Fᴇʟɪᴄɪᴛʏ Wᴏʀᴛʜɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iphigeneia) wrote2012-05-02 01:44 am
iphigeneia) wrote2012-05-02 01:44 am
Exposé Scenes
The setting is an opulent city manor in the most fashionable section of London, circa 1885. Felicity, age seven, is pretending to sleep in her nursery. There is no nanny, no mother, no one around to protect her. There’s only the looming, threatening shadow of a man, approaching the child. That man is her father.
She begins to whimper as he crawls into the bed with her. He responds to her cries in a sickening tone, “Hush now. That’s a good girl. Keep quiet.”
Whatever is happening causes Felicity to shut up. Her silence is perhaps more terrifying than her tears.
“There now. Look at that. You're so beautiful, you bring this out in me.” His voice is muffled, mouth against skin, growling and low. “You look just like your mother.”
***
Some years later, Felicity is now fifteen and wild, no longer a weak and miserable child. She’s found freedom outside of London, even within the confines of Spence. Her milky hair bounces as she runs through the woods outside of the school, her dark green cape catching mud along the hemline. Not that Fee cares; she’s running free through the moonlit forest toward a clearing with an encampment in it. The men in the camp are dark skinned, poorly dress, wanderers. They are Gypsies, and she would be skinned alive if her headmistress knew she was there.
A branch snaps from behind her and she turns around, gasping.
“There you are. I knew you would come.” A voice comes out from the darkness.
“You know nothing.” Felicity replies, voice haughty, but still so young. There’s a glint of girlish glee in her eyes. “I was merely on a stroll when I became lost in the woods.”
“You are a terrible liar,” the voice answers. Another twig snaps and a young man— no, a boy, not much older than she is— steps out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight. In a moment, his arms are around her, lips dragging at her throat. Felicity can’t seem to get her nightgown hiked up fast enough.
***
It is autumn in England, but it is still very hot. Felicity is seventeen now, laughing riotously with three of her friends in a cave. They have a bottle of whiskey between them, which they pass back and forth between them, each taking a swig of the liquor. As the candles flicker, ancient cave paintings are illuminated. One of the girls, raven-haired and beautiful, hangs on Felicity, watching her adoringly.
“Right then,” Felicity proclaims. “I now call this meeting of the Order into session. Let us continue with our reading from the Diary of Mary Dowd. Where were we? Gemma?”
One of the girls, the redheaded Gemma, begins to read, clearing her throat. “'Eugenia says they cannot cross over until their souls work is done, whether on one plane or another, and only then can they take their rest. Some of these wanderers never find release and they are corrupted, becoming dark spirits who can cause all manner of mischief. These are banished to the Winterlands, a realm of fire and ice and shadows. Only the strongest and wisest of our sisters is allowed there, for the dark spirits—'“
Felicity snorts, interrupting the tale, “Oh honestly. This is the worst attempt at Gothic I have ever read. All we are missing are creeping castle floors and a heroine in danger of losing her virtue.”
“Let’s read on!” Pippa, the most beautiful of them, cries. “I want to hear if they do lose their virtue.”
The other two appear to be scandalized by this idea, though it may simply be the whiskey that is slowing their reaction.
Felicity snatches up the book, speaking in a superior tone, “'Today, we were once again in that garden of beauty, where one’s greatest wishes can be made real.'” She turns to the others and laughs. “This is more like it. Bound to be something more carnal here."
The girls share a bout of wicked laughter, voices bouncing off the damped cave walls as they continue reading the book into the early hours of the morning.
***
The Realms are a world of magic, but not all magic is good. There are dark places in every world, and somehow, Felicity has found herself inside the darkest of places, along with her friends Gemma and Ann. The dilapidated cathedral is practically crumbling beneath the girls’ feet as they wander through the pitch, searching for an escape. It’s tense and claustrophobic and the girls are nearly panicking when there’s the flutter of feathered wings and a noxious, sinister laugh echoing against the crumbling walls. Felicity reaches for the quiver on her back, bow at the ready.
“I think we should go.” Gemma, says.
It is then that the candle in Ann’s hand illuminates the walls and shows that they are not made of stone. The walls are made up of human bones.
“This is not the Temple!” Gemma’s voice aches with fear. “They’ve led us astray!”
Shadows move along the bone-walls and the high dome of the cathedral. Ann grabs tight to the other girls as they slowly make for the door and the safety of daylight. But they move too slowly and the shadows loom larger and larger, bat-shaped figures slowly morphing into the skeletal figures of armor clad knights. Their ghostly faces are skulls with bits of flesh and hair still stuck to the bone. Their bodies are rotting corpses in rusted chain mail and tattered white robes with necklaces made of bones. One of them lunges for Felicity, haunting and loud.
“Hello, Poppet.” His sinewy arm is covered in grotesque black tattoos, which snake and curve and result in a blood red poppy flower on his shoulder. More and more of these ghastly creatures arrive, wearing armor and armed to the teeth with maces and swords and other such weapons. “I see you’ve made friends with the forest folk. Can’t have that."
Felicity swallows hard, tightening her grip on her bow, only to have the leader snatch it easily from her hand. “It was a gift,” she says, trying to ignore the wicked laughter of the Poppy Warriors.
“There’s no such thing as a gift.” The leader hisses. “Everything has a price, lass. It would almost be a shame to break you. Almost.” The others laugh and writhe in glee. “No use crying over spilled blood. Now, which of you shall we offer first?”
Two of the knights grab Felicity before she can escape, forcing her to her knees. She is visibly panicked, bleeding from where their claws have attached to her skin.
“I know. We’ll have a hunt, to whet our appetites!” The warriors seem to delight in their leader’s choice of games. He gestures down the corridor, to an iron-arched door barely visible in the darkness. “Through that door is the catacombs. There are five corridors. One leads out, the others lead you further in. You get a head start, poppets. Run, poppets. Run."
***
It’s unclear how much time has passed, but this part of the Realms looks as strange and bleak as ever. In this particular place resides a pale, painfully thin, specter of a girl, clad in all white with a garland of dead flowers in her hair. Her violet eyes seem to flash black, then milky white every so often, and her lips are stained with the purple juice of berries. Her teeth no longer look like human teeth, but rather like the jaws of a wolf or a tiger. It all gives her a sickening, ghostly quality, which is fitting because she’s quite clearly no longer alive. On second glance, it becomes clear that this ghost of a girl is Pippa.
Still, she seems like a princess, perched in the ruins of an old castle, with a court of dead girls along with her. These ones seem to be contemporaries of hers, though of a much lower class. Factory workers, burnt alive in a fire, with the burns and wounds to prove it.
The three living girls, Gemma, Ann, and Felicity, make their appearance in the castle chapel, and in an instant, The ghostly princess is on her feet, fluttering to Felicity’s side. The others either do not notice this blatant favoritism, or they know better than to comment on it.
“Fee!” She coos, ignoring the others, dancing around her like a playful dog. Her eyes turn black for a moment. “Come with me, Fee! Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
Felicity links arms with her as they sequester themselves away from the others, hidden away from them by a moth-eaten tapestry. She seems heartbroken in spite of the brunette’s optimistic chatter. “I’ve missed you too, Pippa. I’m so sorry... Pippa.”
“Don’t be silly, my darling.” Pippa hushes her, tangling her fingers through Felicity’s hair, other hand pawing possessively at her waist. “We’ll use the magic and I shall come home again. I promise you. We need only be patient.”
The blonde closes her eyes, shaking her head bitterly. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep. You can’t get me out of this. There isn’t a way for us.”
“Nonsense!” Pippa’s eyes change color again, and this time Felicity takes notice. “You’ll get your inheritance and we’ll go to Paris together. It will be just as we always said.”
Felicity opens her mouth to protest but is silenced by a kiss. Reluctantly, she seems to melt in Pippa’s arms, slowly turning to molasses as she pulls close her long lost love. Her voice is aching as they pull apart, “Just as we always said.”
“That’s it.” Pippa’s smile resembles a shark. “My darling. My love. We’ll be together forever.”
***
She begins to whimper as he crawls into the bed with her. He responds to her cries in a sickening tone, “Hush now. That’s a good girl. Keep quiet.”
Whatever is happening causes Felicity to shut up. Her silence is perhaps more terrifying than her tears.
“There now. Look at that. You're so beautiful, you bring this out in me.” His voice is muffled, mouth against skin, growling and low. “You look just like your mother.”
***
Some years later, Felicity is now fifteen and wild, no longer a weak and miserable child. She’s found freedom outside of London, even within the confines of Spence. Her milky hair bounces as she runs through the woods outside of the school, her dark green cape catching mud along the hemline. Not that Fee cares; she’s running free through the moonlit forest toward a clearing with an encampment in it. The men in the camp are dark skinned, poorly dress, wanderers. They are Gypsies, and she would be skinned alive if her headmistress knew she was there.
A branch snaps from behind her and she turns around, gasping.
“There you are. I knew you would come.” A voice comes out from the darkness.
“You know nothing.” Felicity replies, voice haughty, but still so young. There’s a glint of girlish glee in her eyes. “I was merely on a stroll when I became lost in the woods.”
“You are a terrible liar,” the voice answers. Another twig snaps and a young man— no, a boy, not much older than she is— steps out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight. In a moment, his arms are around her, lips dragging at her throat. Felicity can’t seem to get her nightgown hiked up fast enough.
***
It is autumn in England, but it is still very hot. Felicity is seventeen now, laughing riotously with three of her friends in a cave. They have a bottle of whiskey between them, which they pass back and forth between them, each taking a swig of the liquor. As the candles flicker, ancient cave paintings are illuminated. One of the girls, raven-haired and beautiful, hangs on Felicity, watching her adoringly.
“Right then,” Felicity proclaims. “I now call this meeting of the Order into session. Let us continue with our reading from the Diary of Mary Dowd. Where were we? Gemma?”
One of the girls, the redheaded Gemma, begins to read, clearing her throat. “'Eugenia says they cannot cross over until their souls work is done, whether on one plane or another, and only then can they take their rest. Some of these wanderers never find release and they are corrupted, becoming dark spirits who can cause all manner of mischief. These are banished to the Winterlands, a realm of fire and ice and shadows. Only the strongest and wisest of our sisters is allowed there, for the dark spirits—'“
Felicity snorts, interrupting the tale, “Oh honestly. This is the worst attempt at Gothic I have ever read. All we are missing are creeping castle floors and a heroine in danger of losing her virtue.”
“Let’s read on!” Pippa, the most beautiful of them, cries. “I want to hear if they do lose their virtue.”
The other two appear to be scandalized by this idea, though it may simply be the whiskey that is slowing their reaction.
Felicity snatches up the book, speaking in a superior tone, “'Today, we were once again in that garden of beauty, where one’s greatest wishes can be made real.'” She turns to the others and laughs. “This is more like it. Bound to be something more carnal here."
The girls share a bout of wicked laughter, voices bouncing off the damped cave walls as they continue reading the book into the early hours of the morning.
***
The Realms are a world of magic, but not all magic is good. There are dark places in every world, and somehow, Felicity has found herself inside the darkest of places, along with her friends Gemma and Ann. The dilapidated cathedral is practically crumbling beneath the girls’ feet as they wander through the pitch, searching for an escape. It’s tense and claustrophobic and the girls are nearly panicking when there’s the flutter of feathered wings and a noxious, sinister laugh echoing against the crumbling walls. Felicity reaches for the quiver on her back, bow at the ready.
“I think we should go.” Gemma, says.
It is then that the candle in Ann’s hand illuminates the walls and shows that they are not made of stone. The walls are made up of human bones.
“This is not the Temple!” Gemma’s voice aches with fear. “They’ve led us astray!”
Shadows move along the bone-walls and the high dome of the cathedral. Ann grabs tight to the other girls as they slowly make for the door and the safety of daylight. But they move too slowly and the shadows loom larger and larger, bat-shaped figures slowly morphing into the skeletal figures of armor clad knights. Their ghostly faces are skulls with bits of flesh and hair still stuck to the bone. Their bodies are rotting corpses in rusted chain mail and tattered white robes with necklaces made of bones. One of them lunges for Felicity, haunting and loud.
“Hello, Poppet.” His sinewy arm is covered in grotesque black tattoos, which snake and curve and result in a blood red poppy flower on his shoulder. More and more of these ghastly creatures arrive, wearing armor and armed to the teeth with maces and swords and other such weapons. “I see you’ve made friends with the forest folk. Can’t have that."
Felicity swallows hard, tightening her grip on her bow, only to have the leader snatch it easily from her hand. “It was a gift,” she says, trying to ignore the wicked laughter of the Poppy Warriors.
“There’s no such thing as a gift.” The leader hisses. “Everything has a price, lass. It would almost be a shame to break you. Almost.” The others laugh and writhe in glee. “No use crying over spilled blood. Now, which of you shall we offer first?”
Two of the knights grab Felicity before she can escape, forcing her to her knees. She is visibly panicked, bleeding from where their claws have attached to her skin.
“I know. We’ll have a hunt, to whet our appetites!” The warriors seem to delight in their leader’s choice of games. He gestures down the corridor, to an iron-arched door barely visible in the darkness. “Through that door is the catacombs. There are five corridors. One leads out, the others lead you further in. You get a head start, poppets. Run, poppets. Run."
***
It’s unclear how much time has passed, but this part of the Realms looks as strange and bleak as ever. In this particular place resides a pale, painfully thin, specter of a girl, clad in all white with a garland of dead flowers in her hair. Her violet eyes seem to flash black, then milky white every so often, and her lips are stained with the purple juice of berries. Her teeth no longer look like human teeth, but rather like the jaws of a wolf or a tiger. It all gives her a sickening, ghostly quality, which is fitting because she’s quite clearly no longer alive. On second glance, it becomes clear that this ghost of a girl is Pippa.
Still, she seems like a princess, perched in the ruins of an old castle, with a court of dead girls along with her. These ones seem to be contemporaries of hers, though of a much lower class. Factory workers, burnt alive in a fire, with the burns and wounds to prove it.
The three living girls, Gemma, Ann, and Felicity, make their appearance in the castle chapel, and in an instant, The ghostly princess is on her feet, fluttering to Felicity’s side. The others either do not notice this blatant favoritism, or they know better than to comment on it.
“Fee!” She coos, ignoring the others, dancing around her like a playful dog. Her eyes turn black for a moment. “Come with me, Fee! Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
Felicity links arms with her as they sequester themselves away from the others, hidden away from them by a moth-eaten tapestry. She seems heartbroken in spite of the brunette’s optimistic chatter. “I’ve missed you too, Pippa. I’m so sorry... Pippa.”
“Don’t be silly, my darling.” Pippa hushes her, tangling her fingers through Felicity’s hair, other hand pawing possessively at her waist. “We’ll use the magic and I shall come home again. I promise you. We need only be patient.”
The blonde closes her eyes, shaking her head bitterly. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep. You can’t get me out of this. There isn’t a way for us.”
“Nonsense!” Pippa’s eyes change color again, and this time Felicity takes notice. “You’ll get your inheritance and we’ll go to Paris together. It will be just as we always said.”
Felicity opens her mouth to protest but is silenced by a kiss. Reluctantly, she seems to melt in Pippa’s arms, slowly turning to molasses as she pulls close her long lost love. Her voice is aching as they pull apart, “Just as we always said.”
“That’s it.” Pippa’s smile resembles a shark. “My darling. My love. We’ll be together forever.”
***