Tick tock, tick tock.
The clock never seems to stop. Drumming fingers, darting eyes and demure smiles. This was the life that Lucy Williams lived. Long dresses, insanely tight corsets and forced manners. Perhaps appealing to some. To Lucy? No, not in the least.
Lucy closed her book with a snap, deciding that enough was enough. All she was doing was making up stories in her head any ways, she might as well lay in her bed and do that. Her mother looked up, frowning at her.
“Lucy, it hasn’t even been an hour yet!”
“I’m feeling indisposed,” the girl lied smoothly, something she had practiced for her entire life. Her heart picked up with the adrenaline of what she was going to do. Lay in her bed? Certainly not. Her mother seemed to know that she was lying, but what with her cousins there, there was naught that she could say.
“Well, do sleep well so that you feel better in the morning. Cousin James would like to take us out tomorrow!”
“Of course,” Lucy curtsied prettily, smiling at her cousins, who had all stood when she had. Pointless, of course. But no one would ever say anything about it. “Good night, all. I shall be well again in the morning!”
It took all of her willpower not to run out right then. Instead she gracefully floated out of the room and up the stairs, waving off her maids. She paused by the door, waiting as she listened for footsteps. She heard the maids go down the stairs, and then she bolted into action, undoing her dress and corset, getting rid of the bulky garments. She knelt by her bed, pulling out a wooden box that contained a few items. Pants, a baggy shirt, wrappings for her torso, a hat, boots. She pulled them all on in their respective order, then turned to her mirror, letting her long blonde hair down, only to braid it back up against around her head. She pulled her hat on over it, successfully hiding it. She gazed at her face, always concerned it was too feminine. Small nose, average lips, high cheekbones and average sized eyes, though the lashes that framed the blue orbs were a clue to her femininity.
But no, with all of her clothes on, the only true give away were her small, girlish hands. But those hands could do some damage if needed. Lucy Williams cast one more look at the door before running to the window. She shimmied down the side of the house using some wood that she had placed there, using the excuse of gardening. No one suspected a thing, and she had successfully been sneaking out for nearly a year now. Her seventeenth birthday night was her first stroll out as a boy, if she remembered correctly.
She landed softly on the grass, and without a moment’s hesitation began running. She ran as fast as her legs would take her, reveling in the freedom that came with not being herself. She ran and she ran, until she was gasping for breath and she could run no longer.
She walked the streets of the city, enjoying the noise of the bars, but not being brave enough to go in. The light would surely give her away. She would have walked all night, except for a voice that stopped her where she was.
“Boy! What year is it?”
Lucy froze. She had never been addressed before. She cleared her throat, dropping the tone down, not facing the man. “1878, sir.”
“Really! I love this year! Oh, what a great accident. Perhaps I have the time –perhaps not, ah, well, does it really matter?”
The man was speaking nonsense. Drunk, Lucy decided, and promptly turned around. It was dark, and he was drunk. He would not be able to tell the difference. And even if he could, he would think he was imagining it. She was struck with a sight rather extraordinary in nature. A young man grinned up at the sky, pleased with the news that he had somehow ended up in 1878. His clothes were…odd. A jacket, pants, yes. No boots, which was odd. Something odd that looked like a bow around the collar of his shirt, which was rather low. And the look on his face was just odd. It was…happiness. Pure, unworried happiness that nobody could take away, and something that Lucy had not seen in her life.
