't last. Maybe Lady Elara would even be generous enough to give her a spare set of clothes as well.

Emily missed her friends and family, and her own world, but the land of Thessolan excited her. The more time she spent here, the more she longed for adventure. But thoughts of adventure, of magic, of finding a way to return home, or helping Aria with whatever her mysterious quest was, all those thoughts had been sidelined by the discomfort of her strangely prolonged nudity. Now that that was behind her, the real adventure could finally begin.

As Emily stood up from the vanity table, she took one last pointed look in the mirror. "So long, flesh!"

Getting dressed was an involved process. Emily savored the feeling of fabric against her skin, of leather encasing her. Shift, petticoats, stockings, corset, dress, shoes, bonnet, she piled on the fabric until only her hands and face still showed. Then, smiling, she reached her hands behind her neck and pulled off the Stoneshell necklace.

No! A jolt of fear shot through Emily's spine. This wasn't right. She shouldn't be removing the Stoneshell. There was an important reason to keep it on at all times. A very important reason, but one she couldn't quite recall.

Emily wrapped the necklace around her fingers and walked out of her room, closing the door softly behind her. There was something more important than keeping the Stoneshell around her neck, and that was giving it to her mistress. She had just remembered that now, and would have to hurry so as not to disappoint her.

No... that wasn't right. Emily's head throbbed beneath her new bonnet. Her legs moved forward down the hall, carrying her along as if they had a mind of their own.

Emily's legs transported her to the dining room, where a smiling Lady Elara was ready to receive her, hands outstretched. "Good morning, Emily, I hope you slept well."

"I slept wonderfully, Mistress!" Emily replied, her enthusiasm startling her. "I'm well rested and ready to serve! Here, you should have this."

Emily's hands shook as she held out the Stoneshell, but she held it out nonetheless. Grinning cruelly, Lady Elara snatched it from her palms, devouring it with her greedy eyes. "Thank you, my dear," she said. "Now, Bessie will be wanting to see you in the scullery. Don't keep her waiting!"

"Yes ma'am!" Emily replied, all but saluting Lady Elara.

As Emily left the dining room, a battle raged in her head. Something was terribly, horribly wrong, but she didn't know what. She had just done something terrible, possibly unforgivable. But how could her mistress's orders be either of those things? It was all very confusing. If only her mind wasn't so full of cobwebs!

Emily's mind spun in violent circles as she walked towards the scullery, her feet moving mechanically. She knew that she wasn't in control of herself, but it seemed like a wall rose up in her mind every time she dwelled on that thought. Lady Elara was her mistress, good, kind and wise. She was a servant of the House of Odonata, which took good care of her. These were safe thoughts, thoughts that comforted her briefly, but they had no depth. She had no memories of serving Lady Elara, and did not even know where her feet were leading her in this enormous manor, which seemed to grow more sinister by the moment.

Tapestries and elegant paintings took on the appearance of cruel, mocking faces, while the eyes of the ancestral portraits following her every move. Emily forced her eyes forward and hurried her movements. Finally she came to the scullery, where Bessie was waiting for her.

The person of Bessie caused more confusion in Emily. She had met this person only yesterday, but was now being addressed in familiar terms and given orders by her.

"I see Sleeping Beauty has finally deigned to grace us with her presence," Bessie said contemptuously. "You're to sweep the kitchen and then dust the library. After that, mop the ballroom floor until you can see your reflection in it!"

"Yes ma'am!" Emily said at once, darting to the broom cupboard. Her movements were automatic, instinctual. She felt like a mere observer, watching her body move from the prison of her mind. But even her mind was not her own--her memories were inaccessible and her thoughts booby-trapped.

Mentally exhausted, Emily slipped into a stupor, passively watching herself carry out Bessie's orders. Her body moved on its own, but she still felt the strain of uncomfortable positions and repetitive movements as she swept, dusted and mopped.

"I suppose that will be good enough," Bessie said sometime later, kneeling to examine the ballroom floor.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, you're not finished yet," Bessie added. "Mistress's dresses need ironing."

And so Emily dragged her tired body to the ironing room, a small, cloistered chamber with a roaring fireplace. It was near noon on a hot day, and the pile of dresses in need of ironing came up to Emily's waist.

"Get cracking then!" Bessie said, scurrying out of the uncomfortably hot room.

After spreading the first dress across the ironing board, Emily pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves and picked the iron up from the fire. The heat was sweltering, and she could feel sweat pour down her face. Wiping it from her forehead with the back of her hand, she caught a gloved finger on her bonnet and pushed it slightly askew. Then she picked up the iron, which was much heavier than the plastic, electric irons she had always used.

Plastic. Electric. Those words... they were not of this world. Emily was not of this world. She came from somewhere else. Somewhere where she was a free woman, not a slave of Lady Elara Odonata. What's more, she was the rightful bearer of the Stoneshell, which she had found in...

A surge of pain shot through Emily's temples and coils of black smoke rose to her nose. While she had been having these realizations, her body had been moving through the motions of ironing Lady Elara's dresses, totally disconnected. But that had been disrupted, and now she was on the verge of starting a fire!

Wide-eyed, Emily wrenched the iron back from the board. The dress was ruined, but she had done no further damage. After setting the iron back down by the fire, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. By this point, her bonnet had dislodged itself completely from her head and was hanging behind her by the strap around her neck. Memories, thoughts and feelings flooded back to her.

Emily's mind was clear. But she did not regain control of her body. Moving with no instruction from her mind, her hands swept the ruined dress from the ironing board and placed another in its position, before resuming the task of ironing, as though nothing had happened. Try as she might, she could not so much as waggle a pinky finger.

It was the clothes. Envious of the Stoneshell, Lady Elara had exploited Emily's trust and desire for clothing by giving her an enchanted outfit that had made her a slave. Elara was clearly a very powerful witch. Or was it a mage? She would have to ask Aria.

Aria! Where was Aria? Had Elara done something to her?

No, Aria was all but indestructible. Except, with the Stoneshell separated from its bearer, the full force of her curse would return. But what did that mean? Emily needed to find Aria as soon as possible. But before she could do that, she would need to regain control of her body.

"Emily!" cried Bess's voice, startling her. "Leave what you're doing and come help with the cooking. Mary's down with a fever and we need someone else to fill in!"

After carefully setting the iron down away from the fire, Emily hurried out of the sweltering ironing room and followed Bessie to the kitchen, where several servants were running about stirring pots, chopping vegetables and lighting stoves. As her body automatically inserted itself into the process, her mind was spinning with schemes to escape her current predicament. She was careful to keep her face blank of emotion.

"Aye Emily," said a freckled maid of a similar age to her own, "you're bonnet's come off. Here, let me help you."

Emily's blood ran cold. "Oh, no, that's quite alright--really--don't--"

But it was too late. The smiling maid picked up the bonnet and set it back tightly on Emily's head, shutting her out of her own mind. All thoughts of Aria, the Stoneshell and her homeworld ceased at once, and an impenetrable fog descended. Emily picked up a knife and started chopping carrots, a stupid smile on her face.

That evening, after thoroughly cleaning the kitchen all on her own, Emily dragged her tired body into the servants' quarters, where she had been given a bunk among a group of young female servants. She would have just enough energy to peel off her outer garments. When she removed her bonnet, her mind cleared once more, but her body, still encased by a shift, remained out of her control. All she could do was collapse into bed and fall to fitful sleeping. Her roommates huddled together and whispered to each other, casting fearful glances in her direction.

The next morning, Emily was awoken by soft whispers.

"So we have to put this back on her head right as she wakes up?"

"Yes, Bessie says it's very important. Says she'll fly into a blind rage without it."

"But why?"

"She's a madwoman. Mary says she spied her wandering the halls without any clothes on the night she came here."

"Why do we have to share a room with a madwoman?!"

"It's her cure, I'm told. The bonnet keeps her 'ead together and hard work rebalances her 'umors, or some such. She's a relative of the Mistress, but that's very hush-hush. Anyway, I won't complain, not when Bessie's giving her all the worst jobs."

"I'd rather muck out the stables every day and sleep knowing I won't be murdered in my bed!"

"Hush now, she's harmless. And she's waking up!"

As Emily's eyes fluttered open, rough hands slammed the bonnet back onto her head. Two curious faces hovered above her own.

"Who--who's that you were talking about?" Emily asked, quivering. "The madwoman! She sounds awful!"

The two women glanced at each other awkwardly. "Oh, don't mind that," said the one who'd done most of the talking, a heavily freckled blonde. "I was just telling Gladys here a story I 'eard about the place my cousin works." She elbowed her companion roughly, a skinny dark-haired girl who was resolutely avoiding eye contact with Emily's.

"Y--yes," said the dark-haired girl, Gladys. "Ethel was just trying to frighten me with a story."

"You made it sound like the madwoman was in the room with us!" Emily replied, sitting up in bed. The tightness of her bonnet made it difficult to think.

"Oh, well, Gladys gets into these things a bit much sometimes," Ethel said unconvincingly. "Come along then, Bessie'll be waiting for us."

Emily climbed out of bed and put on her outer garments, pervaded the entire time by the sense that she was forgetting something very important. She had the sense that she had dreamed of many things during the night, but could not recall any of them.

That day, Emily's chores took her into the manor's grounds. She tended to flowerbeds and trimmed hedges, which took her among many stone and marble statues. One in particular caught her eye. It was a life-size statue of a tall, elegant woman in a flowing robe. Unlike the other statues in the garden, which all had stoic expressions, this one wore an expression of dreadful sadness and pain. Looking at the statue's sad, frozen expression, Emily felt tears welling up in her eyes.

What a silly thing, to cry over a statue! Especially when there was so much work still to do. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Emily continued trimming the hedges.

Each morning, Emily received instructions from Bessie on the day's tasks, and each night she dragged her exhausted body to bed, under the careful watch of her roommates.

Between her bonnet coming off and her mind succumbing to sleep, she was lucid. But the rush of hopelessness was almost too much to bear. The Stoneshell was gone, Aria was frozen and she was a powerless slave to Lady Elara Odonata. Perhaps it was a mercy that she could only think these thoughts for a few minutes every evening.

The Odonata estate employed a large number of servants. Far too many, Emily thought, for the needs of a single old woman. Most of the servants were women, but there were a few men as well. Most were older even than the lady of the house, save for a fresh-faced young assistant gardener named Stuart, whom Emily met on her second day of garden duty when he helped her dig a flowerbed.

"Be careful of that boy," Ethel said to Emily that evening. "He comes off as a real charmer, but he likes nothing more than a good prank on an unsuspecting lass. And he's taken a real interest in you, dear."

Emily thanked her for the advice. She was probably jealous, for Stuart had a certain impish charm, with his curly brown hair and sparkling green eyes. Emily wasn't particularly taken with him but could sense his interest in her without Ethel's help.

Some days later, while Emily was sweeping leaves from the path leading up to the front of the manor, Stuart suddenly appeared in front of her with a winning smile. "Miss Emily! Fancy meeting you here!"

"Hello, Stuart." Emily continued her sweeping.

"I've been wanting to ask you something, Emily," Stuart continued, his eyes darting around and focusing everywhere but her face.

Here it came. "Well?" Emily asked.

"Would you care to take a picnic with me, out on the grounds?" Stuart asked, finally looking her in the eyes. "I know a beautiful and secluded spot."

Emily hesitated before replying, considering the ideal way to let him down gently.

"Please, Miss Emily!" Stuart pleaded, grasping his hands together in front of his face. "Tomorrow is a holiday, and I can think of no better way to spend it than in your delightful company."

"That's very flattering, but..."

"Tell you what," Stuart interrupted. "I'll make you a deal. They're always giving you the toughest jobs around here. I, on the other hand, have only one last thing to finish off today, and then I'm done. How about we swap, and you can have the afternoon off? All I ask in exchange is that you accept my invitation."

Emily pondered. She still had to wash a mountain of sheets and clean the manor's enormous kitchen and had been particularly dreading the latter, as Lady Elara had hosted an enormous banquet the previous evening. "Good to see our ladyship enjoying herself for a change," Gladys had said, while she and Emily waited the table. "She's been holed up in that tower for days, fiddling with some magic necklace." Recalling the words sent a jolt of pain through Emily's skull.

"What job do I have to finish?" Emily asked, shrugging off the pain.

"Oh, it's my favorite," Stuart replied. "Stomping bellgrapes for Odonata wine! And they're mostly stomped already."

Stomping some grapes and having a picnic with Stuart in exchange for not having to do the rest of her chores. That actually seemed like a pretty good deal. "Okay, Stuart, lead me to the bellgrapes."

"Hooray!" Stuart cried, jumping up and clicking his heels together. "Right this way, Miss Emily!"

Stuart led Emily back into the manor and then along a corridor she hadn't previously been down. At the end of the corridor was a large, airy room with a large bucket in the middle and some paintings on the walls. Splotches of purple liquid marked the floor beneath it, and Emily could smell a fruity aroma.