Waking, very, very slowly, Vanessa's mind was blank, empty, calm. Feeling and senses gradually returned to her. She could not wake with a start, not like usual. The soft, yielding feel of the mattress below her, the growing discomfort of the hot air collected within her sheets, it was distant, and she took time to digest it all.

There were fuzzy memories, images. A dream – Madame saying strange things to her, an anxiety, waiting. It was a sort of dream she had had several times, lately.

She kept her eyes closed tight as she lay, curled on her side. Her skin felt clammy, hot, sweaty. Tight binding kept her from breathing in all the way. Scalp itching, throat terribly dry, slowly the realization came to her.

Chores!

Oh, but it's late already! With a start, she scrambled onto her knees and climbed off her low bed.

Thud! She fell. Her foot didn't meet the floor, it fell below, and she landed hard on her knees and hand. The surface was firm, thick, cool. Carpet. When did she have this carpet?

But this was not her room! Glancing about wildly, having fallen back upon her rear on an elaborate, exotic rug, Vanessa wondered when she'd wandered into the master suite?

Standing, wincing, she straightened her skirt. Why, she was still wearing her dress, and she felt quite dirty in it. When did this happen? How did she manage to nap in a room she only entered to clean, and how could she sleep so, when it was so hot?

It was all quite confusing. But if she didn't go back to…well, whatever it was she was supposed to be doing instead of napping. Stepping to the door, she felt the odd sensation about her private parts. Her under-things were absent – how sloppy of her, to forget to put them on that morning! Her knees were sore, her arm was sore. Also sore was her back and several other places, explained easily by her having slept in her brace, in her dress, for goodness sake!

Gazing down the 3 halls outside the master room's doorway, Vanessa took note that the linens were not out. It felt about near first noon, so if they were not here, she must've done them already. Good thing!

Then what was she do to next – had breakfast been made already?

She raced downstairs and blushed when inquisitive looks met her on the way. They seemed to all know she had messed up. Hopefully Madame would not be cross with her. Ducking her head out an open window at the back, she saw a few of the ladies scrubbing and hanging linens. Oh, dear, that was HER job!

Perhaps it wasn't too late to work on breakfast – but she could smell it cooking, wafting up from the basement, already!

Standing at the window, Vanessa let the breeze cool the sweat upon her hair, her face. She hadn't messed up like this before, so she wasn't quite sure what to do and wondered what, if any, punishment she might face.

Her sensitive ears (which she hadn't yet realized were completely uncovered at the time) piqued when they detected Madame Valentina's voice. "Fetch the linens from the Master bedroom," she was telling someone, from another room.

Vanessa's chest tightened and she clenched her teeth tightly together as she turned to face the woman. Stepping cautiously, warily into the main room, she saw Madame gazing at a portrait upon the wall, statuesque in a black, satin gown trimmed in long, black feathers. What should she say?

"Madame," she began, "I am sorry, the linens and breakfast, I fell asleep, I-"

"No apologies today, darling," Madame interrupted simply, holding her cigarette to her lips as the other arm crossed about her bust. "To stay in bed is understandable. The Baron has made another appointment for you, three days hence, though you may decline if you wish."

Baron? Was that the man who wanted her first time? So then, he also wanted the second? "I would like to wait until after I've met him, you know, but do you think I'll need more money for the surgery, more than he's paying for this first time?"

"Met? Darling, what more do you need to do with a man to have 'met' him?"

Vanessa paused, then shot Madame a puzzled look.

"You…don't remember?"

"The dreams?" Vanessa asked, wondering what memories she could have about a person she may have met anonymously, already, she supposed. "I only kind of remember those. But I always wake up before I get to the part where the man's supposed to get there."

Madame turned in full to stare at her, lifting her free hand to Vanessa's chin, staring full into her eyes. She was studying her expression, and she was a woman very good at reading a person. "Before you woke up just now, what is the last thing you remember?"

Thinking hard on this, because the answer seemed to be very important to Madame, Vanessa scanned her memories as best she could. It was odd, that she couldn't immediately answer her, because Vanessa's memories were usually so clear and obvious to her. In truth, she didn't remember entering the Master room that morning, or last night, nor did she remember crawling upon the tall, tall bed, or tucking herself into its gorgeous, silken sheets. And she really thought that'd be a thing to remember!

It took time, but finally she had a response. "I was talking to you; you were telling me about something. I don't remember what about, I apologize. It, it was late, though. We'd all just had supper."

OXO

Madame was amazed – she was not lying! The girl had no knowledge of the Baron, of the night! The conversation she thought the girl was referring to could have been when she'd taken her aside to tell her about the initial 'appointment,' that the man would come to the house that night. She'd given her the special cream and instructed her on its use, and she'd walked her through the 'process' of meeting with 'clientele.' Vanessa had listened seriously, intently, though she was a bit pale and most obviously nervous. As instructed, the girl had waited in the main room that evening, and had lead the man up into the assigned room (in this instance, the Master room, for it was the finest and therefore the most suited for such an expensive night).

Madame had, in honesty, been nervous for the girl, herself. She was always a little uneasy when it came to 'first nights' and when the Baron had come back to the main room, by himself, she worried that something may have happened to her. Hiding her unease, Madame took a second appointment from the Baron, who though stoic was clearly beaming internally with satisfaction. Upon seeing him off herself, Madame stepped upstairs.

The door to the master bedroom was ajar. Ducking inside, she saw the girl \ sitting nude upon the foot of the bed with her legs tucked beneath her. Vanessa's hair was mussed; on the floor her dress was quite messy but not torn. She looked to be calm, breathing slowly, and she was staring off, away. Her face was perfectly calm. There was no panic there, no swollen or bruised skin visible, no clutching at wounds. Certainly, there was the distinct glisten of dead tear tracks down her cheek, but that was to be expected.

Thinking it unnecessary to step inside, Madame softly closed the door and left her within. After a night's work, all ladies were allowed to be alone in the afterward, and allowed to sleep late. This was only fair.

So then, one could imagine the Madame's bewilderment that the girl had, seemingly, completely lost her memory of the entire matter.

OXO

"Madame?" Vanessa asked meekly. She wished to remove her brace, for her back hurt her terribly at that point. And she knew she was dirty and messy and perhaps smelly, and that meant she should avoid being near to people she might offend (Madame included), and that she would need a bath quite soon and to clean her clothing just as soon. But most urgently, her concern was growing, that in such a long, serious silence, she was bound to be punished in some acute manner.

Wincing slightly at the sound of her title, Madame dropped her hand from Vanessa's face and went back to take a long draw from her cigarette. Turning slightly to blow it away from the girl's face, she thought it best to let her know the truth. "Darling, you met Baron Kinsley last night. He came and he was with you, he paid in full and he was pleased enough to request another time. I haven't the slightest why you can't recall this, but it's certainly fact – you, my dear, are a woman now."

With that, Vanessa found that she could no longer feel her toes. She throbbed in places, a cold throbbing, painful, and her heart pounded slowly but deeply. In a book, from her early days, she read of Lacunar Amnesia, the inability to remember a specific event. Her long-term memory of her night with the Baron – assuming what Madame said was true – seemed to be blocked. The condition was psychological, not having to do with injury. Not physical injury. For some reason, her mind was shielding the event from her consciousness.

So then, she was no longer a virgin. That explained the strange soreness around her crotch, she supposed. Head spinning, she followed Madame into the cellar for breakfast, not listening to words surrounding her, not seeing faces, not smelling the food, and certainly not eating a bite. She'd assumed this would be a time for happiness, pride, relief, perhaps some regret or anger or disgust. Never did she think that she'd be left devoid, empty, unknowing.

Vanessa simply stared into her plate until the world came back into focus, until her ears let her in on the syllables and syntax. She became casually aware that her ears were showing, that the women around her were talking somewhat uncomfortably, and were sometimes whispering things about the Baron, about her.

If facts were true, then things she didn't remember were what had happened, and that was simply the way things were. The sweet smell of breakfast made her dry throat water, made her reach for her fork and her glass. It satisfied an intense hunger she had, as though she'd been traveling, though it certainly didn't taste as good as it was.

She felt so tired, her mind, her eyes, her body.

Upon the end of the meal, as the other ladies were filing out, Madame swept past her and told her things: that she'd earned the rest of the day 'off',' something about a commission percentage, and mention of a surgeon she knew who could take care of her 'problems.'

Finding herself alone, Vanessa stepped slowly, softly up the cold, stone steps into the bathroom. There was a free tub and someone told her that it was hers that day, because she was one of them and those were the rules. Distant, still, stoic, she undressed and slipped into the lukewarm water, feeling it sting her in a delicate place.