Own nothing. Happy new year. I did research on Auld Lang Syne, by the way. And I just realized- Volger has a first name. Weird, right?
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As the clock in the mess hall ticked ever closer to the new year, the jubilant crew of the Leviathan began counting down.
"Five!" he cheered. Nineteen fifteen, what would it bring Alek? Would the new pope still consider him to be heir? He'd rather not worry about that right now.
"Four!" she cried, flushed with excitement. Nineteen fifteen, would this be the year Deryn's secret would be discovered? She'd rather not worry about it right now.
"Three," she muttered. Nineteen fifteen, would this be the year of their victory? Had Nora done enough to turn the tide? She'd rather not worry about it right now.
"Two," he told himself. Nineteen fifteen, what challenges would Volger and his young charge face? He'd rather not worry about it right now.
"One!" cried Bovril. Nineteen fifteen, what is it and why is everyone so happy for it? He'd rather not worry about it right now.
Then everyone was shouting and clapping each other on the back.
Dylan and the other crewmembers began to sing a song, and Volger quietly wished Alek a happy new year in German.
Deryn taught Alek the "proper" Scottish version of "Auld Lang Syne," trying to ignore the electricity that shot through her body every time the crowd jostled them together.
And they all realized, they were ready to face the year, whatever challenges it brought. There would surely be many. But now was not the time for worrying.
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Each yank of the strings on the corset feels like a damning law, another chain imprisoning her. The wedding seems so final and absolute. The rest of her life, as a placid wife and eventual mother, begins in mere hours.
Lena, her lady's maid, pulls one last time then fastens the top.
"How do I look?" she gasps.
"Thin," says the stern woman. "Now for the stockings."
Kat carefully pulls the silk stockings up her legs, and ties them up with ribbons. Next for the petticoat, dripping with lace. Lena gingerly pulls it to Kat's hips and ties it. She calls the servant girl to bring the dress.
The girl carefully brings the it, trembling with nerves. It's a beautiful gown of French silk with a long, flowing train that must be carried by some distant cousin.
Lena and the girl gently pull it over her, adjust it and smooth it. The gauzy sleeves delicately rustle as they tie the sash. The hairdresser ties her hair in a sleek and dark knot, while yet another woman rouges Kat's lips and powders her face.
Ekaterina can't help but feel like at any minute, a nun will walk in to say the last rites and escort her to her fate, like Marie Antoinette headed to the guillotine.
She is lead to a carriage, adorned with the Hapsburg crest. Peasants in the street cheer and throw flowers, while others bitterly condemn the opulence. Ekaterina smiles at the children, but it does not quite reach her eyes. After she collects a final bouquet, the carriage lurches it to motion, carrying her to her fate.
The imposing facade of Saint Stephen's Cathedral looms over her, and she shivers. Welcome to the Bastille, Marie.
Ekaterina smiles tremulously at the guards, who salute. The grand wooden doors open and joyous music swells from within. Her husband and her kingdom await her. Responsibility can be a heavy burden, face it with an icy smile.
She does not notice the outdoor cafe down the street, where a Scottish woman in bloomers is blinking back tears.
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