(~)

(take my revolution)

(~)

Flora fell to her knees, staring up at the sky. She hadn't had a nightmare like this in a long time. Ever since the Academy came to her dreams... All of her dreams had been dark and dull and aching, as all the people in her life bounced her around the court like a tennis ball, but none of it had hurt, since it started. Not like it had before. Not like this.

Every puzzle has an answer. One of the most ridiculous lies she'd ever believed.

"Learn to stand up for yourself!" said Janet.

She bit her lip, seeing broken clockwork figures and men in impeccable suits and rooms where all the furniture was new. Men in long white coats and nurses in neat hats. Men and women in dark suits, the scratchiness of black veiling, the pompous voices of people who stood up and talked at someone else's funeral just to pretend they'd been important to them. The voices of people talking over her, around her, about her, whether she was there or not. A particularly vexing omission in the will. Not even a puzzle to be solved: a problem to be dealt with, to be shut away. A princess in a tower. Only she didn't think she was going to be rescued twice.

"The door's open," said Luke.

She hadn't felt it, hadn't had to think about it, in such a long time. She hadn't had to remember, not while she was here. All she had to do here was what she was asked. To suffer for her sins.

"I do believe you have a talent for this, my girl," said the Professor.

But Luke had been right. She had plans. She'd spent days and weeks hammering out plans for how to get out of this place. She knew none of them could ever work, but still, every daydream she had-- even to this day! she realized, startled. Even to this day, every book she read, everywhere she watched, every person she talked to-- she was making plans for escape.

None of them would work, though. Flora clutched the ring Luke had left behind tightly in her hand. She was a young, unmarried woman, having just barely attained her majority, with little official schooling and less legal standing. If her father's legacy even existed anymore, it was tied up in stocks and trusts and bonds, "guarded" for her until... well, they'd never said 'until'. She had a feeling she was supposed to forget about that, to chase after and win some relatively well-off boy and spend the rest of her life being grateful that he was generous enough to support her. That's what they told all the girls here, after all.

But. There might be ways. There were barristers who might work on contingency, policemen who still might remember the Professor's name. There were soup kitchens and charities and shops that needed workers; there were dingy flats and distant relatives and people who might, just might, be trustworthy.

There were also tyrants and thieves and monsters who stalked the streets, just looking for a girl with no defenders.

And if she did manage it. If she got enough money to live on her own, managed to get away from the people who would be disapproving and scandalized at the very thought of an unattached female. If she gave up on waiting for someone to rescue her... then she would be alone.

But someone came before. There are people out there who are worth knowing. There are people who will care about you even when they don't have to. It's not just them. It can't just be them.

She didn't know what might happen, if she left this place, if she started to act of her own volition instead of just following the rules she was set. But... that was part of growing up, wasn't it? That was what everyone had to do, no matter how hollow and lonely it was. That was what it meant to grow up. Not this.

There was a noise behind her. She turned, slowly; there was a car, in the middle of all these roses, old-fashioned and powder-blue. Not as tall as the Laytonmobile, but she was reminded of it anyway. "Luke?" she murmured; a nonsensical thought, but then again, this was a dream. She'd known that from the start.

She couldn't drive. She didn't have the faintest idea how. She'd never be allowed. She'd probably kill herself if she tried.

And yet the idea had the most intoxicating, terrifying appeal.

She looked down, and opened her hand. There was a small silver key inside.

"Well," she murmured to her subconscious. "I still think this will kill me, but-- I can take a hint."

The platform lurched, and started to move downward; Flora took one long look at the trail of red petals rising upward like the opposite of rain, and got into the car. The instrumentation was a little vague-- she'd never even been allowed to sit in the front seat of a car, not once in her life-- but she understood the principles, and she was a fast learner with nothing to lose.

The platform ground downward, and downward, and shuddered to a halt; there was a tunnel up ahead, dark and forbidding and wide.

Flora nodded. "Let's go," she said. "To the outside world."

She turned the key.

The motor roared, and the entire world felt different, somehow. Further away. Far more dangerous.

Flora found the gas pedal and pushed it to the floor.

"Hi, everyone!" the radio chirped fuzzily, as Flora breathed deep, eyes focused hard on the road ahead of her, even though she knew it was just a dream. "This is Eelie's-- and Effie's-- live radio coverage!"

Where on earth is this coming from? Flora shook her head, breezing past the signs, the warning lights, the fences.

"And today's main event is, racing!" said one of the girls. "Currently, Flora Reinhold is in the lead all by herself. Which is to be expected when there's only one car!"

The road curved upward at an angle that didn't seem wholly possible; Flora followed it, hugging the curve, getting the hang of this. She could get to like the motion of it, the momentum, though even if she did somehow learn to drive in the real world, she'd never be doing it ths fast.

"Ah! Not so fast," cried one of the announcers. "Scanners show that a pack of black cars are advancing from behind!"

Scanners? Flora thought, and looked up to the mirror. There were dark shapes on the road behind her-- and far, far too many little scarlet headlights.

"Where did they come from?" one of the announcers wondered. Flora bit her lip; there was something strange about this. This didn't feel like-- hers, somehow. This felt almost like someone else's dream. This felt terribly dangerous.

That was probably because it was. Flora reminded herself of the metaphor of it, turning her attention back to the road ahead of her. Of course this was dangerous.

There was a tunnel up ahead, and the black cars were gaining on her, like a pack of dogs or a herd of buzzing locusts. Either of which had a tendency to tear apart whatever they captured.

Flora narrowed her eyes. "I don't care," she muttered, and pressed ahead faster.

"Hello? Hello? Did you enter a tunnel?" said the voices on the radio, before fizzing into static.

Of course. She was alone. She had to be alone.

She looked around at the round walls, nervously, the electric lights glaring a dangerous yellow in the night-- and realized that something was creeping along them.

She gasped, turning the other direction. They were driving on the walls, overtaking her, surrounding her completely. Black cars, like the ones at a funeral, except no car she'd ever seen was quite this-- edged. They looked like they had claws. They looked like they had teeth.

And they were on the ceiling, she realized, shrieking as one crashed down in front of her, and another, and another. She spun the wheel, but she couldn't avoid them all-- oh, god, she was denting the car, the Professor would be furious--

--another car crashed into her side, scraping, and Flora shrieked, jerking the wheel. The car's motor was sputtering, she couldn't get any speed-- "This isn't working," she muttered, leaning closer to the wheel, and something in the mirror caught her eye.

Another car, on the ceiling. And this one was a funeral car, far too familiar, a hearse exactly-- just far, far too big.

"Oh, help," she murmured, as the car shook, as the hearse drew closer, though she knew there was no one who could, anymore. "Luke--!"

Something flickered across her vision, landing with a thump in the car's undercarriage. She straightened, shocked, as she felt the car being pulled. Towed. Someone was towing her, and the end of the tunnel was in sight.

There was a loud, wrenching crash just behind her, just where she should have been-- then a series of crashes, metal hurling into metal, and the sky opened up around her.

She looked up. There was a golden rope attached to the front of the car; her eyes followed it upward to-- a perfectly ordinary white lorry, one built for towing, with a crowd of familiar faces sitting on the back.

The breath caught in her throat, as the lorry slowed, letting her match pace with it. Lucy, with her wide smile. Adrea, laughing at her. Matthew, nodding fondly; Lady Dahlia, aristocratically holding Claudia in her lap, even in the middle of a highway.

"There's a bypass up ahead," called Lucy. "That's the way to go."

"But-- but how-- but why?" said Flora.

"You're trying to get to the outside world, aren't you?" said Juliet, from the driver's seat, a smug smile on her face. "High goals attract good company."

"I'm sure you can make it out there," said Lucy. "It'll be hard, but you can do it."

"Sure, you'll probably screw up a lot," said Adrea, "but it'll work out anyway. We're still here for you. And a lot of other people will be too."

"Good luck," said Lady Dahlia. "And goodbye."

The lorry drew away; Flora watched as the road split, the division growing wider and wider, until a dividing wall blocked them from sight entirely.

Not alone after all. She wondered if that really might be true.

"Hey, looks like our transmission can resume," said the radio, with a burst of static. "And friendship saves the day!"

The road was flatter, now; she thought she was heading toward an overpass, on the sort of wide motorway she'd only seen once or twice in her life. It had scared her, to see such a wide swath of pavement. She'd never forgotten.

"Good work," said one of the radio announcers. "You should reach the exit soon."

Flora blinked. She shouldn't be surprised, not in a dream, but hadn't they been treating this as a race? Were they actually talking to her? "To the outside world?" she asked, just in case they really could hear her.

"Yes, not that we've seen it ourselves," said the radio, and Flora jumped. "But it shouldn't be much further away."

"Wait..." said another voice, and Flora wondered just how many of them there were. "We're picking up something on visual. A tower? It that the sign for the exit?"

A shiver ran down Flora's spine, and she realized she could see it coming; a tower, haphazard and lopsided, looming in the middle of the road ahead. On wheels, she thought, and shook her head. Somehow she didn't think she'd find this one in 'The Interpretation of Dreams'.

"That's not the exit!" the radio cried. The tower was massive, even larger than it had been in real life; it took up the entire width of the motorway, making the whole bypass tremble in its wake. She stared up, at the gigantic wheels, the warning lights, and tried to remember what this was a metaphor for.

The car was shaking, again, now that she was so close to it; the wheels the thing was riding on were tall as houses, black and imposing. She caught a flash of red in the mirror; the black cars were behind her again, hanging back, patient.

"You'll see a bypass to the left a mile ahead," said the radio. "Take it and come back to our world!"

Our world? Flora thought. It had always been a strangely lucid dream. Was it possible it had not been entirely her own after all?

She glanced back at the cars behind her, and up at the tower that blotted out half the sky. Her home for such a long time. Safe haven, shrine and prison.

"I'm not hiding anymore," she said.

She glanced at the radio. "The exit's probably right there. I just have to get past the tower, first."

"What gives you that idea?" said someone on the radio, sounding dubious.

"Everything," she answered, and found herself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in what felt like forever. "It's time to wake up!"

The car shimmered around her, engine roaring back to new life. Flora stared at the shifting darkness underneath the tower-- and floored it.

The place seemed to be filled with tires, everything moving, like being inside a complicated piece of clockwork, or being in the middle of a block puzzle from hell. The whole place was rigged as a trap; Flora gave in to her reflexes, the wheel spinning, searching frantically for closing walls, for paths opening up ahead. It would've been pitch-black if not for the flares of light from the black cars exploding behind her-- it was almost impossible to tell what was really moving and what was a trick of the flickering light, but she was doing it.

The radio had started up a countdown; she didn't know whether she should trust it, but she hoped she could, because it said this wouldn't last much longer, that she was getting closer to the exit. Just another block puzzle, she thought, narrowly missing the wreckage of a black car, yanking the wheel frantically to the left. The car shook beneath her, but everything held.

"Nine... eight..." said the radio, and she veered to the right. The light was getting brighter, now. "Seven... six..."

She dodged a particularly large tire-- how the tires were moving horizontally she wouldn't even try to fathom. "Five... four.."

Flora could see the exit, now; the path was clear in front of her. "Three... two... one.."

The light was almost overwhelming, after the darkness of the tower. She could hear girls screaming in celebration over the radio, but somehow, she already knew it was premature. Maybe because it was her dream; or maybe because she knew it was a metaphor, and there was one last thing--

Clockwork burst through the tower, growing like an organic thing, pressing close around the car like a net. Metal grated against metal; Flora swallowed as she heard the car's walls slowly start to buckle. She closed her eyes, and looked ahead.

Someone was walking toward her. Someone larger than life, half as tall as the tower itself.

"Father," she whispered, as the car shook around her and the windows shattered.

"That's right," he said, with a warm smile. "It's your father. You don't have to be afraid anymore, Flora. I'll take care of you. We just have to go back to the Tower." He reached out a hand to her, slow, inviting.

"I'm sorry," she said, staring up at him. "You can only protect me if I stay locked up in a tower. But I can't stay trapped forever. I'm growing up, Father. I-- and Luke, too-- we're waking up from this dream. We're going to the outside world."

"Don't," he said. "There's no one to protect you. You have nowhere to go. You'll be hurt."

"Maybe so," she said. "Probably so. But that is our choice, and we're making it."

She swallowed. "Goodbye, father," she said, trying to keep the tears from her eyes.

He stared at her, for a long moment-- then smiled. Not her real father's smile; this one was edged, authoritative, smug. "I see," he said. "But I'm afraid I can't allow that, Flora. You'll have to keep being my little Princess in the Tower. It's easy. All you need to do is be a living corpse."

The clockwork closed in around her-- the car was half-gone, by now, a misshapen hunk of metal in the center of the clockwork spider's web. She pressed the accelerator anyway, bit her lip as the car loyally struggled against the gears and pistons. Clockwork, she thought, looking around at it all. Strange, how all she could think was that it reminded her of a puzzle. She'd hated clockwork puzzles, back then, second only to peg solitaire. That was probably why the Professor had given her so many of them.

Puzzles where all the clockwork depended on the motion of just one gear.

She lunged forward, grabbing at the brass gear; the sharp metal scored her fingers, but she didn't care. "I think I've got it," she yelled, pulling it to her chest. She nearly toppled backward when it came free, but she stayed standing, staring up at the phantom of her father as the clockwork fell to pieces around her, gears grinding and jamming, pistons stalling and breaking.

She wasn't afraid anymore, though the metal was flying around her, though the wind was whipping at her hair. She drew back, readying the gear in her hands, and threw. "Every puzzle has an answer!" she screamed.

The clockwork shattered, and the tower fell, with a crash loud enough to unmake the entire world. Flora stood in the wreckage, watching her father disappear, wondering if it had been her imagination that hers was not the only voice that had shouted.

But this was all in her imagination, of course.

The light was getting brighter, now; she could tell that it was half sunlight, the morning slipping across her barren room. Still, she was asleep enough that she thought she heard his voice.

"I guess we're beyond all the roads, now," she heard Luke say.

"Where are you going?" she asked. She thought she might have murmured it out loud, but tried not to think about it; she wanted to hold onto this as long as she could.

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. Whatever happens-- I'm not running anymore. Whatever reality turns out to be, I'm going to face it. And whatever happens, I'll deal with when it comes."

"Yes," she whispered. "Even if it's hard. Even if it doesn't work. I have to try."

"Try what?"

Flora blinked. Juliet was looming over her, arms folded.

"What are you doing in my room?" Flora asked.

"Try fencing?" she suggested. "I need more girls who are bold enough to--"

"It's not because they wouldn't like it," Flora interupted. "It's because it brings back memories. Someone... very dear to me was a fencer. He's gone, now, and all in all-- I just don't think I could take it. For so many reasons. And besides, I have no intention of staying in this place long enough to learn."

Juliet blinked. "You're staging a gaolbreak? Since when?"

"Since now," said Flora, and paused. "I don't suppose you'd like to help?"

"Like to help? Is the Pope Catholic?!"

Flora grinned. "Then meet me in the library. Let me show you a few puzzles I've been working on..."

(~)