The Stranger I Loved

-*-

If I don't sleep, I'll never dream

If I could beg, would you do it for me?

Outside my house, down on your knees

How could I know I'd turn you into me?

How could I know I'd turn you into me?

I, I try to be careful one last time

Open wide, take so long to say goodnight

  -Sir Chloe

-*-

She sees the woman keel over on the lawn, her collapsing figure less like a fallen star than its own pitiful kind-of circus.

Gwen bends at the waist, only pretending to put another scabby potato into her basket, as she watches the guardsmen haul Morgana Le Fay to her feet. Again.

The woman is blubbering, her dress a violet shimmer in the early morning light and her pale arms twisting and banding across her chest as she holds onto something tightly. There are distant shouts and muffled threats from the men, but the noblewoman refuses to give up her prize by intimidation.

Gwen had to squint to see what the precious thing she's clutching at is, and finally gets a glimpse as one guardsmen wrenches it from Morgana's fingers and up, up into the air.

It's a bracelet.

It winks like a jewel in the sun, and even from her distance Gwen can see that it is filigreed and expensive. She drops the pretense of not looking, as the other field workers put their baskets down to openly stare at the spectacle, some already casting bets on how long it'll take to bring the lady inside this time.

Morgana is now heaving hysterically, no longer sobbing, her chest setting a frantic rhythm as one man holds her wrists behind her back, and the other pockets the bracelet. In the next moment she's thrashing in futility, her dark hair making quick circles in the air as she shakes her head, no, no, and they pull her up aggressively to return to the house.

Gwen feels more sympathy for the lady than she usually dares; the woman so clearly distressed about the loss of the item, and the guards soundlessly marching her back.

It's cruel to see the difference.

She lets out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, and counts the number of berry bushes and fruit trees in the field, and then how many more upturned potatoes left to collect, before resolutely turning back to the scene.

But the lady is gone.

-*-

"...absolutely hysterical! The lordship keeps her nailed to the coffin in her chambers and she still has the audacity to anger him."

"Oh, she is out of her mind! A tempest, not one noble has asked for her hand, and likely, not one will."

The gossip comes loud and fast from around the corner, and Gwen recognizes the participants before she sees them.

The sour look is not out of place on Astor's mouth, but she would not have expected the manservant George to stoop so low. She spots the two men huddled in an ill-lit corner, speaking unashamedly, as if the lady's chambers were not a few doors down.