forgotten

[mute_pen]

It's past dark, but when you need the outhouse, you need the outhouse.

Isabel picks her way across the yard of her father's house in the moonlight, hoping to sneak back into bed without waking him.

Comments

[mute_pen]

Etty is not a perfect actress.

She drags her feet a little, as they go.

[pythbox]

The Baron frowns.

"Are you shy tonight, my swan?"

[mute_pen]

"Shy?"

Her skin is crawling, she wants to hide in a closet somewhere forever, and neither person in this room knows her name.

Perhaps this adds up to "shy".

[pythbox]

He closes the door.

"There's no call to be nervous," he says, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the bed. "You'll do just fine."

[mute_pen]

"I - I -"

What was her plan if she found herself trapped in a situation where she had to actually marry? She didn't have a good one, really, mostly she'd been hoping desperately for Carl to live to be a hundred. Some combination of feigned illness and unfeigned foul temper and - possibly, if she were very, very lucky - telling the truth. She supposes.

She is not lucky.

Technically her strategy calls for letting him do as he likes - it will least interfere with trying to put him off in this way or that, later, and give her a baseline by which to judge her success or failure - but -

"Not - not tonight - please?" she squeaks.

[pythbox]

"Shhhh," says the Baron.

[mute_pen]

"Please," breathes Etty.

[pythbox]

"Shhhh, my swan."

[mute_pen]

She is not a good enough actress to be his swan according to plan right now.

She hugs herself and bows her head and weeps.

[pythbox]

The Baron... does not let that stop him.

He is gentle, but he is not kind. He doesn't seem to expect that she get anything out of it. When he is finished, he kisses her and calls her his swan again and goes to sleep, ignoring her completely.

[mute_pen]

Etty lies still for a minute, paralyzed, and then she gets up and she grabs her dress from where it's crumpled on the floor and she clutches it to her chest and she runs, out the door, down the hall, down the stairs -

She slips.

She falls.

She tumbles and she lands and something breaks and she chokes out a sob.

[pythbox]

Nothing at all happens for at least an hour.

[mute_pen]

Her legs are bruised but not broken. Etty lets herself be a crumpled whimpering heap for fifteen minutes and then she drags herself to her feet by her good arm and steps more carefully to the door.

[growcrooked]

The main doors won't open; the nearest side door is far enough that by the time she finds it, Nona is not far behind.

[mute_pen]

Etty looks at Nona, and opens the door, and goes out into the orchard, and finds a tree to sit under and curl up and go on with her crying.

[growcrooked]

Nona follows her out and curls up next to her.

[mute_pen]

This might take a while.

[growcrooked]

That's okay. They have time.

[mute_pen]

Does Nona want to sit there for the next hour listening to Etty sobbing and pretty much ignoring her?

[growcrooked]

Sure.

[mute_pen]

Then after this hour she will be rewarded with dubious eye contact.

[growcrooked]

She doesn't really know what to do.

But, well, here she is.

[mute_pen]

"It'll be worse if I don't go next time," whispers Etty. "Won't it."

[growcrooked]

"Yeah, probably," says Nona.

[mute_pen]

"I don't know if I can go, even so."