The Resurrections of Rosalind Mull

Set a Fire

The third time round, she accepts it, or she tries to.

She wakes disoriented, head spinning, joints aching. This time, she's by herself. The ground is cold, she notices. One by one she sees past memories flicker beneath her eyelids. The moment the pictures leave, she opens her eyes, taking in the drab grey surroundings. Fighting off the sudden disappointment, she sits up, hugging her arms around her naked body.

Dirt from the ground sticks to her bare skin as she places a palm on the ground to help herself up. She moves to wipe her hands off, on what she doesn't know, but the walls around her are as filthy as the floor.

Voices drift toward her through the alleyway from the street, followed by the soft clip-clop of horse hooves. She watches the gap between the buildings attentively, covering her breasts with her hands. She watches as the men in the horse and carriage pass her, not sparing her more than a glance.

'Do they think me a desperate prostitute?' she wonders, thinking that they must.

A gust of wind makes her shiver and she stands there for a moment, wondering what's to be done. Eventually she decides to wait until nightfall to look around. Hopefully, she'll be able to find some clothes before a disgraceful man happens upon her.

So, Rosalind waits in the alley, peeking out once and awhile, waiting until she sees a man walk up and down the streets, lighting the lamps with gas.

'Those are new,' Rosalind muses to herself.

She gathers her courage and steps carefully out into the open, attempting to pull her hair around her should someone find her. Someone does find her, when she's putting on clothes that someone had hung outside to dry. They're slightly damp still, which bothers her more than the fact they aren't hers.

"You don't see that everyday, do ya?" The woman, locked in arm with a man dressed in finer clothes, looks at her through her eyelashes.

The woman's wearing makeup on her face, nicely done, but marks her as a prostitute. The corset she's wearing pushes her breasts nearly all the way out of her bodice. Scandalized, Rosalind pulls the rest of the garments on as quickly as possible, glad for the chill of the night since it helps to hide her reddened cheeks.

The man laughs, tugging on the woman's arm. "Come on then, we'll go somewhere else."

The woman laughs too, light and airy. "It's dangerous to be out so late, darlin'."

Rosalind presses her lips together, smoothing out the dress that isn't hers. "I'm quite aware of that."

"You should go to the pub down the main street if you're looking for work. You won't find anything out here."

Rosalind has to take a deep breath to gather herself. "Thank you for the advice," she says stiffly, holding herself in as prim a manner as she can muster in her poor state.

The woman nods and the man tips his hat. They leave down the road, arm in arm, going off to be somewhere more private. Rosalind stays in the alley.

It takes a total of nine days for Rosalind to completely lose her dignity, granted that begging for scraps of food and sleeping in alleyways don't count against her. She doesn't even bother thinking about how she's even here in the first place.

She runs into the woman from her first night back while sitting anxiously in the pub, waiting for someone to approach her. Oddly enough, the woman is a welcome sight in her distress.