3
"What is this place?" Victoria asked, gazing around.
She'd come through the mist with the feeling of a full-body shock. As though she'd touched a doorknob in winter, but magnified and all over her body. Her skin was left tingling after the shock wore off. For a cautious moment she waited to see whether her vision would begin to flicker and spin, with a sharp and agonizing pain behind her right eye to follow.
But nothing happened. After a few more moments she felt that nothing would happen if it hadn't already. Her headaches came on fast when she was somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.
There was a low stone wall, covered in moss, and a wooden gate that stood unlatched. Through the gate they went, letting it swing gently closed behind them.
"No place, really," answered the older Victoria vaguely. "But also everywhere. Ideas. Unwritten stories. Themes. It's quite difficult to explain."
"Is your home nearby?" Victoria asked. "I would love to see it."
The older Victoria smiled a little. "I suppose we could go there. Perhaps Emily and Will came home already. We should at least check."
The idea of meeting children that could be hers made her heart flutter. Just as she'd always dreamed of her wedding day, Victoria had also always dreamed of motherhood. A lovely home and babies with the man she loved. It was a small dream, but it had always been hers. She was pleased that her older self lived this dream every day.
They walked through a small patch of pine woods, and before long Victoria could smell the sea. A low stone cottage sat near the cliff's edge. It was covered with ivy and roses. A rocky path led down to a small beach where a rowboat was overturned on the sand. The air was clean and clear and hopeful here. And there was actual sunshine! Victoria could scarcely believe her eyes. Then a thought struck her.
"If I may ask, why do you live in the unwritten, if you've a story already?" Victoria asked. "Is this an implied moment in one of your stories?" That, after all, was the way it worked where Victoria was from. There were several moments, sometimes key ones, that were left implied and were not officially written or acted out. Those were the moments where she could move about freely.
It took the older Victoria a long time to answer. "I'm not certain," she admitted, brows furrowed as she led Victoria up the path to the cottage door. She paused, looking out toward the sea. "I think, perhaps, we've been living in a first draft. At least for the past while."
Victoria blinked, surprised, and certain that there was something else her companion was not saying. The older Victoria led her to the front door, stepping inside before her and calling her children's names. No answer.
"I thought not," the older Victoria said, gesturing Victoria in and then closing the door behind her. "Let me check the garden again."
"Where is...is Victor home?" Victoria asked, desperately curious about what an older, professional musician Victor would be like.
But the older Victoria didn't hear her. She was already walking to the kitchen door and out into the yard, calling again. The strong scent of roses and pine and sea air washed into the house.
Victoria stood in the large front room, staring about herself in wonder. This room, about the size of the entrance hall at home, had a low plaster ceiling and a stone flagged floor. Off to her left was a small fireplace and parlor area. There was a rocking chair and a sofa and two armchairs. A carriage clock on the mantel ticked. A box of wooden toys that made Victoria smile. The piano was a simple upright affair with music on the stand and a little vase of wildflowers on the top. A narrow staircase climbed into the shadows to one side of the fireplace. The rest of the downstairs was mostly kitchen. There was an enormous coal-black stove, a pump-sink, and a simple oak dining table and chairs.
Do I cook on this? Victoria wondered, approaching the stove. She wouldn't know where to begin. But her other self must. A piece of paper was sitting on the table, she noticed, and she leaned over to read it.
Dear Mama, read the note, We're out exploring. We will be home soon! Love, Will and Emily.
The handwriting was spiky and careful and sloped a bit down the page, clearly the work of the six-year-old. Victoria was still smiling at it when the older Victoria came back in from the garden.
"No sign," she said, shaking her head. Without missing a beat she was heading back for the front door. "We'll set out again."
"But wait!" Victoria said, and picked up the note. "Didn't you see? They left you a note. And you know they explore. Why are you worried? Have they been gone long?" At this last question Victoria brought herself up a short a little. How exactly did time work in a land of unwritten ideas, with no established arc?
Slowly the older Victoria came to join her. She took the note and held it, and looked at it for a long time, frowning.
"Yes, I saw it," she admitted. Without looking up, she added, "Look at the clock."
Taken aback, Victoria did so. It was a perfectly normal clock. Ticking away quietly to itself. Questioningly, she turned back to her older self.
"It's ticking," explained the older Victoria in a heavy voice. "It's telling time."
"Isn't that what clocks are supposed to do?" Victoria asked slowly, feeling stupid, clearly missing something.
The older Victoria put the note back on the table, and then sank down into one of the chairs, elbows on the table and her face in her hands. Victoria stayed standing, waiting, terribly confused. She was also getting a little worried.
"Not in the unwritten," the older Victoria explained, hands over her eyes. "That clock never ticks. Time never passes. And this morning, after I found this note, I noticed that the clock was working. And Victor is gone. Here, he's always just about to leave for a concert a day's travel from here. And he left."
Victoria had no idea what to say, as she had no idea what was going on. She just stood there, twisting her fingers together, staring at her older self. At last, the older Victoria took her hands away from her face. Her eyes looked a little pink around the edges, the lines around her mouth a bit more defined.
"A story started," she said. "They're out there by themselves and it's not unwritten any longer. It's not safe. I have to find them before someone else does."
Victoria took a breath to speak, but the older woman was up and past her and opening the front door before she could make a sound. Did it really matter if she understood what was going on? This wasn't her story, after all. What was important was that she'd said she would help, and she was going to. Her other self was clearly upset, almost beside herself with worry about people she loved, and desperate to help them.
If there was any feeling in the world Victoria understood and could empathize with, it was that one. So without a word she left the lovely little cottage by the sea, following her other self into the unknown.
4
Both of them were quiet as they walked. The forest quickly began to thin, and they were back to a place that looked like the village, but wasn't. Not quite.
Again, everything looked somehow insubstantial. Almost hazy. Everything, from houses to people, had a half-sketched look to them.
Half-sketched or not, what she saw pleased her. Scenes of domestic bliss flitted by in every direction. She watched herself and Victor marry several times—sometimes in the church, sometimes in the village square, sometimes in a garden. Then came homes, oh, ones she hadn't even really imagined before. Cottages, a stately Queen Anne, mansions. All around she and Victor took walks, sat in gardens, kissed gently at doorways. She was sure she was grinning inanely the entire time, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
And the children! There were so many children here! She watched herself push prams, carry bundled infants, play with toddlers on blankets in a dozen gardens. Here and there were a few little boys, but mostly it was girls. So many daughters. Mostly dark-haired, some blondes and even a few with auburn tresses topped with huge bows. So many different combinations of her features and Victor's, so much high laughter and chatter.
The older Victoria was eyeing her with amusement. "This is usually where my children come to play," she explained. Her eyes did not stop moving, scanning, searching. "As you can see, there are many playmates. And it's safe for them here. This was the first place I looked, before I...well...knocked on your door."
Victoria nodded. Indeed, this felt like a safe and happy place. "How did you find your way to my story?" she asked, curious.
The older Victoria looked a bit embarrassed. "Oh, it truly was a mistake," she said. "I'd not found them here, no one had seen them, and I—well-"
Panicked, Victoria finished in her head, with great sympathy.
"I wasn't paying attention," was how the older Victoria put it. "Mother and Father's house is usually my second place to look, in this neighborhood. It surprises me how many of the children go there to play. It's big and often deserted, some of it's barely described."
"Indeed," Victoria said, unable to imagine anyone playing in the Everglot mansion. Somehow the image would not form.
"This part of the unwritten is quite close to your story," her companion explained. She gestured off to one side, where that misty, strange wall was. "Since it doesn't try to change anything about it, I mean. All of us are true to ourselves and what we are in the story. It's difficult to explain. In any event, I didn't realize that some areas were so close that I could get in through an unwritten moment. It's very strange."
"Yes," Victoria said quietly. "It is."
But she was thinking about the idea of changing her own story. The story. Changing the plot, the ideas, the themes, the lessons. Changing her, perhaps. The thought made her feel a little dizzy. A little wrong. Why, it was tinkering with reality itself. With truth itself. Victoria frowned, puzzled and troubled.
"Still no sign of them," the older Victoria sighed. She raised a hand in greeting to a middle-aged Victor and Victoria sitting by the riverbank, watching four young girls splash about in the shallows. "Well, excuse me just a moment, I'll ask them to keep an eye out and spread the word."
Leaving Victoria behind, she approached the couple on the bank. The little girls stared at Victoria for only a moment before continuing with their play. Within a minute the older Victoria was back.
"They'll have a look about here," she said, nodding to the Victoria on the bank, who raised a hand in a little wave. "They know the children by sight. And we'll keep looking."
"Is there more than this?" Victoria asked. "How large is this place?"
"Infinite," replied the older Victoria. "As we said. Stories and ideas are infinite. Though many of the same themes crop up quite often around here."
They'd reached the end of the neighborhood. Gone were the family homes, weddings, and children playing. The air seemed to change, to take on a charge not unlike the one she'd felt when she'd held Victor's hand during their wedding rehearsal.
"Oh!" said Victoria, looking about. "How charming. Those look like lovely homes."
Neat little cottages lined all four sides of a green village square. The gardens were lush. The air smelled of jasmine and roses. Honeymoon Gardens, read an elaborately curlicued sign above a decorative iron gate and fence.
"It's beautiful," Victoria added. She turned to her companion, who was lingering a distance away. "Do you suppose your children are in the gardens? I know I would love to spend time here."
"Oh," said the older Victoria uncomfortably. "Ah. No. I don't think-"
The shutters on the window of the house nearest the lane swung outward. It took her a moment, but Victoria recognized herself. Just barely. This girl was beautiful in a way that Victoria was certain she was not. They shared a face, but the new Victoria's features were somehow accentuated. The girl looked as if she'd stepped out of a full-color soap or stocking advertisement. Her hair, loose and long, was shiny and lush, a deep chestnut brown. She wore only a chemise and an open robe. Her cheeks and lips were plump and rosy, her eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling.
The Victoria beside her, also staring, had let her mouth drop open slightly.
"Oh! Hello," said the Victoria in the window in a silky voice. It made Victoria want to blush for reasons she could not explain. The pretty Victoria leaned on the windowsill languidly, smiling at them in a lazy way.
"Hello," said the older Victoria, after clearing her throat. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but my children have gone missing. Have a girl and a boy been by here lately?"
"Children aren't allowed here," she told them. "Didn't you see the sign?"
Victoria looked all about, and finally noticed a piece of paper half-tacked to the gate. "This?" she asked, smoothing it out to read Mature: Under 18 Not Admitted. At her touch, it came unstuck completely and fell to the ground. Before she could pick it up, it blew away on a sudden breeze.
"If I see them, I'll send word," the pretty Victoria said, stretching her arms above her head. "But I'm afraid I'm occupied at the moment." And she winked at them. Winked. Victoria had never winked in her life. Now a blush was creeping up her neck.
Just then, someone came up behind the Victoria in the window and wrapped their arms around her waist. Hands that Victoria thought she recognized as Victor's crept up to her bosom. Victoria gasped, shocked. But the Victoria in the window laughed a laugh that Victoria didn't know she was capable of, and swung the shutters closed again, without so much as a farewell.
Blushing hard, Victoria turned to her companion, who had averted her eyes and was also a bit pink in the cheeks. Now that she listened, she could hear snatches of that same kind of laughter coming from the other cottages. Enthralled despite herself, she went to lean against the gate for a closer look.
"Oh now, let's not spy," said the older Victoria, sounding positively matronly. "This is private." Victoria couldn't help herself. Most of the windows were shuttered or had the curtains drawn, but where they were open she caught glimpses of embraces she did not quite understand.
And it wasn't only her. Some of the cottage windows showed Victor and Emily. Sometimes both dead, sometimes not. The sight made her stomach go cold with betrayal and hurt. And in a few places, much to her shock, it was her and Emily, engaging in activities that Victoria did not know were possible until this very moment.
When she caught a glimpse through a half-curtained window of all three of them, herself, Victor, and Emily, doing something that looked incredibly complicated, she finally turned away. Her back to the honeymooners and the lovely garden, Victoria had trouble catching her breath. Her face was on fire and her insides were squirming. She looked up and met the gaze of the older Victoria, who was biting her lip—and perhaps trying not to laugh?
"Forgive me," Victoria said as coldly as she could muster. Unfortunately she was altogether too warm for even a cold tone of voice. "For not being as—as-married as you are."
The older Victoria sobered. "I didn't mean to be rude," she said. "Do forgive me. I know that you dislike not being taken seriously."
Of course she did. Victoria let it pass. Perhaps in a few decades' worth of story cycles, she would find this amusing as well.
"Though I must admit to never having been that married," the older Victoria added, inclining her head at the most acrobatic of the couples. Her tone was serious, but there was a glint in her eye. Victoria was finding it difficult to remain insulted.
"Where now?" Victoria asked her companion, extremely ready to move on.
"I suppose we should carry on the path," said the older Victoria uncertainly. She was entirely serious again. "I've never come any farther than this. But it looks as though there's just this road. Come."
After giving herself a shake, rubbing her cheeks, and taking a few deep breaths, Victoria did as she was bid.