Dor bit her lip nervously; Sister Mary Margaret loomed over her, lecturing in a scolding tone about the dangers of imagination and straying from God and encouraging others to do the same. She'd heard this lecture before. Sister Mary Margaret, headmistress of St. Bridget's Orphanage, was emphatic on staying true to God's will. For little orphan girls like Dor, God's will meant reading the stories of the Bible and eschewing the stories of Shakespeare; it meant keeping her head out of the clouds and her feet on a righteous path; it meant ignoring her imagination and focusing on reality.
"I said, are you paying attention?" Sister Mary Margaret demanded.
Dor jumped and nodded, though she hadn't been.
Sister Mary Margaret sighed and grumbled. "You must be a test directly from the Lord Himself. Never has a girl in my orphanage been so caught up in her own head. You will learn to respect the Lord, young lady, if I have to spank you every day to make sure of it."
"Oh, please, Sister Mary Margaret," Dor said. "I try to be good, I promise, but I can't help my dreams. They just happen."
Sister Mary Margaret took hold of Dor's shoulder firmly. "You can control your thoughts. You're just not trying hard enough."
"But, Sister—"
"Dorothy Alice Wendy!"
Dor winced. She hated it when Sister Mary Margaret used all three of her names like that. She loved her name. She thought it sounded fantastical and adventurous. It sounded like a trio of girls who actually visited far off lands rather than just imagining them. But when Sister Mary Margaret said her name in that tone of voice, it sounded shameful.
"That is enough!" Sister Mary Margaret pulled Dor to the far corner of the room where stood a thick, sturdy chair with a straight back and no arms. Dor knew this chair intimately. Every girl at St. Bridget's Orphanage knew the spanking chair. Dor knew it better than most. Sister Mary Margaret sat with a thump, her ample frame filling the broad, sturdy chair.
Dor knew better than to resist. Even so, she couldn't help but squirm as Sister Mary Margaret pulled her firmly to a thick thigh and forced her to bend over her broad lap. Dor put her palms flat on the floor to brace herself even as her tiptoes left the floor. Her vibrant red hair fell past her shoulder to lie in a braided crumple on the floor. She knew her pale, freckled cheeks were already flushing with embarrassment, her bright green eyes shining with unshed tears. For all that she was experienced in being spanked by Sister Mary Margaret in this very chair, Dor couldn't help but be embarrassed, couldn't help but cry, couldn't help but hate it.
Sister Mary Margaret hiked up Dor's skirts to bunch them on her back revealing her plain white drawers and her pale, skinny legs. She untied the knot at the small of Dor's back to loosen the drawers and pulled them down over her bottom, letting them fall to Dor's ankles where they promptly slipped off her feet and to the floor.
Dor gave a little sob.
"Yes, well, we'll have you crying for real in no time," Sister Mary Margaret said as she slapped Dor's thigh sharply.
Dor squeaked.
Sister Mary Margaret thought Dor carried on far too much during a spanking, that it didn't really hurt all that much, that the girl was playacting, but Dor couldn't help it. She had tried, many times, to moderate her reaction, and every time she failed.
Sister Mary Margaret was a thorough, efficient, and experienced spanker. She spanked Dor's bare bottom, alternating right, left, right, left, making Dor's whole body burn and squirm. Dor tried to bite back her tears but was, as usual, unsuccessful. Within moments she was sobbing, which seemed only to encourage Sister Mary Margaret to spank her harder. Dor wailed and apologized and promised, but Sister Mary Margaret had none of the mercy she so often preached in sermons. Dor was spanked soundly.
When it was done, Sister Mary Margaret deposited Dor upon her feet. "You'll get no supper tonight," she said. "For your caterwauling."
Dor sniffled and sobbed. "Oh, please, I haven't hadn't had anything since breakfast." She knew, immediately, that was the wrong thing to say. Sister Mary Margaret's gaze turned fearsome.
"Shall I fetch my cane, young lady?"
Dor's eyes went wide and she shook her head frantically. For all that she was commonly spanked by the sisters of St. Bridget's Orphanage, Dor had only ever twice been caned and it was such a miserable experience she did everything she could to avoid it.
"To bed with you," Sister Mary Margaret said.
Dor scurried off.
The orphans' bedroom was on the top floor of the orphanage, a single large room with several beds arranged in rows. It was empty for the moment, which Dor preferred given her still burning bottom and damp cheeks. She hurried to her bed and pulled a small trunk from under it that held her spare clothes. She pulled off her dress and chemise, realizing with cheek-burning humiliation she'd left her drawers in Sister Mary Margaret's study. She pulled on her nightgown and, with no one to hear her or tease her or chide her, sobbed into her pillow.
She should have known better. She should have known when Elmira Gulch asked her what sort of dreams she'd had, the girl hadn't really wanted to know. Elmira had only wanted to tease her, as the other orphans at St. Bridget so often did. She'd hoped, since Elmira was the newest arrival at St. Bridget's, things might be different. So, she'd told the other girl about the frozen town of Christmas on the world of Trenzalore and the old toymaker who defended it from monstrous aliens; she told her of the corn fields of Iowa and the spirits of long-dead ball players who came to play again; she told her of Narnia, a land filled with talking beasts ruled by four human children and watched over by a great lion.
Dor knew she had a tendency toward earnestness. She knew others thought her silly for it. Nonetheless she couldn't help but think the best of people, to assume they saw the same wonder in imagination she did, to assume the beauty of the world inspired wonder in them all.
But Elmira had laughed at her.
"That ought to be good for a trip to Old Mary's spanking chair," Elmira had said. Dor had pleaded with her, but it did no good. As she sobbed into her pillow, Dor sobbed as much for that deliberate betrayal as she did the throbbing burn radiating from her spanked bottom.
She woke briefly when the other girls filled the room with their chatter, coming to bed after dinner, but they didn't bother her and she didn't speak to them and soon she drifted to sleep again.
She awoke with a start in the middle of the night. The room was filled with the quiet breathing of sleeping orphan girls. The pain of the spanking was gone, though she ached faintly, like after a day of hard chores. She didn't know what had woken her. She thought it might have been her dream, but couldn't remember it. Her heart thudded painfully and she lay on her back in bed, staring at the dark ceiling above, taking slow, careful breaths in hopes the anxiety would pass. After several minutes more, the ache in her chest eased and her heart slowed to its normal pace. She closed her eyes and tried for several minutes to quiet her mind so she could return to sleep, but quieting her mind was a skill Dor was particularly bad at.
So, after several minutes more, she rose from bed and crept to the window at the far end of the room. It was the only window in the orphans' bedroom. It was large with leaded panes and an arched top. The orphans, or course, were strictly forbidden from opening the window and though Dor tried hard to follow the rules, to keep her bottom safe, for this one small freedom she flouted them.
But only at night when she was certain she'd not be caught.
She knew how to unlatch the window in just such a way as the metal would not scrape or clink. She knew how to open it, not too slowly so it would creak, but not too fast so it would squeak. She knew just how far to open it so she could slip her thin, pale frame through. All this she did with practiced ease and slipped onto the wood-shingled rooftop.
The angle of the roof was steep enough she had to be careful, but not so much she couldn't traverse it with careful steps. Dor closed the window behind her, leaving it open just enough she could open it again from the outside, then took her usual spot with her back to the brick wall of a chimney that ran to the sisters' quarters. It was warm through the fabric of her nightgown.
The night was cool with late summer chill and a hint of coming autumn. She smelled rain on the air and looked to the horizon where a smudge of cloud was lit faintly by a moon overhead and behind. She knew from experience, rain on the horizon could be upon her with deceptive celerity, so she kept her eyes on the distant clouds while her mind wandered.
She tried to remember what had awoken her. It wasn't the first time she'd been woken by a bad dream and she wasn't usually interested in remembering the scary ones, but it was rare she didn't remember one. No matter how she tried, it wouldn't come to her. He mind drifted to other dreams, dreams of benevolent monks who wielded swords of light against evil, dreams of a mermaid who'd fallen in love with a ship captain, dreams of soaring over mountain ranges on wings sprouting from her back. Her musing was interrupted by the squeak of the window. Someone had opened it too quickly
Dor yelped and looked to the window where an unfriendly face lit by indirect moonlight and cloaked in heavy moonshadow, sneered at her.
"What are you doing out here?" Elmira Gulch asked.
"Nothing," Dor said quickly.
"Oh, the sisters are going to be so mad. Old Mary will cane you for this. She'll probably do it in the refectory in front of everybody. Perhaps that'll spark you."
"No, please, you can't."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, you weakling. Nobody tells me what I can and can't do."
Elmira was right. Amongst the orphans, even though new, she was unchallenged. But, despite her predicament, Dor was incensed and couldn't help but retort.
"Except the sisters. We all saw Sister Candice smack your bottom this morning." Though the light was dim, Dor could see Elmira's expression turn ugly and knew she'd let her mouth get her in trouble yet again.
"Maybe I'll lock you out on the roof and the let the storm deal with you," Elmira said.
Dor turned her attention to the horizon and chided herself. She'd meant to keep an eye on the storm, but while she'd been distracted in her own head, the storm had grown closer. She looked back to Elmira.
"No, please, I'm sorry." She stood and made for the window carefully even as Elmira started to close it. "Please, you can't," Dor said, raising her voice, hoping someone inside would hear. For all she would be in trouble, it would be better than being locked out.
She got to the window just before it closed and stuck her fingers in the crack to keep it open. The window closed on her fingers and pinched them hard. Dor yelped and Elmira snickered.
"Maybe if you say you're sorry, I won't break them."
"I'm sorry," Dor said quickly, pleadingly. "Really I am. Please."
Elmira snickered, keeping her voice pitched low. It oozed through the open window. "What was that, Dor? Say it again."
"I'm sorry," Dor repeated. "Please let me in. You can tell on me and I won't deny it. Please let me in." Dor pulled hard on the window and opened it several inches before Elmira pulled back. The metal frame pinched her fingers so hard she feared they'd be cut off.
"I'm not sure I heard you," Elmira said.
Dor groaned with fear and humiliation. She leaned back, grit her teeth, and jerked at the window. There was a moment of resistance and Dor despaired. Then the resistance was gone and the window swung open. Dor lost her grip on it and stumbled backward. The pitch of the roof was too much. She slipped, landing hard on her back and slid down the roof. There was nothing to grab on to. She knew a moment of weightlessness, her body suspended upon nothing as she went over the edge.
Stunned, Dor couldn't scream; she could only stare at the fat, yellow moon overhead as rain scent and velvet clouds swallowed it whole. Her shoulders flared with pain, and her world exploded into mind-numbing, sense-shattering, body-crushing chaos.