In Dragon's Gate Gaol

[Lucy Mitford]

They didn’t know what to do with her.

She didn’t seem crazy. She was calm and coherent. But there were holes in her story.

She couldn’t or wouldn’t say what happened to the body. She couldn’t or wouldn’t say what happened to the murder weapon. She couldn’t explain why there were no reports of a missing man at any precinct that matched the timing she reported. She was confessing to a crime that, as far as they knew, never actually occurred.

But she presented herself to them as if she were checking into a hotel. As if she expected a long stay. So they accommodated her.

They took her phone. They took her clothes. The 6th Precinct had no separate facilities for women, and they didn’t think it was a good idea to put her in with the men. So they sent a messenger for an urgent transport to a more permanent placement. By nightfall she was being processed at Dragon’s Gate Gaol.

She came with nothing, but they knew she was rich. There were signs. Her perfect teeth. Her manicure. The careful way she stood and sat as if she were afraid that touching things would make her dirty. She looked like a good opportunity. For bribes.

They had no trouble placing her. She was human, and as far as they could tell she did not have a power or skill that would pose a threat or otherwise necessitated magical binding or wards. She was a low-security risk.

She arrived with almost no paperwork. All the file said was ‘under investigation by Detective Inspector Jowan Teague.’ It didn’t matter to them. They had a prisoner. And they had an empty cell.

At the precinct, DI Teague, shuffled Lucy’s file from one part of his desk to the other. It was low priority. He would look into it when he could.
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Originally posted on Thu Oct 02, 2014 6:36 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

Dawn. Lucy opened her eyes. Light filled her cell from the small, barred window high above. She pulled the scratchy and unforgiving bedclothes up to cover her cold nose. The window made the cell particularly cold and drafty. But she knew she was fortunate to have it. Through the window she could see blue sky, bits of cloud, glimpses of the ever-changing weather. It was something to look at. Something to help her trace time.

From across the courtyard, she heard the man chanting again, like he did every day at sunrise and sunset. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought he was praying. There was comfort in that. And his voice was beautiful.

Prison was at once better and worse than she thought it would be. Her cell wasn’t so bad. It was small. About the size of her closet. The walls and floor were thick, cold stones. She could feel the cold through the thin canvas shoes she’d been given to wear. But the cell was guarded not by bars, but by a locking door, which gave her more privacy than she expected, even if the door still had a barred window in it. The narrow cot was not particularly comfortable. And yet, since her very first night, sleep had come more easily than it had in any of the days of freedom she’d had recently.

The jail, however, had no running water. She was responsible for her chamber pot. And she only had a single bucket of cold water, that she was allowed to refresh every other day, to attend her daily ablutions. There were no showers. No hot water of any kind. Lucy was learning to live with dirt and smell in a way that she never had before.

Tap. Tap. Lucy looked up towards the window. A black crow stood on the window sill, its head tipped as if trying to peer inside. Lucy sat up in bed and looked at it. “Hello.”

It tapped its beak on the iron bars. Tap. Tap. The crow bent its head to watch her. She pushed back the covers and got up, positioning herself below the window. She tipped her head back to look up at the crow. It tipped its head down to look back at her.

“You hungry?”

Tap. Tap. The crow pecked the bars again with its beak. Lucy bent, reaching beneath her pillow to get the hard biscuit she had saved from her last meal. She broke off a piece and then stood on her tip toes to set it on the window sill at the bird’s feet.

The crow pecked at the piece, hopping to one side. Then it looked at her again. She smiled. The bird tipped its head in the other direction.

She set another crumb on the window sill. The bird looked at her, then tapped its beak on the bars again. Tap. Tap.

Lucy watched the crow. She took a deep breath of the brisk morning air. And then she nodded. “Tell--tell Jack that I’m alright.”

The bird tipped its head.

“Tell Jack--tell him he doesn’t have to worry. Tell him I’m alright.”

The bird hopped to the side again. Tap. Then it flew off.

Lucy watched, her eyes remaining on the barred square of blue sky, long after the crow was gone. “I’m alright.”
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Originally posted on Sun Oct 05, 2014 11:20 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

Dair,

It’s strange how life can change so suddenly and so completely that you can’t even remember what life was before the change. Life before prison already seems so distant. But I’m alright, and you shouldn’t worry about me.

I have settled into a rhythm here that makes the days pass more easily. I’m assigned to work in the laundry. At first, I thought it would be pleasant to spend my days splashing about in warm water. But that isn’t quite how it is. The water is blisteringly hot, the washing is done by hand, and by the time my work is complete, I am a hot sweaty mess, desperate for the cool air of my cell again.

But in the end, you and Antonia were right. There is something strangely satisfying about being useful. No matter how difficult the work.

I also get time to exercise and socialize in the courtyard each day (though I admit to being a bit shy with the other prisoners so far). I have plenty of time alone too. Perhaps too much.

But even though I am alone so much more than I was on the outside, I feel none of the crippling loneliness I did then. I think, maybe, that the person I was most lonely for was myself. The self that I had lost. I think now, finally, I have accepted that that self is gone. And facing my new self, taking responsibility for what I’ve done and who I am now, is maybe the start of something. Forgiveness? Maybe. I don’t know.

All I know is that I can sleep now. So maybe there is hope for me. Maybe there might be something for me, some life after I’ve served my sentence, however long that sentence might be.

None of that, none of what I’ve said, means that I don’t miss you. I miss you more than I can say. In the short time of our friendship(?) I think you have been the most important friendship of my life. Although maybe all this time alone leaves me overly sentimental.

Speaking of friendship, please keep an eye (ha!) on Antonia for me. I know she and I parted on bad terms. But I still think about her. And yes, she’s tough and strong and doesn’t need anything from anyone. But maybe she does a little, or maybe she will someday and I don’t want her to be alone then.

This letter is long---I have too much time on my hands---but I hope you’ll forgive me for it. I hope you’ll write and tell me all about the goings on at the Inn. Give Fin and Gem and Jack kisses for me. Drink a shot with Cris for me. And mess up Cianan’s hair.

They allow visitors on Tuesdays and Sundays. I hope sometime you might come see me. But I understand if you don’t. I promise, at least, that future letters will be shorter.

Yours,
Lucy

P.S. If you do come visit, can you bring me my reading glasses? They said I could have them if someone brought them to me.
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Originally posted on Mon Oct 06, 2014 7:55 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

“Let me see.” The woman sat beside Lucy, leaning back against the courtyard wall. She was older than her, her face weathered and wrinkled, her hair more salt than pepper. But her eyes were young, her face aged by a hard life.

Lucy held out her hands to her. The skin was red and raw, unused to the harsh work of the laundry. Lucy winced at her crackled knuckles then turned her hands over to look at her palms.

“Here.” The woman pulled a small tin from her pocket and opened it. Inside was an ointment of some kind, the scent herbaceous. She scooped out a generous portion with the tips of her fingers, and then gently took Lucy's hands in hers, one at a time, and began to work the ointment into her skin. Lucy winced again, as even the gentle touch burned. “Shhh.” The woman soothed her. “It will feel better. You will see.”

Lucy watched her hands, then looked up. “Thank you.”

The woman nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Lucy.”

“I am Griselda.”

“Griselda.” Lucy repeated the name to make sure she heard it correctly, the ‘s’ soft on her tongue.

Griselda nodded. “You are not from here, I think.” She spoke with a vague accent that Lucy couldn’t place but had become familiar with in Rhy’Din. It was an accent that spoke of foreign lands.

“No, I’m not.”

“But you are here. In this place.” At Lucy’s confused look, Griselda continued. “You have submitted to these--these laws.”

“I have, yeah.”

Griselda looked at her. “I would think that you were brave. But no.” She shook her head. “To be brave, one must have fear, and I do not think you are afraid.”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “I’m not afraid.”

“Then we shall be friends.” Griselda smiled and patted Lucy’s hand. “A woman should not be afraid. So long as she can make a fist.”
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Originally posted on Fri Oct 10, 2014 1:09 am

[Lucy Mitford]

Colin,

I should have written this letter long ago. I should have already told you what I’m going to tell you. But I guess it’s never too late for the truth.

Last March, I killed a stranger in an alley. I stabbed him with the knife you gave me, and I left him there to die alone. I was frightened and he was following me. But I was also drunk. I could say it was an accident, but I know that I at least meant to hurt him. I acted without thinking. I acted with little care for the life of another. A life that I took needlessly.

And then I hid it. I was afraid to tell you. Afraid to admit what I’d done. I told myself that you’d be angry and disgusted with me. I told myself that you wouldn’t be able to look at me again.

But that’s not what I was really afraid of. I was afraid it wouldn’t mean anything to you at all. I was afraid you would brush it aside, and that it wouldn’t change anything for you. For me, everything had changed.

I’m not the woman you fell in love with. I think you loved me because I was fun, because I had nothing to worry about, because I was light. But that lightness is gone now. I killed two people in the alley that night.

Keeping all this from you was unfair. I didn’t give you a chance to be there for me the way I needed. But I don’t think I could have done what I needed to do if I was still with you.

I’m sorry for my lies. I’m sorry for the way we ended. I still love you, even though I know it can never be.

Always,
Lucy
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Originally posted on Sat Oct 11, 2014 8:01 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

“You won’t believe it.”

“What?”

“She asked for an extra blanket.”

“Holy gods, the high priestess speaks.” A round of chuckles broke out amongst the guards in the breakroom. A bench scraped back as one of the guards stood to refill his mug of ale. Another handed a loaf of bread down the table. A spoon clinked in a cup of coffee.

“Did you give it to her?”

“I told her it was against the rules.”

Someone snorted. “How long you think she’ll last?”

“Can’t be too much longer.”

“She’ll not let herself freeze.”

“You better hope not.”

“No money in a dead girl.”

“She asked about her sentence too.”

“What about it?”

“When she’s gonna get it.” Another round of laughter circulated through the small room. Someone opened the stove and stoked the fire before shutting it again.

“Girl still thinks she’s going to see a magistrate.”

“Ain’t she?”

“Dunno.”

“Gonna be a tough winter for her.”

“Gonna be a rich winter for us.”
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Originally posted on Tue Oct 14, 2014 5:42 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

A simple white envelope containing a letter is sent to Dragon's Gate Gaol addressed to Miss Lucy Mitford. The letter reads:


Dear Miss Lucy,

I am sorry to hear about what has befallen you. I don’t know what to say, other than write this letter to let you know someone is thinking about you. I know it must be lonely there, so let me tell you about some of the things happening around here.

I saw your friend Candy a few months ago. She seemed as feisty as ever. Didn’t say much about where she had been or what she had been up to after disappearing for eight months. But we were never that close anyway, even though we were teammates. I tried to be a friend to her. It seems I failed. Maybe she’ll return one day.

I recently became Overlord of the Duel of Swords. That’s the top dueler in that particular sport. It’s kept me busy. I’ve been going around the city doing public appearances, charity work, and occasionally helping the Town Watch. I seem to have acquired a “noble steed” in the form of Alfred, a rather grumpy unicorn. He likes to make fun of me for my particular hobbies, like reading comic books or some of the movies I watch. Hey, I liked “Point Break”. There’s nothing wrong with Patrick Swayze, is there?

Have you found things to keep you occupied? Maybe I could send you some books to read. Not comic books, don’t worry. I know that’s an acquired taste. Although there is this one character you might like (with her red hair she looks like you) named Black Widow. She’s a super spy and knows all these different forms of martial combat.

Okay, I’ll stop now.

Here’s hoping this letter finds you well and in good spirits.


Sincerely,

Gren Blockman
Overlord of the Duel of Swords
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Originally posted by Gren Blockman on Thu Oct 16, 2014 3:34 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

She dreamed of ribbons.

She lived in a world without color. Stone grey walls. Dingy grey uniforms. Scratchy grey blankets. Grey. Grey. Grey.

And so she dreamed of Jack. And she dreamed of his ribbons. She was in a forest of ribbons, all of their colors weaving drunkenly in a gentle tide of air. She was surrounded by them. Aquamarine, amethyst, blood orange, emerald. Colors she didn’t even have names for. A paint catalogue full of colors. Colors that reminded her of the terracotta roofs of Rome, of sunrise over the Grand Canyon, of the sun sparkling off the Mediterranean sea. So many beautiful things she had seen. So many colors. So many ribbons.

In her dreams, he drew a brush through her hair, coaxing it back into the soft waves it once held so easily, murmuring soothingly in her ear. I like you like this. The words he said when he had actually come to see her. In her dreams, she relived his visit, listened, again, to the exchange of their conversation.

“Tell me what you understand?”

“That I am a different woman than I was before. That I have done something terrible, but that is not all that I am.”

“It is not. What else?”

“I think I am going to find out.”

“Wonderful.”

“I feel better. I feel like--like--like this is going to be okay. Even if I don’t quite know how.”

“We all ride the wheel, my darling. Ups and downs. I think you are going up.” The bold Crow had dared to place a kiss against her hair then, just above her ear. “I like you like this.”

In her dreams, he plaited her hair with one of his ribbons. You are beautiful. Do you know that?

In her dreams, everything was ribbons.
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Originally posted on Fri Oct 17, 2014 3:33 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

The envelope that arrived to Dragon's Gate Gaol was small and black, a white rectangular sticker centered in the middle of it held the name Lucy Mitford printed in black text. Inside the envelope was a similarly small piece of white paper folded in half once, the text again printed rather than being handwritten. It didn't say much so there was no need to waste paper. It read:

I'm sorry how things were left.
You're a strong, independent woman.
I respect you. I miss you.

- A.S.
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Originally posted by Antonia Skinner on Fri Oct 17, 2014 10:26 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

“It is very primitive, your world.”

“Primitive?” Lucy laughed and raised a brow.

“Yes. You have no understanding. No--” Griselda paused, frowning in frustration as she tried to find the correct word to use in Common. “No full understanding. Your understanding is empty in parts.” Still unsatisfied with her words, Griselda huffed in frustration.

“How do you mean?”

The older woman looked across the yard, gathering her thoughts. “This ghost, you had. The spectre. What was it? What were its parts?”

“Its parts?” Lucy frowned in thought. “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, it was just there.”

“See. You do not understand the ghost. You say only that there is a thing, but you do not understand why there is a thing.” Griselda smiled with self-satisfaction.

Lucy leaned back against the stone wall. “So what are its parts? I mean, what is a ghost?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Oh, come on.” Lucy scoffed and looked away.

Griselda shrugged. “I will tell you what I believe. But you must uncover what you believe.” Lucy nodded and Griselda continued. “My people believe that a spirit is energy that is become lost. It is out of place. That when a terrible thing has been done, the world must account for this terrible thing.”

“And I did a terrible thing.”

“I did not say so. You must uncover what you believe.”

Lucy watched the older woman a moment, then looked away. “I can feel him there. I’ve tried everything. But he won’t come back to me.”

“You ask him like you ask a lover who has left you.” Griselda smiled. “But he is not a lover. In your heart you do not know what he is.”

Lucy sighed and tipped her head back to watch the clouds overhead.

“You do not know how to believe. When you uncover your belief, he will come.”
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Originally posted on Wed Oct 22, 2014 9:56 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

Dear Gren,

I can't thank you enough for your kind and thoughtful letter. I really enjoy hearing from my friends, and your letter made me smile.

Congratulations on your achievement in becoming Overlord of the Duel of Swords! I don't know that much about it, but I know from my friendship with Candy that it's not an easy thing to do, let alone to keep. I hope you enjoy it for as long as you have it or hold the position(?).

Also, you have a unicorn!? Even after all the unusual things I've seen here, the idea of a unicorn still seems kind of wacky. Is it really a unicorn? Like with a real horn and everything? Are you sure it's not just a dressed up horse? Is it white? Should I be referring to it as a 'he'? This is confusing.

I have a crow that visits me. He hasn't told me his name yet, though my friend Dair says that I'm supposed to name him myself. He comes to visit me at the window of my cell, and I save some of my breakfast biscuits for him. Eventually, and perhaps soon, they're going to have to shutter the window because of the weather. I don't know when I'll see my crow then, and it makes me a little sad to think about.

I have spent my time in jail mostly meditating and reading. I also work in the laundry, which is hard but satisfying. And the colder it gets in my cell, the more I look forward to the warm relief of the sweltering laundry room. But I do go through books pretty quickly and I would love it if you could send me something. I have never read comic books to be honest, but I am open to anything. And as winter bears down, I have to admit, it might be nice to read something funny.

Anyhow, I hope you're well, and I hope you'll keep writing when you have the time.

Sincerely,
Lucy

P.S. There is nothing wrong with Patrick Swayze. Can I suggest Road House for your next viewing?
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Originally posted on Fri Oct 31, 2014 1:47 am

[Lucy Mitford]

The window was shuttered. Her cell was colder than ever. Lucy sat on a pillow on the stone floor in the lotus position, her eyes unfocused.

“I envisioned vapor.” Cris’ words sounded in her mind. His warm, deep voice. His gentle, even tone.

She drew in a breath.

“White for the clarity I was breathing in. Black for the clutter and ill thoughts I was exhaling.”

She exhaled. She tried to see the black vapor. Released into the stillness of her cell. Her eyes focused on the flicker of candlelight across the dark stone walls. She inhaled, drawing the icy air into her lungs.

It was so cold. She was so cold. Colder than she could ever remember being. She had told Cris that she got used to it. But she hadn’t really. His visits warmed her. His quiet care. His frustration.

It was too cold to spend much time in the courtyard now. Some of the prisoners had coats. But she didn’t. She spent five minutes each day walking in the open air, stretching her legs, her eyes up on the sky looking for her crow. Maybe he was there, but she hadn’t seen him. She missed him. She missed the open window.

“When you feel your mind slip away from it, simply begin the process over.” She brought Cris’ voice to mind again.

“Vapor. White traveled from west to east, black from east to west. It should be the only thing you focus on.”

She inhaled. She exhaled. There is no cold. There is no cell.

“White---clarity, comfort, light. Black for every thought you just had, see them travel away from you like smoke, outside of your mind and never to be grasped again.”

She closed her eyes. She inhaled. She exhaled. There is only me.

“Lucy, you do not belong here. I will tell you that until you believe it.”
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Originally posted on Sun Nov 02, 2014 2:39 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

A,

I'm sorry how things were left, too. I am strong. Stronger than I realized. My mistake was not admitting when I felt weak, when I needed support, when I needed the strength of my friends to help me. Asking for help is not a weakness.

Please watch over our friends for me. Over the coming years they will need protection, maybe even from themselves. But remember to treat the ones you love with kindness, with a little bit of gentleness. Not everyone has armor as strong as yours around their hearts.

Lucy

She sealed the small envelope and hid it in her cell to await Dair's next visit so that he could deliver it by hand.
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Originally posted on Tue Nov 04, 2014 11:55 am

[Lucy Mitford]

Dear Lucy,

Well, that didn't last long. I lost my title a few weeks back to Terry King. It's alright, though. I did enjoy it while it lasted. Now I need a break from titles. Other than the title of Ranger.

Alfred is indeed a unicorn! His horn is indeed real. He's always bragging about how long it is. He says it's just like when human men brag about how long their foot is. I know he's driving at something with that comment, but I can't put my finger on it just yet. Alfred is a male, which he lets every female horse he meets know as quickly as possible. I'll spare you any of his unicorn innuendos, as I'm sure as a lady you wouldn't care for that.

I'm glad to hear you have a friend in the crow! It's funny you should mention that, there has been a murder of crows that have been frequenting the Arena and trying to get duels. I try not to mention corn around them because they get hyper. Dris has begun naming them, and after famous
composers like Bach and Schubert. I hope you don't lose your friend when the winter is fully upon us.

I'm more than happy to share some of my comic books with you! I think they get a bad rap because people think it's only kid stuff. But being able to see the art, and have the stories acted out, is pretty cool. I have enclosed some Black Widow comics, I hope you enjoy them.

Sincerely,
Gren Blockman

P.S. I loved Road House! The speech about being nice, no matter what the other person is saying or doing, is a classic. I think about that when I do my job as a Ranger. No matter how angry that grizzly bear gets at me . . . "Be Nice."

Enclosed are a dozen comics that all have Black Widow on the cover in some fashion, mostly her flying through the air about to deliver a ninja kick to a supervillian.
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Originally posted by Gren Blockman on Fri Nov 07, 2014 7:34 pm

[Lucy Mitford]

“A spell is a prayer?” Lucy struck the match, then lowered the flame to the candlewick.

“Of course it is.” Griselda watched the cold cell fill with the flickering candlelight once more, watching the light play on the younger woman’s red hair. “What is the purpose of prayer?”

Lucy considered a moment, retaking her seat on the bed across from the older woman, pulling the red flannel blanket across her lap. “I guess--to ask for something? To say--to say thank you?”

“Yes. Help me. Thank you. You are greater than I.” Griselda nodded. “These are the three purposes of prayer. Request. Gratitude. Wonder.”

“And so a spell is a prayer of request?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.” Lucy pressed her lips together.

“And who do you pray to?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you have done spells?”

“Oh. Well the book said to pray to the Great Mother.”

“Who is this Great Mother?”

“I guess I don’t know.” Lucy shrugged. “But the book said to name three women I admired.”

“And you named?”

“Jackie, Audrey, and Diana.” At Griselda’s blank look, Lucy elaborated. “Jackie Kennedy, Audrey Hepburn, and Princess Diana.”

“I do not think I know of these women. But they are important to you?”

“Well--”

“I see.”

Lucy was quiet a moment. “I pray to god sometimes.”

“But you do not believe this god of yours can provide?”

“I don’t know.” Lucy struggled with the question, tears rushing to her eyes. “I feel so--so alone.”

“A god is not a friend. It does not keep your company or answer when you call. A god connects you to the power of the earth. It tells you there are forces greater than yourself. It teaches humility and grace.”

When Lucy could not control her tears, Griselda leaned towards her, stroking a hand through her hair. “You must humble yourself before your god. Humble yourself, child. Only then will you be open to the power your god can provide.”
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Originally posted on Sun Nov 09, 2014 7:28 pm