Disclaimer: I do not own Mary Dowd, Sarah Rees-Toome, or Eugenia Spence. They belong to the great Libba Bray. Even Millicent Jenkins and Anna Nelson are mentioned in A Great and Terrible Beauty! They are on page 351, in about the middle of the page, in italics.
AN: Haven't you ever wondered what Mary Dowd's first vision was?
I have. Here is what I wrote at about 9:30-10:00 at night. It didn't really take me half an hour to write this, but I stayed in my room for a bit.
It is a little bit short, but that's because I wrote it by hand at first. Review and tell me what you like. Flame if you must but I would certainly prefer you to give more constructive critism!
I am walking through the gardens here at Spence. Though it is dreadfully cold and the snow is piled as high as my knees, Sarah and I have been out here for at least half an hour. Mrs. Spence has said that we need more fresh air in the winter, instead of lazing around.
It is December 31, 1870. My sixteenth birthday. Sarah has been teasing me all day, talking about how I will now know about something today. I haven't the faintest idea what she is talking about.
"Wasn't Anna horrible to Millicent today?" I say dramatically. Millicent is a scholarship student. Her looks aren't particularly stunning, to put it nicely. She is also quite plump and sometimes she is rather dull. She can't take chances. If she does, it would ruin her chances of getting a good job as a governess. She always follows the rules. She doesn't know any other way. Anna and Susanna tease her horribly. But sometimes they pretend to be her friend and Millicent glows with pride. Then, of course, they ignore her again, and leave her to wipe her tears alone. Anna is one of the most pompous, self-centered, selfish girls I have ever met. She never gives up an opportunity to ridicule Millicent.
"Really! Calling Millicent a talisman against men!" Sarah laughs. I laugh along with her, although if you break Millicent's barrier, she can be nice.
Suddenly my legs buckle beneath me. I sink jerkily into the freezing snow. It feels like everything is spinning around me, blurring and fading into each other. I try to reach out to Sarah, but my arms are paralyzed. Terror is invading every inch of my body. It seeps in completely, tearing and ripping at my mind.
Sarah is completely calm. There is no concern in her eyes, only cold triumph.
"It's happening," she says excitedly. I try to scream but no sound comes out.
Something is squeezing me so hard I feel I might burst. Memories flash before my eyes until I am something strange and unknown in a dark empty space.
Then I am taken somewhere else. I see no familiar faces in the crowd of people in the room. I am inside of an enormous house, with lush velvet furniture and dignified guests. It is an intricate dance of words and actions here; one misstep could lead to disaster. I see a tiny spark fly from a man's cigar. Powered by a breeze coming from a barely open window, it fixes to a drapery and bursts into flames.
Shrill screams sound from elegant women, pointing at the curtains being devoured by the flames. Fear overtakes all of them, and the fire is spreading fast. It moves down to the chair, burning and gnawing its way to the floor. It creeps along to the scrambling feet, where he fire catches on dressed and pat legs. The people try to pbeat out the heat, but it perserveres.
Things happen so fast; I am not sure what is going on. Now people are entirely engulfed in flame while others try to escape. They collide and shriek in their frantic state.
Time speeds again, leaving me with no certain feelings. The smell is burning flesh is everywhere, and I want to retch. I cannot move. The bitter bile rises up in my throat, competing with the stench and losing. There are a few dying screams from the once respected people. They writhe in agony. The screams echo in my ears, taunting and jabbing at me until I am begging to be let go from whatever is holding me. Tears burn in my dry eyes.
I am rushed to the outside. Looking at the charred remains of the rooms that the fire spread to, the survivors sob and cling to one another. Everything is gone.
The pressure that was bound to me is gone and I am flying back to the sparkling snow covered gardens. I vomit into the pureness of the snow. It used to only be marked by the footprints that Sarah and I left. Now an ugly stain mars the surface.
"Sarah," I say weakly, wiping my mouth. Tears are spilling from my eyes and adding to the foul taste in my mouth. Sarah walks away from me without any words of comfort or wisdom. Nothing that could possibly help ease the confusion in my mind.
I am left alone with only my churning thoughts for company.
I start to sob angry, bitter, confused, scared tears. I hope nobody comes out to help me, because they won't have any idea of what I am feeling. They will just think that Sarah has done something to me, when it is what I have done to myself.
I weep until my tears subside and I am left with only one conclusion.
I have gone mad.