The Soft-Hearted Maven

The nightmare The Soft-Hearted Maven experienced wasn't a new one, but it had been awhile since she had last had it and with such intensity.

----

The ballroom may be lavish and bright, but all The Soft-Hearted Maven could focus on was the droning around her.

Pretty-seeming people saying pretty-seeming things, in all actuality so empty.

She stood still, hoping that doing so meant no attention would be drawn to her.

God her legs ached.

Where was her sister?

"There you are, there's someone you have to meet!"

No.

Suddenly the ballroom was gone. All was dark. But she could still see the people. No longer even a facade of prettiness. Writhing masses of shadow and viscera, shining eyes and smiles focused on her.

The worst was the floor. Or rather, the lack of a floor.

In its place was a tightrope beneath her feet. But to call it a tightrope was giving it too much credit. It was a thin wire, digging into the soles of her now bare feet, making them bleed.

It wasn't just the wire though, was it?

The lashes on the back of her legs had opened up.

(Those scars will never go away, will they)

The blood was dripping down like a waterfall into the abyss, covering the wire, making it slippery.

Could they really not see?

Did the layers of expensive fabric really cover the blood and pain so well?

Where was her sister?

"Well? Come over and greet them!"

Deep breath.

She began walking. Shoulders back, spine straight, hands clutched at her front.

The wire bit into her skin with each step.

The blood continued to spill.

She briefly became aware that she had wings, like that of a butterfly or a fairy. Could she try to fly?

(Fly where? Fly to them? Fly away?)

A cursory flap said no, as she felt a painful crack go up from her back up through the wings.

The act caused her to slip slightly, and she lifted her arms to keep balance.

All at once the eyes around her narrowed and the smiles widened. Voices that were both hushed and deafening surrounded her.

"The poor dear."

"Not much you can expect from one who's only half nobility."

"Perhaps if she had been raised from birth it could have been different."

"That's generous of you to say, but no matter how you polish it, a flawed diamond will never have the value of a flawless one."

"Now lets not be cruel, I'm sure she could still make for a perfectly suitable second wife for someone. Regardless of her birth, she still comes from a good family after all."

"That is fair. With her docile nature, she certainly has more value than that boorish sister of hers."

Laughter rang out, and suddenly she was seeing red.

How DARE they speak of her sister like that, she-

SNAP

The wire snapped, and she was falling in a shower of her own blood and the shattered pieces of the wings.

At first she just saw the faces, watching her fall.

Then she felt compelled to turn to the abyss.

Rising to meet her were the corpses of her parents, as freshly slaughtered as she remembered from that day.

----

The Maven was no longer falling. She was in her bed, clutching at the Brash Devil. His eyes shown in the dark, a look of concern on his face as she breathed heavily. No words needed to be spoken at the moment, just a comforting embrace as the visions remained in her mind's eye.

If you wish to reach either The Soft-Hearted Maven or The Brash Devil, you can leave a calling card at the Maven's cottage at Watchmaker's Hill, the Townhouse she has converted into an orphanage, her medicine shop at the Bazaar, or the Suite at the Royal Bethlehem where she has been known to try and help patients. Or, if you don't mind paying the Echo, you can ask one of the urchins to pass on a message. That will usually be the most reliable way of making sure either of them get your message.