BACK! YAY!

I'm working on a manuscript right now (nowhere near publishing yet - not even half-way done with revisions) so new FF chapters are probably going to be relatively short (avg 1000 words... ish) but I'll try to update frequently. If you love me (and I know you do...) and want to read my thoughts/feelings/endless whining about writing, then check out my LJ (link is in my profile).

Hope ye liketh.

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-Gemma-

Pippa's eyes are wide, frightened. I spoke too soon. I can hardly expect her to confess what she saw after knowing me for all of thirty minutes. I doubt she even understands what she saw. She likely thinks it a dream - as I once did.

"Nothing," she answers, her voice flat with control. "I saw nothing."

I nod, resisting the urge to press her for more information. "Of course. I just worried..." I remind myself that her life has not been easy thus far. Even I, who led a relatively simple life until I came into my power, was nearly driven mad by it. Growing up an orphan, shuffled through myriad orphanages, exposed to all manner of horrors... I could only hope she was strong enough to cope with the burden that fate had dealt her.

Pippa begins to fidget under my scrutiny, and I realize I've been staring. Jolting myself back to the present, I say, "Bridgid will show you to your room."

As soon as they are safely down the hall, I go to my window. The rope is there, as always, nestled safely within the creeping ivy. Using it during daylight is always a risky venture, but I have business to attend before Vespers. With an ease that only comes from frequent use, I clamber down the wall. As soon as my feet are securely on the ground, I make my way to the Gypsies' camp. Nadia is waiting when I arrive.

Though she is only four years older than I, she commands all the respect of a grandmother among the Gypsies. After Mother Elena's death, Nadia's otherworldly perceptiveness and beyond-her-years wisdom marked her as the feared and beloved matron. Even old men bit their tongues around Nadia, deferring to her wisdom in almost all things.

"Priestess," she greets me simply.

"Nadia." I nod. "She's arrived."

"I know."

I resist a sigh. Nadia's omniscience can be taxing at times - reducing my excitement to old news in the blink of an eye.

"Just in time," Nadia adds. "Artemis has been searching for her in the realms."

"How is she getting in?"

Nadia shrugs. "There is much about her that is mysterious. But this is for certain: she's been visiting the Tree. Trying to bargain."

My blood runs cold, but I say certainly, "Kartik will never waver."

"That's what the old Order thought of Eugenia, and see what became of her."

"Kartik would not betray me - us," I amend quickly.

Nadia gazes at me, her expression inscrutable.

"I will speak to him," I say.

---

-Phillipa-

"This way, Miss." Bridgid leads me down the hall. She is an old woman - too old to be doing the work of a maid. However, there is something imposing about her, and I suspect she has a disapproving glance that can turn a girl to ash at fifty paces. I follow close as she takes me down a wide stone staircase, straight into the great hall.

The entire school is there. Their chatter dies to silence when I enter, and I feel countless eyes taking in my shabby, threadbare gown. The frayed hem is far too short, just shy of exposing my ankles. Mysterious stains from the former owner blot the bodice and the collar is only half-buttoned, lest I be choked to death. I look as thick as a pudding, because I have no corset. I feel as naked as a newborn babe.

I want to cast my eyes down and shuffle from the room - but do that, and I might as well roll over and beg for their taunting. Instead, I keep my head high, my gaze sweeping the room with determined intensity. Most girls have the good grace to look away when I catch their gaze. Most.

A group of four surveys me haughtily, their chins high, their eyes arrogant and condescending. A petite brunette sweeps her eyes over my dress, coming back to my gaze with a smug smile. Standing among them is a tall redhead. Her skin is strangely dark - as if she made it a habit to lay in the sun without a hat or parasol. Her hair is the darkest auburn - fiery red curls threaded through with strands of midnight black. Her large brown eyes are contemplative as she surveys me, her full lips pursed. Just before I look away, she quirks a small smile. Astounded, I turn back, but she is already looking away, in conversation with the little brunette, whose sparkling blue eyes are fierce with distaste.

I am to share my room with a Miss Genevieve Marlowe, who Bridgid assures me is a "right lovely girl." My bed is shoved into a small alcove, a half-hearted addition to the room. I eye the sloping ceiling warily - I know I'll crack my skull on it more than once.

"You'll be tired from your travels," Bridgid says in a way that is less sympathetic, and more a command. "Miss Godley's excused you from Vespers tonight."

Thank God for small favors. To escape an hour of all those eyes, boring into me from every direction, is a welcome reprieve. Before Bridgid leaves, I am outfitted in the standard Spence uniform - a simple blue gown. This one is thankfully long enough to cover my feet. I won't be given new boots, so the extra white ruffle is a welcome addition. Bridgid leaves me with a simple white nightgown and an oil-lamp for light. Spence has not yet been wired for electric lights, though Bridgid bragged several times that a "wealthy benefactor of Spence" has made generous donations to allow for that to be done over the Christmas holidays. I wonder if this mysterious benefactor is the same as my sponsor.

I struggle with the row of buttons down my back, wondering how anyone gets free from these without at least five hands. When I finally escape from the gown, I have the corset to contend with. I've never worn one before, and Bridgid laced it so tightly, I find myself short of breath just from taking off the dress. I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath. I'm astounded by the way the corset forces a busom onto me - something I never had before. Soft cresents of flesh rise over the edge of the contraption with each breath. I press my hand to my head, feeling dizzy.

A sudden noise from the corner of the room startles me out of my concerns with comfort. I snap my gaze to the dressing screen, heart racing, It was clearly the sound of another person - a boot scraping the floor.

"Miss Marlowe?" I ask nervously, though I know it won't be her.

"Afraid not." A young man, not much older than myself, steps from behind the screen, dressed in the garb of Gypsies. He smiles wolfishly, exposing a row of white teeth. His tawny skin and dark hair are arresting and appealing, but fear rises above those two observations.

I jump from bed, snatching my gown from the floor and clutching it against my chest. I want to scream, but my mouth has gone dry a cotton. Only a choked gasp escapes me. My heart races and my breath comes shallow and fast. Dizziness overwhelms me, and I teeter on my feet.

"Please don't scream." His voice is smooth, self-assured. "I'd hate to have to hurt you." His hand is at his side, resting on the hilt of a wicked-looking dagger. I want to slap him, to show him I can't be intimidated, but the room is beginning to spin. I can't breathe.

The self-assured arrogance falls from his face. He rushes for me as my knees buckle, and I feel his arms close around me, just as the world goes dark.

---

Teehee! Cliff hanger!

You like?

P.S. Karma ahead!