My last memory, before the darkness took me, was hearing the droning of Swayvill's pet vizier as he cast the spell of imprisonment upon me, and looking into Sarah Chanicut's stern gaze. It held the promise of mercy...and later revenge. "We will outlive this," she told me, in those final moments as my limbs stiffened and my lips turned cold and no scream could escape me.

Some dreamless time later, still muttering that phrase, I awoke to find myself lying in a large canopied bed, awash in crimson satin. The room was dark, save for a few candles on the mirrored vanity on the far wall. I glanced quickly around, the dim light allowing me to make out some details of my surroundings, and I was relieved to note that I appeared to be alone. There was an armoire, a vanity, the bed on which I lay, a pair of glass doors leading to a balcony outside, and a half-open door leading to a parlor. I could see a night sky visible through the balcony doors, but the sky was overcast and there were no stars visible to orient myself. As for the room itself, it was familiar in its styling, but not a room that I had ever seen before. Looking down at my body, I observed that I no longer possessed the clothing I had been wearing when I was imprisoned. Instead, someone had clothed me in a modest nightgown, with a housecoat is draped over a chair beside the bed. The realization that I had been unconscious while someone changed my clothing did nothing good for my state of mind. I decided not to examine that thought too closely until I knew more about where I was, who had released me, and most importantly, what they wanted.

I sat up carefully, just in case there were any lingering effects from either the spell that had imprisoned me, or the one that must have been cast to free me. Surprisingly, I felt quite rested and strong, with no stiffness in any of my muscles. In fact, the only discomfort I felt came from the sudden realization that I was rather thirsty. Thus encouraged, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, put on the housecoat, and attempted to stand. Again, I encountered no difficulties. With this accomplished, I began a more careful examination of the room, striving to find something that might tell me where I was, keeping a wary ear open for approaching voices as I did so. I found nothing useful in my search, but I did begin to hear distant music coming in through the open door to the parlor. It did not sound like a piano, the pitch of each note sounding thin and metallic, and I did not recognize the music. I continued to monitor the sound, for as long as it continued, I knew where one of the inhabitants of this place was.

My next act was to attempt to conjure myself a glass of water to assuage my thirst, which had not diminished while I was exploring. The energies began to gather as usual, but then, abruptly, they dissipated. I frowned, my thirst momentarily forgotten. This was not what I had been expecting. Usually conjuration either works, or it does not. Never before had I encountered such a reaction, not even in places where magic did not work at all. That was obviously not the case here. There was magical energy present - quite strong magic, actually - but it was different than what it should have been. I tried a scrying spell next, with similarly frustrating results. I was beginning to detect a pattern, however, one that gave me hope that, with further analysis, I might be able to get my spells to function properly. Naturally, I immediately set about doing so. Being without my spells left me feeling rather...naked. It was not a feeling I particularly enjoyed. The magic proved trickier to analyze than I would have guessed, helped in no small amount by the degree by which the level of magic in this place seemed to fluctuate. In the end, I needed to create an additional lynchpin to account for this, and I was in no way certain that it would be enough for my more powerful spells. I was confident that I could manage simple spells, however, at least for the next twelve hours. And that was far better than no spells at all.

As I finally completed my analysis, the music I had been hearing came to a halt. I quickly conjured myself some more appropriate clothing, determined that whoever was the master of this place, I was not going to meet them clothed only in a nightgown and housecoat. Conjuring the clothing itself did not take too long, there being plenty of energy to draw on. Dressing, however, proved a somewhat more time consuming task, especially tying the corset myself, but I was soon outfitted as a proper lady. Well, a proper lady for England during the Regency, but as I had no idea what would be considered proper in this place, my preferred mode of dress would have to do.

Once I was suitably attired, I erected the protective spells that I had felt so naked without, and felt rather more assured once they settled into place. It was as I began my next spell, the scrying spell I had unsuccessfully attempted before, that a cold draft blew across my cheek, chilling me. Before I could even pinpoint the source of the draft, a warm shawl settled over my shoulders. Quite thoroughly startled, but doing my best to hide it, I looked around quickly but saw no one else in the room. I did note that the glass door to the balcony was now just a touch ajar, however. As I realized this, a sigh drifted across the room, so soft as to barely audible, and a chill wind blew the glass door further open. I approached the door warily, checking for any traces of recent magic in the room, other than my own. I found a great many small enchantments hung in the room: on the armoire, the candles, the vanity, virtually everywhere, but no recent magic, not even on the shawl. Still, I was quite obviously in the dwelling of some kind of sorcerer.

As I drew nearer to the balcony, I was able to get a better look at it. It was made of stone, with a table and a few chairs, but it was the view that caught my attention. The view was...strange. There were clouds overhead, with the barest sliver of a moon, but the land below was completely obscured by fog. I could not even see if there really was land below at all. I suddenly stopped where I was, just short of the balcony doors, and checked for Trump energy, chiding myself for not doing so far earlier. I could only blame my disorientation at waking up in a strange place, but that really was no excuse. Thankfully, unlike sorcery and conjuration, Trump energy appeared to be working as I expected. The only thing radiating Trump energy in the room, however, was a deck of cards resting upon the vanity. How had I missed that in my earlier exploration of the room? Perhaps it had appeared along with the shawl I was now wearing. I approached the vanity and examined the deck, being careful not to actually touch it yet. I trap my own deck, so I thought it prudent to act on the assumption that others might also. I was not especially surprised to recognize it as my own deck. How thoughtful of my host to return it to me.

I was still bent over the Trump deck, wondering if anyone had attempted to open it, when I noticed movement in the mirror above the vanity. When I focused on it, I saw the profile of a woman reflected in the mirror, dark haired, pale skinned, wearing an off-the-shoulder midnight blue gown which appeared almost black in the dim light. Looking at her, I could not help but feel a chill at her pallor and her seeming indifference to the cold night air and the darkness. She was seated in one of the chairs on the balcony and leisurely poured herself a glass of steaming tea as I watched. She did not so much as glance in my direction, but nevertheless, something in her posture, and the half-smile she was wearing, made it perfectly clear to me that she was aware that I was observing her. Seeing no point in lurking in my room if she was aware of my presence, I checked my deck to ensure that no new spells had been added to it, tucked it away in a hidden pocket, then turned and made my way casually out onto the balcony.

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All text on this page is © 1998 by Kris Fazzari.

Last modified on August 23, 1998 by Kris Fazzari.