Carefully, she put on the corset, which seemed to her an armor, made of the comforting cotton of Tara and baleen, over her chemise and split drawers, hook by hook. Teena laced it tightly, to the reglementary seventeen inches. She held her breath for a moment, gritting her jaw in deep concentration, and counting to ten. Her nose caught on the magnolia scent of her sachet, and she took strength from it. Then, the crinoline cage was handed to her, its steel blades smiling at her like battle companions, and she tied it around her waist.

One petticoat, two petticoats. Then the skirt, rich, deep green taffeta of twelve yards, with a delicate thread of lace at the end of it.

She skipped the part of the corset cover. The Georgian sun was hot, and she did not intend to just sit around and wait. She put on the matching bodice with an elaborate bertha, the thin threads teasing her shoulders, and Rosa closed the eyes of it with its hooks on her right shoulder, before lacing the cloth.

With meticulous gestures, she put her gloves on while her hair was tied in an elegant chignon.

She pinched her cheeks to make them redder and bit her lips lightly so the natural vivid crimson might seem brighter. A choker with a tiny garnet laid around her throat, the drop of red highlighting the fine collarbones in an audacious way that was at the limit of the decency, while earbobs jingled at each side of her face, their golden hue a faint reminder of the twinkle in her eyes.

Mammy looked at her with approval as she looked at herself in the mirror. She nodded, satisfied, and tied her sash to her waist, before opening her fan, like one would unsheathe a sword.

There, Scarlett was ready. And the world would be at her feet.

. .

. .

Spring 1859, Clayton County

The sun crept through the light curtains, its rays dancing as they passed through the glass to the parquet, making its way to the tasteful mahogany furniture. A window had been lightly opened to bring some air, yet only the warmth of the Georgian sun remained, as if to compensate the days of never-ending rains, which the hungry clay drank with absolute greed as if it had been deprived all winter. Outside, the slaves were singing, and it felt almost like the lament of Sisyphus, climbing up and down the hills with his heavy burden.

A fuming cigar between his lips, Rhett looked through the meager content of the library, the leatherbacks of the books barely touched by a human's touch, and slightly dusted. His heavy hands, calloused and strong, grazed lightly the golden scripts yet he could see clearly that they had been chosen not for their interest, but their appearances. An amused light animated his black eyes as they wandered through them all.

"A good deed we have done this day, me boy," He heard behind him, a booming voice, cheerful and a little disinhibited with the amount of Whiskey that had been ingurgitated. "So, what are you going to do now?"

He turned back and grinned at Gerald O'Hara, the little man that bore himself like a giant, for certainly his stout figure could not be enough for such a larger-than-life personality as his. He was a man of action and pretense with a heart of gold, and his cunnings could not be measured by the quality of his library.

He had just come on the morning for that "good deed" as soon as he heard of its advancements, and soon he would go back. Many things had to be prepared, many things had to be avoided, and if he allowed himself the pleasure of discussing with his friend, he knew other pleasures might hurt more than it comforted.

"Oh, speculations, adventures, and many other pleasures, that's for certain," Rhett smiled. "I've been thinking of England, lately. I think you should do it too, you know. Soon, they'll be asking for cotton."

Gerald ignored the last part to grin with the mischief of an idea that had been trotting in his mind for some time.

"Maybe it's time for you to settle, boy."

Rhett chuckled. "Far from it. With the war coming…"

Gerald raised his hand in withering dismissal.

"Bah, you still think such foolishness? God's nightgown! There's nothing to worry about. After all, they would never dare. Europe would be with us if such a thing happened. We are kings in the Cotton Kingdom, after all."

'Cotton is King'. These were the words of James Henry Hammond, Senator of South Carolina, a man hailed by many in the South as a perfect gentleman. Yet, that gentleman also abused many of his nieces, and that was something many overlooked.

As for Europe…

What a foolish thing. Europe would take care of Europe. She had other businesses to do, and could also see the profits of a war in America. Besides, England and France had already pronounced themselves against slavery. They might, strategically, send some supplies, but certainly no more than that.

He told Gerald so. Yet, in Gerald's mind, there was this impossibility to understand that the land that saw his birth, and the other countries that surrounded it, could refuse to help what he stood for, for he considered his success as something one should think as national pride.

But anyway, somehow, it must be the Orangemen's fault.

Rhett laughed at this and conceded with good nature.

Yet, his companion's dismissal was more and more worrisome.

What had seemed at first like children's quarrels had grown into something else, something dangerous and world-changing. Something he clearly could get money from. Yet, something his friend was clearly not prepared for.

Slavery was a reason. A reason hailed as noble and true. Yet, it was not the only one, and the more quarrels worsened, the more Rhett could see the inevitability of the war.

And now Albert G. Brown of Mississippi was talking to secede from the Union. A discourse that would most certainly be followed by others.

"The world is changing," He tried once again, his hands gripped behind his back.

Gerald bellowed joyfully, hitting his knee with the violence of his passion.

"Oh, don't tell me of change! I have seen little Ashley Wilkes sleeping, his head on his mother's lap, and now he is on a Tour and will come back next summer a fine gentleman!... Or even the Tarleton twins when they were still in their breeches, and now they're shootin' and they're flirting, and some of them found the way to my porch for their little parades. As many others."

A thick, black eyebrow raised on Rhett's placid face as he nodded.

"Oh? It must be an inconvenience to your lady wife, I suppose, but a credit to her beauty," He said gallantly.

"She's a beauty, me wife," Gerald said with the smile of a child who still was very much surprised to have what he had wanted for so long. He shook his head lightly. "But no, it's not for her. It's for Scarlett."

Here, the heart of the matter.

At that, Rhett startled a little.

"Little Scarlett?" Asked he, pleasantly surprised. "My, has the angry little duck become a swan?"

His last visit sadly did not presage such outcome, though he had heard she had improved in manners at least. The girl had been pale, very pale, with red-rimmed, sunken eyes. The sober clothes from her institution dwarfed her a little and made her look ill and grumpy. She was indeed very grumpy. Not to mention that little pimple, that did not improve the image.

But more than that little disappointment, there was the worry that his decisions set her on a very unhappy path, and without any gain at all in the end. That this deal he had stricken might have been only the vain sacrifice of this girl for something that may never happen.

No. No matter what, he would do right by the girl. He would never let her suffer from this. She would gain from it, most certainly.

"More like an angry little sprite becoming a fairy queen," Her father smiled a little before his brow furrowed lightly in a perplexed manner that was rare on his face. "There's something that had changed in me Scarlett… I do not know what to make of it…" He shook his head. "Bah, she's becoming a woman. 't must be as simple as that."

"A leopard can't change its spots. Certainly, she mustn't have changed that much."

"Oh, I don't know," Gerald shrugged once again. "There's a darkness in her that wasn't there before. She… she seems more secretive than she was before to her old Pa. Laughs less. Smiles less."

Rhett frowned.

"Did she lose her spirit?"

"I don't think so. Nothing could hold her down, this one," His chest heaved with the pride of a rooster about to shout for the day. "What a pride to have her on my arm on Court Day! If you had been there that day! She made everyone wait, of course, and I don't know how she made it, but there were already talking about her before she even entered. Oh, I knew she had been very successful in her studies…"

Yes, he heard of it too. Anthony, one of his former crewmen, had taken a work in the Academy to watch over his sister, which had made him the perfect spy for the advancement of his gamble. Since his visits, Scarlett had seemed more applicated in her studies, had even taken to participate in some acts of charity.

He wanted to believe his visit had that effect on the girl. The rest of it had been pleasant, though Scarlett seemed still very much subdued. But her efforts continued.

He was quite perplexed over the charity works, for, in his mind, she was still a girl very much imbued with herself, and quite hard-hearted when she wanted to be. But he was not about to complain. It fitted what he wanted her to be.

Perhaps a bit too much. He liked the girl, especially because he saw they were very much alike, and he could not imagine doing something without being sure to get paid later. So, he wondered what she was at.

And, to be honest with himself, he didn't especially like the idea of the girl becoming the perfect epitome of the lady, even if he promised he would try to make her just that, for then it might make her an unreachable figure to him.

Time would make him see if indeed this was truly genuine.

"… She walked and they looked, and I saw me lass look up, and then her lashes fluttering, and for a moment, I thought she would faint. She seemed to have difficulty breathin', and she looked down for a moment. She barely said anything, and I thought she was ill, but she was so sweetly telling me to go on, that she would rest on the bench. But time after, when I came back to look for her, what do you think I found? Five young bucks, all around her, fawning all over her! Me think she put a spell on them. Bah! Tis a blessing and a curse to have a charming daughter. Maybe it's for the best she would go back to Fayetteville soon. At least until the end of the term."

Here, Rhett wanted to laugh at such exaggeration. It was but a child he was talking about. A little hoyden, though very charming, that barely some years ago was still running away in the field.

"Little Scarlett, Really?"

There, the proud Irishman swell with swift outrage at such questioning of the apple of his eyes. Yet, just as swiftly as his temper rose, it deflated.

"Yes, sir! Does me a lot of credits. Yet, I'm worried. She's me daughter, after all. Grew up too fast, and now slipping through my fingers. Yet, it doesn't look like she wants to marry… No, it's like she's playing."

"She flirts?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so. At least, not like some girls do. No, she's very proper, no one can call her fast. Yet, many over the weeks had declared themselves in love with her, and she refused them all. She's still very young, but she did not refuse them as a young girl would. It's like she bewitches them, but her heart by itself is untouchable."

"Well, what do you complain of, my friend? You said it so yourself. She's very young. She may like being admired, but not enough to be married."

"I would have preferred it if it was only to be admired for it would be more aligned with what she is, but then… I don't know. It doesn't look like she does it for the flattery of it," Gerald answered, with the pain of knowing something was wrong in his daughter, yet not knowing what exactly it was. So, swiftly, he tried to dismiss it with a smile and a wink. "You wouldn't want to marry me daughter, won't you? Me thinks she will need someone stronger than her, with experience, that can stand to her, and stand against these bucks she attracts in her webs. And I know ye like me, and ye'd treat her right. Not like these young bucks who would just snatch her away."

"Oh, believe me, you don't want that," Rhett chuckled, taking a step back of mock horror at the idea. "You want to get the girl off your hands, but I'm not the right man for that. For no woman, really. I suppose you heard about that incident with the Buggy in Charleston. And some of my frequentations to sporting houses."

"Bah, that was silly anyway, to want to force a man to marry for that kind of thing. Young men ought to have their fun. But I won't insist," Gerald shrugged, surrendering with a sheepish grin. "I'd have tried. But then now that I think of it, you're quite the adventurer, and I'm not sure the wife would like that."

"Oh, yes, she certainly wouldn't."

With that, the interview was left on a break, and Rhett sighed. He took another sip of whiskey from his glass. At least, he would give Scarlett the doll he had brought back from his travels. Her sisters already had theirs, for they were nicely settled in the settee of the living room with Mammy, as good girls should do.

But Scarlett… Of course, Scarlett would not be content in staying in the house. He shook his head with fondness as he left the house, remembering the scowl in Mammy's face at her absence.

He would give it to her, inquire and urge about her studies, and go. Or maybe he would stay a little if he deemed her education too lacking. There was nothing wrong with staying a little.

He wandered through the fields with the gift box under his arms, his gaze on the hands coming and going with their baskets full of freshly picked cotton.

On and on, they went, singing, laughing, the people of Tara, proud and cheerful. People that had never known true freedom and independence since their birth, and dismissed it with contempt, a contempt that was akin to fear. It had certainly been the planters' success to make them believe freedom held a whip far more fearsome than theirs, and the people of Tara could at least say they had a master just in name, for Gerald O'Hara never truly understood what it meant, and a mistress that softly asked and gently nursed them, as if they were children, and never stayed more than necessary.

In the Fontaine's home, the whip cracked and cracked, and blood mixed with the clay. At the Tarletons, they ate after the horses, but could at least say the beatings were mostly reserved for the sons. As for the Wilkes… a queer folk as that of the Wilkes. Rhett smirked. A gentle, calm appearance, and high principles that could not bear the presence of such a renegade as Rhett Butler on their soil. Yet, he had seen some of the women being dismissed with embarrassment by the backdoor, their mulatto babies in their arms.

Needless to say, that information had been quite useful to get Dilcey and her child, though the contract of selling had been signed but recently. Pork helped her settle in his cabin.

He wandered for a moment, aimlessly. He knew where he might find her, but he was still very hesitant to find her. He bided his time, he knew that. He did not want to raise her hopes, nor his affections, anything that could sway him from what he wanted.

He entered the forest of pines, the deeply anchored roots cracking beneath his feet and the strong smell refreshing on his nostrils. There, it was calmer, fresher, and he looked through the foliage at the remains of clear blue sky. A song came to his lips and he whistled it, surprising himself with the air of "Whiskey in the Jar."

As he was going on, a heavy, rounded thing splashed on his shoulder. It fell slowly as he turned back, bewildered, but only for a moment. He looked at the juicy peach that had left its mark on his nice grey suit and chuckled.

"And here I've heard you had become a proper lady…"

His gaze raised and stopped; his breath went short.

Between the green branches of a peach tree lost among the pines, there laid Titania, her luscious black hair done in a chignon where some strands had escaped its grip and caressed her magnolia-white skin. Green, pale green like the slanted eyes that were glinting at him boldly with something mischievous and wild, a lust for life that echoed with his own. When the gaze fell from these eyes, following the line of the turned-up nose that dared you to defy her, it laid on a mouth that was a little bigger than what was considered beautiful, yet the lips were full, red and inviting, and the pointed chin insisted you must stay there for a moment, lest the square jaw tightened, and the mouth pouted.

She had a short neck, but consequent enough to be kissed, and when the eyes wandered from the fine collarbones to the pointy ends of the green mules that appeared discreetly beneath the skirt, one could see that the breasts were well-matured for her age, the waist tiny, so tiny Rhett wondered if a man's two hands could gather there, and the fingers would still be touching. The chest heaved heavily, a flush came on the cheeks where remained a soft remain of childhood, and she smiled lightly as if she had been expecting him all along.

Had it been barely more than a year since he had seen her?

He felt foolish with his doll now.

He was foolish, and devious at all to be that troubled with that girl, point.

But then at second look, he felt glad.

With her looking so precocious and charming, he had even more chances to win the bet. Certainly, with a few good tricks, they would hook quite the catches.

Some things had to be improved, of course, but these improvements would come with time and more outings with the proper persons.

She was a weapon of massive destruction, and he wondered what kind of havoc she would bring.

Her smile grew larger, dimples digging on her cheeks, and her soft voice raised with pert connivance to his ears, teasing like a light pat on his chest.

"Catch me, Rhett!"

His lips stretched automatically in remembrance and he stretched his hands to her, after putting down his box. She fell like a leaf in his arms, light and gracious, the rustle of the dress on the tree like a lover's whisper.

She was warm against him, her weight almost insignificant that he thought she would slip from his arms. His grasp strengthened for a moment at the idea. Magnolia scent tickled his nose, and he wanted to lean in to find where that enchanting flagrance came from. Many men would like to see where it came from, he thought. And that was good. Very good.

"My, Scarlett, you've grown," He managed to say with a careless air.

"Not you, Rhett," She said, her pert chin up and mischief glinting in her eyes. "You're exactly how I remember you. A few more lines on the forehead, maybe."

"Not very charitable of you, but you're so lovely I'll let it pass," He grinned. "So, tell me, girl. I've heard you managed to catch the Tarleton twins at the same time?"

She laughed, and there the world seemed brighter somehow.