Fraud

[Sabine]

“I weary for desires never guessed,
For alien passions, strange imaginings,
To be some other person for a day.”
Amy Lowell.

Timestamp: 2nd of Saun, 716

“My lady!”

Sabine’s skirts swirled behind her in a river of red satin as she rushed down the white marble stairs. Abby was going to kill her. She had an article due in three breaks and hadn’t done on ounce of research. Immortals, who even wanted to read about the Saun 716 crop ratio as it compared to Saun 715? Was that really the best use of anyone’s time?

“My lady, please!”

When was her boss going to assign her the real work, anyway? She was getting sick of community pieces and chasing down idle gossip. Gray’s words from Ashan rang in her mind as she swept across the empty hallway, and she was reminded of the futility of her job. She’d tried to add a more investigative spin, but somehow she was always pulled back to writing about the best ale, or the latest party, or the newest scandal.

Oh, crap.

She was turning into Fern.

“Stop, Lady Sabine!” A harried-looking man who looked to have a good sixty arcs behind him grasped her elbow to still her movement. “I’m sorry, my lady, but you must not leave the estate tonight. Your mother was very explicit; she says you’re expected at dinner to help entertain our guests.”

“What?” Sabine pulled her arm away and crinkled her nose in confusion. “I think you’re mistaken. I’m no lady.”

The man tutted. “Really, Lady Sabine. This is no time to be playing games. Please, you must get ready.” He gripped her upper arm with surprising strength, and began to direct her away from the front door with complete disregard for her attempts to break free.

“I’m telling you, you have the wrong woman!”

He sighed. “My lady-”

"Don't call me that.”

“-if I may be so bold as to say-”

“You may not.”

“-if you aren’t Lady Sabine Andaris, then I’m not the same valet who has served this family for three generations.”

Her struggle ceased. “What did you just say?”

“Then I’m not the same valet who-”

“No, not that. Before. Did you say… Andaris?”

“Yes, I said Lady Sabine Andaris.” The valet looked at her with increasing concern. “My lady, are you quite all right? Have you hit your head? Come now, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“I…”

“Perhaps I should summon the family physician to look you over after our guests leave. Do you think you can make it through dinner?”

Sabine nodded mutely and allowed him to guide her through the estate. The gold trim walls and floral paintings passed by in a blur as she fell into herself, lost in a haze of confusion.

Andaris… The name had turned her stomach, drawn sweat to her brow, and made her muscles seize with hatred for nearly two arcs. But here was this man, telling her that she was an Andaris. It was a complete impossibility.

And yet.

The valet dropped his hand from her arm as the pair entered the expansive dining room, and bowed before leaving. Sabine smoothed her dress and readied herself to resume the argument with whomever this supposed “mother” of hers was. Would it be someone she knew? A friend who was playing a (rather cruel and expensive) trick?

She scanned the long oak dining table, searching for a familiar face among the many that populated it.

There, at the back.

Wait.

No.

It couldn’t possibly be-

“Father?”

[Sabine]

Ulryk Qe’azour was everything she remembered: warm eyes, long hair, and entirely full of life. He sat at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair with the casual confidence of a man who was amused by the pretention of his surroundings. As Sabine stepped further into the room, he clasped his hands together and smiled at her knowingly.

Her heart shattered.

“Papa!” She picked up her skirts and began to run, the Andaris surname immediately forgotten. Guest after guest turned to look at her with disapproval as she sprinted past, but their faces blurred as her eyes stayed firmly planted on the man who’d raised her.

It was only after what seemed like trials that she realized she wasn’t getting any closer.

Her euphoria faded and her heart began to race as laughter filled her senses. It was a cruel laughter, the kind that one might find at the Fighting Arena when two slaves were pitted against each other with nothing but sticks to use in their fight to the death. Ulryk stared back at her, his easy confidence shifting to confusion, as she stumbled over the hem of her dress and fell, hands first, to the hard marble floor. No. No no no no no. This wasn’t happening.

She pushed off again, lifting her skirts to her knees and lunging forward, but the invisible cell remained. Undeterred, she dropped her skirt and broke into a sprint, pumping her arms with the ferocity of an eagle’s wings.

Again she stumbled and, again, she rose.

She glared at her feet – feet that had been pinched and stuffed into heels that seemed to grow tighter with every passing trill. “Move, damn it!”

Her father’s face twisted from confusion to fear. Sabine turned her head to see the two guards who had entered the room behind her. Each man carried a sword at his hip and a set of manacles at his belt. Like the guests, their faces were blurred and their features indiscernible. But unlike the guests, snow coated their hair and frost radiated from their bodies, freezing the ground beneath them with each step they took.

Each step they took… that brought them closer to him.

No!

The laughter faded as the wind picked up, biting at her cheeks and snapping at her heels to urge her on. Sabine turned away from the guards and dropped to her knees, lifting the dress’ hem to her lips. The delicate red fabric ripped in two as she tore into with her teeth, like a wolf tore apart a carcass. Frayed threads dangled against her newly-freed knees as the liberated fabric was stolen away by the wind. Without wasting another moment, Sabine redoubled her efforts and began to run.

Still, the guards continued to advance.

She could feel them coming. The air grew colder and the ground turned to ice – a thick, white ice that hid all hints of the floor that had come before it. Frost coiled around her ankles like chains and she felt her movement slow. Slow, and then stop.

Her feet were frozen.

And still they came.

Within bits the guards had passed her and within trills they were on him, dragging her father from his seat as his yells pierced the air with their violence. Her own screams echoed his – pleas, promises, bargains, threats, anything to keep him from being taken from her again. She watched in horror as they dragged him further and further away, until he was half the size, a third, a small dot in the distance. Until, finally, she blinked and he was no longer there.

“Papa…”

The frost recoiled and Sabine fell to her knees, sending twin cracks snaking through the ice. They doubled and tripled into spider webs that moved in ripples across the room. A foghorn sounded - the only warning given before the floor disappeared beneath her.

[Sabine]

This was death.

As Sabine plunged into the icy waters, a calm washed over her. There were no more tears, no more shouts, just a thick silence and complete darkness. She stretched out like a starfish as she tumbled deeper and deeper, cartwheeling through the depths of hell.

The tatters of her dress spread out behind her and began to unravel, slow at first and then faster and faster - a whirlwind of fabric that broke both the dress and the darkness. As the last thread left her skin, the waters cleared and panic set in.

This was death - but she didn’t want to die.

Her feet kicked once, twice, and she began to swim. Up, up, and up she went, fighting against time and the ever-present suffocation that threatened to burst her lungs. Light shone above her, growing closer with every desperate stroke.

Just a little further…

She burst through the surface, gasping for air and clutching the side of the white porcelain bathtub as water splashed over the side. Safe. She collapsed on the edge of the tub, muscles too exhausted to do anything but survey her surroundings.

The large room was both oddly familiar and entirely new. All around her, candles lined the floor while gold trim lined the walls. A small fire burned in the nearby hearth, casting shadows across the marble.

A knock sounded – one meant to signal another’s arrival, not to offer a choice of answering. Within trills, an older woman had entered the room with a clean robe slung over her arm. The woman, who wore a servant’s uniform and had her gray hair plaited into a tight bun, stepped closer. She offered Sabine a stiff smile and held out the robe – a red silk garment with the symbol of a black dragon embroidered on the pocket.

“For you, my lady.”

Fin.

[Wendell]

Sabine

Knowledge:
Business Management: How to manage your time
Andaris: Your family name?
Ulryk Qe’azour: Just as you remembered him
Running: Pump arms for increased speed
Swimming: Kick hard

Loot: n.a
Injuries: n.a
Fame: n.a
Devotion: n.a
Magic: These points cannot be used for magic

Story: 5/5
Collaboration: 0/5
Structure: 5/5

Comment: I've always hated dream threads, until now. Enjoy the rewards.

“as she tore into * with her teeth” - should there be an ‘it’ here?

“sending twin cracks snaking through the ice. They doubled and tripled into spider webs that moved in ripples across the room.” - gorgeous imagery.