Titania de Charbonneau Age: 22 5'1", Black hair, black eyes France, 1790 The large family of the Marquis de Saint-Meran sat clustered around the informal drawing room, their light hearted laughter filling the spacious room. His wife, Eleanor, sat next to him, watching the antics of their brood with fondness. Theirs was not a normal family. There were seven children in all, Cymbeline being the eldest. At twenty four years of age, he was nearly the mirror image of his father, with a mop of light brown hair falling over laughing green eyes. After him in age, and regarding the group with a slightly more sober expression, was Valentine. His were the features of their mother's side of the family. Slim of stature with dark hair. His gray- green eyes gave testament to his father's siring. Twenty two year old Lysander sat on the leather couch, making bets that his younger by two years brother, Tybalt, couldn't catch the eye of a certain young lady at Court. The twins, Viola and Sebastian had joined their brother in teasing Tybalt. They were eighteen and both possessed of a light blonde hair colour belonging to no one else in the family. The last member of this close- knit family walked in the door. "Well, well, little Fairy Queen. How nice of you to join us," her father remonstrated on her tardiness with a sparkle in his eyes. "Oh, Papa! The moon is so lovely out tonight, how could you expect me in!" The six year old looked to her mother for help. Out of all seven children, young Titania resembled their mother the most, both in looks and temperament. She had a mane of unruly black curls with huge, dark eyes that were nearly as black as her hair. Her skin was tanned from being out in the sun all the time. Their English mother's Gypsy blood was readily apparent in the youngest member of the Charbonneau family. Titania, being the youngest by several years, was the beloved of the family. Nearly anything she wanted, she recieved. By some miracle, the young girl remained unspoiled. The truth of it was, though the family dearly loved her, no one but Eleanor came close to understanding her. Titania was, well, odd. In their mother's home country they would call her "fey". Often times, they would wonder if perhaps Titania's youthful body didn't hide the mind of an old soul. She would make the most astute observations that seemed more likely to come from the lips of a fifty year old, rather than the young thing she was. And she had what the Gypsies caled "the Sight". She would make uncanny predictions of what was to come. It wasn't something she could control, just something that was. The family accepted this as just being Titania, as did she. To a certain extent, their mother possessed this ability, also. Which explained why the two were so close. "Well, now that our Tania has come, in to dinner we go." The noisy group followed their father's example and left the drawing room. Often, the names of their children had been remarked upon. For, it would seem, Eleanor had a great fondness for the works of Shakespeare and had insisted on naming their children. All except for Titania, that is. Immediately upon seeing the tiny babe, the Marquis had named her after the Fairy Queen in A Midsummer Night's Dream. * * * France, July 1792 The door to the library opened with a soft whoosh. Cymbeline looked up from the book he was reading. "Tania," he remarked with a smile upon his lips as he set the book down, "what brings you here at such a late hour." It was, he noted, far past his little sister's bedtime. The diminutive girl crawled up onto the leather couch to sit beside her eldest brother. Her dark eyes were shadowed. "Cym," she began without pause, "How come the Queen is so mean to her subjects?" Cym sighed to himsef. Why couldn't she have been interested in dolls like other little girls? "Marie Antoinette is not cruel to her subjects, cherie," he patiently explained. "That is only a heap of filth created by the troublemakers to smear her name." "But they starve, Cym. Why does she let the peasents starve?" She was clearly distressed. Cym's face hardened. "If they are too lazy to produce their own food, what concern of it is the Queen's? She has more important things to worry about then *them*," he said in a derisive tone. "Who have you been talking to, anyways?" "With *them*," the little girl replied, perfectly mimcking her brother's derisive tone with a mocking glint in her eyes. She should have known better than to ask Cym. He was such a product of the aristocracy. "She is going to die, you know. The King, too," she suddenly pronounced. That strange, fey look passed over her face. Cym fervently hoped it wasn't one of her "predictions". "Of course they will die, cherie. We all do, sometime," he said lightheartedly. Titania shook her head at her brother's obstinacy. "The guillotine, Cym, the guillotine." Her tiny face showed a resigned sadness older than her years. "Maman and Papa are at Court. They are in danger. Take Tybalt and fetch them home." Her older brother knew better than to question Tania when she had that look on her face. He simply nodded to her with a sad look on his face. "We'll leave in the morning." He kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, Cym." In an instant, Cymbeline's strange sister, aptly named after the Fairy Queen, was gone. * * * France, August 10, 1792 Shouting. An angry mob of women filled the streets with their cries of, "Bread! Bread! We want bread! Kill the Queen! Death to the Austrian whore! To arms citizens, to arms! Let us kill the Queen!" No way out. Trapped in Versailles. They had tried to leave, but the mob of women with their tri- coloured cockades had barricaded the doors, shouting, "Le roi s'en va!" Mon Dieu! They were inside! She could hear their feet trampling up the stairs. The door to the Queen's chamber burst open, admitting in the angry women. They clung to each other, terrified. Monsieur Miomandre, the commander of the Queen's Garde de Corps, attempted to hold the mob back with only a single musket. His cry of, "Save the Queen!" rang out in the room before he was beheaded by the sweep of a saber, his body vanishing beneath the feet of the mob. Non! Non! Mon Dieu!- Titania woke with an anguished cry, sitting straight up in bed. They were dead. Her parents. Her brother Tybalt. Somewhere out there, Cym was alive. She felt him. A wave of despair began to wash over her before she pushed it back. She had to be strong for the others. Determinedly, she dashed away the hot tears that threatened to spill out of her dark eyes. "Wake up! Wake up!" She pounded on her siblings' doors. To the sleepy inquiries, she responded, "Meet me in the library!" It was the sight of a calm Titania that greeted her brothers and sister when they walked through the door. "Our parents and Tybalt are dead," she announced without preamble. "Cymbeline still lives, although where, I know not." The news was greeted with a shocked silence. They knew better than to question their sister's statement. Viola began to sob softly, her face pressed upon her twin's chest for support. "A mob marched upon Versailles," she continued, her eyes full of grief. "It was breached early this morning. We must leave France, it is no longer safe for us here, but," she paused, her brow furrowed, "we can't leave Cym. Let us wait for a time to see if he doesn't come back." Lysander stood up, his grief quickly turning to rage. "I'll go find him," he declared hotheadedly, and turned to leave. "No!" His sister's command halted him in his tracks. "I'll not have any more of us dead. Now sit down, Lysander." He obediantly followed her order. None of them thought it strange to be following the orders of an eight year old girl. This was Titania, and she was clearly the leader in this situation. "We will wait. But be prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Take only what you can carry. Everything else must be left behind." "Where will we go?" Viola asked despairingly between sobs. "Where else? To mother's relatives." "England?" the elder sister gulped, still unable to comprehend the upheaval her life was going through. "So far..." her voice trailed away. A week later... Titania lifted up her skirts and bounded up the stairs as fast as her little legs would carry her. "Cym!" she burst through the door. There, on her father's four poster bed, lay Cymbeline, just returned. He wore an expression of pain on his face, not the only cause of which was the musket ball in his shoulder. "Tania," he said in a choked voice, his once laughing eyes dull with misery, "I lost them. Maman..Papa..Tybalt..all..gone. I failed them. I tried, really, I did. I tried," he repeated, pleading more with his conscience than his little sister. "I know you did," she crooned soothingly. "We all know." She wrapped her arms around her brother, stroking his hair as he wept unashamedly into her shoulder. "How is he?" Sebastian asked anxiously as she walked into the library an hour later. "Sleeping now. His shoulder will be fine in a few weeks. The rest of him...well we can only wait and see." "Bastards!" Lysander cried in rage, slamming his fist on the table. "Would that I could return to them what they have done to us!" His impassioned words were quelled by the look Titania sent him. "We leave in two days, as soon as Cym is able to ride," she continued, ignoring Lysander's outburst. "Collect mother's jewellry and any other carryable valueables. I've already sent the servants away with a few peices of jewellry." The eight year old continued to plot their getaway with her siblings. * * * Devon, England February, 1806 Titania strolled through the gardens of her aunt and uncle's manor home with her brother, Cym, at her side. She sighed to herself, exasperated. It was rare when Cym chose to grace the country with his presence, usually he was to busy causing scandal in Town. But when she did see him, it always the same argument that they had. "Why not, Tania? Every girl does it. It's supposed to be what you look forward to. Can't you just be reasonable for once?" "I am not every girl, and you know it," she retorted angrily. "I'm a penniless French emigre forced to live off my aunt and uncle. Not only that, but I'm already twenty two. What man in his right mind would want me?" Cym resisted the urge to strangle his sister's slender neck. "Twenty two is hardly on the shelf. So you're not a school room miss any longer." He halted in tracks and took a good look at his sister, trying to see her as would a non-relative. He whistled to himself. Good God, when had she grown up? His hoydenish little sister had turned into a stunning young woman. Didn't she realize that? "Have you looked into the mirror lately? Dammit, Tania, you're bloody beautiful! A guy would have to be a fool not to want you. You've got excellent breeding on both sides, money or no. Most of the fellows in London would jump at the chance to wed the neice of the Earl of Marston. Just one Season, Tania," he said cajolingly. "Fine," she threw up her hands in submission. "But just one Season," she warned. "After that, I'm free, right?" "Right," he said with a satisfied smile. He was fairly sure that one Season was all it would take. Titania, however, wasn't so sure at all. She knew she was odd. Many men were put off by her direct nature, the way she had of saying whatever it was she felt. Not to mention her gift for discerning things frightened many. Oh well, just one, she promised herself. On the way to London April, 1806 The luxurious coach lumbered down the main raod, it's wheels rolling over a rut in the road every so often, jostling the occupants inside. "Oh, I do so hate this mode of travel," Lady Winthrop fretted as yet another bump sent her reticule flying across the seat. "We're almost there," Titania reassured her aunt. "Now, tell me again about Almacks." The question was more to get her aunt to stop complaining than any actual curiosity about Almacks. She'd heard enough about the place already. Why should she want to hear more about some hot, stuffy club with terrible lemonade that she would attend solely for the purpose of being appraised and valued like some brood mare? Her uncharitable thoughts towards the establishment so important to Society's debutants were cut short as the announcement was made that they were stopping at way inn for a short rest. The young woman alit the coach, her aunt's prattle continuing on about having to get her vouchers for Almacks from Lady Jersey. As they took away the the coach, Titania saw something that made her heart stop. A large traveling coach rumbled on at a breakneck speed. The sight that caused her so much panic was the grubby little boy that stood in the coach's path. His eyes were wide, frozen in fear like a deer in the range of a hunter. "Stop!" she screamed in vain. The driver continued on at his fast pace. Her decision was made in an instant. She ran as fast as she could for the boy, lunging at him and knocking him out of harm's way. In a far away voice she heard her aunt screaming her name. The boy was saved, but he could only look on in horror as his rescuer was trampled by the oncoming horses. Titania screamed in an agony that lasted but a split second before everything went black. * * * Titania: Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds Some war with reremice for their leathern wings To make my small elves coats, and some keep back The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep. Then to your offices, and let me rest. Fairies sing 1st Fairy: You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; Newts and blindworms, do no wrong, Come not near our Fairy Queen Chorus: Philomele, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby: Never harm Nor spell nor charm Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. 1st Fairy: Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not near; Worm nor snail, do no offense. Chorus: Philomele, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby: Never harm Nor spell nor charm Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. 2nd Fairy: Hence, away! Now all is well. One aloof, stand sentinel. -Willaim Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream" "What fools these mortals be!" -Puck .................................................................................. April 13, 1806 A.D. London Being trampled by horses is probably not the most ladylike way to die. Your aunt surely did not approve. You're more concerned about your brother. Poor Cymbeline...he will be devestated. Your family has already lost so much, now you went and got yourself killed, saving some nameless urchin. He might give you a lecture on how inappropriate it is for young ladies of quality to leap into the path of a thundering coach to save some peasant child too stupid to get out of the way. But more likely he'll just struggle to hold back tears....unsuccessfully. Cym never really understood you, any more than the rest of your family. Valentine, Lysander, Viola and Sebastian....they will miss you terribly, just as you'll miss them.... At this point in your musings, you start to wonder how it is that you're having these thoughts at all. You remember the painful, crushing blows of the horses' hooves quite clearly, and the dreadful snap that could only have been your back breaking, followed by an impact on the back of your head that sent you whirling down into what must have been the final darkness. Yet here you are, meditating on how you died and how your relatives will react to it. So perhaps this is heaven....unlikely as that seems. You never REALLY believed in such a place. But surely you're not in--- ? You crack your eyelids, hesitantly, and find yourself lying in elegant repose, hands folded across your chest, in a confining, wooden construct that after a moment you realize must be a coffin. Fortunately unlidded. Church bells toll overhead, and while the room is for the most part too dark to see, a little light filters through a stained glass window set high on the wall. It's grey light; that and the bells tell you it must be nearly sundown, and you're in the annex of a church. Your clothes are those you were wearing on your trip to London, the ones you should have died in. They are dirty and torn, and you don't feel too clean yourself. Brushing a hand over your cheek, your fingertips come away with streaks of mud and dried blood. So they've only had time to place your body into a coffin, for transport home. Where they undoubtedly will have you properly disrobed, cleaned up, and dressed in suitable burial clothes by the undertakers. Being so close to sundown, apparently they found a nearby chapel for your temporary resting place. Cym will not be far away, then, you know that for certain. Just like you know this is going to be VERY hard to explain. <><><><><> "What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story." -Pedro Calderon de la Barca "What I have been taught I have forgotten; what I know I have guessed." -Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord <> As she tried to make out shapes in the dim light of the chapel, tumultuous thoughts tumbled through her mind. A coffin! Dear God, she was in a coffin! She should be dead, she knew it. Closing her eyes, she could replay the exact moment of her death. That barest second of certainty as a violent hoof snapped her spine. The shadow of the memory of the pain flitted through her thoughts. A pain she no longer felt. Her eyes suddenly flew open, the dark no longer a comfortable place to be. Maman, where are you when I need you? The child's need for it's mother overwhelmed her as her panic rose. Maman is gone, the cold voice of reality whispered. She fought down the rising tide of her fear, swallowing hard. Needing to be free of the trappings of death, she experimentally sat up, noticing once again the complete absence of pain. Her eyes darted around the room, praying it was unoccupied. <><><><><> [GM] The chapel is musty and dark, and no other sound stirs in it except you. Your dress is as disheveled and mangled as you'd expect after being trampled by horses and run over by a carriage; in the dim light, you can still make out a black muddy tread over the skirt, which with the weight of a carriage above it should very nearly have severed or at least crushed your leg where it rolled over. But your legs both seem whole, like the rest of you. Whoever laid you in the coffin made some attempt to bind your hair back up above your head, but the ties no longer hold your dark locks, which hang down in a tangled, matted ruin about your face. Your appearance right now would hardly impress any prospective suitor at the Almacks club. That thought almost wrenches a giggle from you, and you struggle to suppress it. Somehow, sitting in one's own coffin, tittering, is just too mad an image for you to bear. Again comes that sure but indefininable sensation which has guided you much of your life; Cymbeline is near, and in the throes of terrible grief. You're rather afraid that the sight of his dead sister walking out of the annex where she was laid (albeit temporarily) to rest, looking little better than the corpse she should be, might unhinge the poor boy. You're certain your aunt would shriek and faint on the spot. Stretching your arms experimentally, you feel no pain, not even any stiffness. Your back cracks, sending a momentary shudder of memory through you, but this is just the releasing of tension between vertebrae. Your spine is whole and unbroken. You were dead, and now you're alive. That cannot be denied no matter how you try to rationalize it away. In an earlier century, you'd fear that your reappearance would get you burned as a witch, or perhaps staked through the heart. Even now, you know that ancient superstitions still lie beneath the thin veneer of modern rationality. Whispers will follow you the rest of your life....however you manage to explain this miracle away, Titania de Charbonneau is forever after going to be the subject of supernatural dread. <><><><><> <> She closed her eyes. Why? Why was she alive? It shouldn't be so. No help for it. She might as well accept it. Somewhere nearby she could feel Cym's pain. She wanted to reach out to him, comfort him. Cym, I'm right here! I'm not dead, don't cry! She should go to him. Would it upset him more? Would her aunt be there, with him? She doubted it. Cym would want to be alone; he was so proud, too proud. And then there were _her_ feelings. She wanted to be with him. She was, quite frankly, afraid. For the first time in her life, the resourcefulness and independance that had made her the undeclared head of the family had deserted her. What would happen to her? How would they explain it? If she and Cym put their heads together, they had to come up with something. Gingerly, Titania stepped out of the coffin that was to have been hers and closed the lid. Cym, I'm coming! She removed the kid slippers from her feet and silently padded out of the room, hoping not to be seen. Following instinct, she began to search for her brother. <><><><><> [GM] As you suspected, Cymbaline is in the annex just outside the door. He is kneeling by the window, with his head resting on his arm, shoulders shaking with sobs. No one else is here; Cym would never permit himself to be seen in such a sad state, but believing himself alone, he has given himself over fully to despair. Your heart breaks at the sight of him, and you instinctively move towards him, feeling his pain and wanting to comfort him. He looks up, and sees you. His face instantly drains of all color. He slides away from the window, feet scrabbling against the floor in a momentary panic, trying to put distance between you. "Titania!" he gasps. His voice chokes. "Mère de Dieu! You cannot, it's not...." he stammers. "Dear sweet God, I do not believe in ghosts! Ma sœur bien-aimée..." His eyes overflow with tears, and for a moment he's rendered speechless. <><><><><> <> A sob catches in her throat at the sight of Cym's reaction to her. "No, Cym!" Her elfin features twist in anguish as she drops to her knees, only yards before him, in a supplicating gesture. "Cym, I am no ghost. No ghost. I am real." Her voice is hushed, yet intense. "Believe me," her voice catches. "Touch me." Titania holds out her arm to him, her eyes boring into his, begging for him to remember his little sister. Her arm reaches further. "Touch me," she pleads as crystal tears spill unchecked down her cheeks. The barest whisper. "Help me." <><><><><> [GM] Cym stares, his own face pale as a ghost. He looks at your face, dirty and tear-streaked, then at your outstretched hand, as if afraid of it, or afraid that it will fade, along with you, a hallucination, a memory. Slowly, he reaches out towards your hand. His trembling fingers touch yours. "Real," he whispers. He shivers, then looks back at your face. "Titania....oh God, oh my sister!" Then he's embracing you, fiercely, almost painfully, his arms holding you tightly as if afraid that you'll turn out to be a phantom after all if he loosens his grip, and his face is buried in your hair. You feel him sobbing, and his hot tears mingle with yours. "Titania!" he chokes. "It's a miracle! Oh God! How can this be?" <><><><><> "How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be!" -George Gordon, Lord Byron _Don Juan_ <> Tears of relief mingle with tears of sorrow as Titania hugs her brother back just as tightly. Like an uncoiling spring, she can feel the pent up tension in her body dissapate at Cym's acceptance. What would she have done if he'd run from her? It was simply terrifying to consider. She doesn't answer his question immdiately, only squeezing him tighter as soft laughter bubbles from her throat. How could she have doubted? The Charbonneau's were a family, and nothing could ever change that. They'd been through too much. As her immediate relief fades, her awareness of the situation slowly creeps back, stealing away whatever joy she'd felt. Extricating herself from his arms, she takes his hands in hers, holding them tight. With their heads bent together like school children plotting mischief, she finally answers him in a low, solemn tone. "I don't know, Cym. I- I remember the accident.." ...the crash of hooves echoed in her mind... "The horses coming down upon me. I tried to get away, but I couldn't in time." ...she could hear the little boy wailing and her aunt screaming in the background... "Nothing I could do.." Her voice trails away as she recalls her helplessness, her eyes focusing on something only she can see. She snaps back. "And then the pain-" ...Oh God, don't let me die... "And then nothing. I woke up in my- my," she chokes on the word "coffin", unable to utter it. "You know," she amends softly. "Cym, there is not a sore spot on my body. I feel as if I've woken from a night's rest." Her charcoal eyes are wide with wonder as she awaits her sibling's reaction. <><><><><> [GM] Cym wipes his eyes, rubbing them fiercely with the back of his hand. Then he's leaning close to you, his hands running over your dirt- and blood-streaked cheeks, caressing your hair. He kisses you on the cheek, hugs you again, and grasps your hand to feel it, as if suspecting its reality, and peers at you, looking closely up and down. "Titania," he sighs, trying to summon words. "You were...you were...dead." His voice catches in his throat again, and he has to pause, forcing back a renewed flood of tears. "I mean... I *saw* you, Titania. Your skull...." He lays a hand gently on top of your head, probing gently with his fingers, through your disheveled dark locks to run his fingertips along your scalp. "It was split, I could tell, and there was so much blood...." He withdraws his hand, then places his other behind your back, and moves it slowly up and down your spine. "Your back was broken," he whispers. "It was horrible....I could hardly bear to look at you, you were like a broken doll left trodden in the road." He shakes his head. "I don't know what to say, sister. I have heard of people being thought dead, only to get up during their own funeral. But not like this. It was no illusion, no dream or nightmare. I do not believe in ghosts or witches or black magic. I do not think I even believe in God or the Devil anymore." He looks at you, his eyes wide. "But I cannot think of any natural explanation for this. Surely you are not a vampire....you haven't made any pacts with Satan, have you?" His tone is light, joking, when he says this, but there's a slight tremor in his voice, too. "Oh God!" he exclaims. "We...we already sent messengers, to fetch Lysander and Valentine, and the twins...telling them about the accident, and that we were bringing your...your body, back to Devon. Telling them to prepare for...your funeral." <><><><><> <> "Pacts with Satan, Cym?" she chides, eager for an excuse to lighten the mood. To forget, even for an instant, what has happened. "Hmm, let me see..." she says, instantly breaking off at his next words. "Damme!" Her mind began spinning in circles, figuring a way out of her predicament. Now that Cym was here, and accepted her, she didn't feel so completely alone now. She felt more like the old Titania. The one who had held their family together when their parents had been killed by an angry mob in Versailles. The one who had gotten them safely out of France, before the Terror could begin. Yes, she slowly felt her old self coming back. And it was a relief, no longer being one of those weepy females, like Mrs. Radcliffes' heroines. "It was by letter, I hope, and not by word of mouth? How many people know of my..accident?" <><><><><> [GM] Cym shakes his head sadly. "Lysander and Valentine were already in London, waiting for us, as you know. I sent a man with the news, to fetch them directly. A letter has been taken back to Viola and Sebastian. We might could overtake the courier before he reaches Devon, but what's the point? *Everyone* saw it, Titania! Auntie fainted on the spot-" (As dramatically as possible, you have no doubt...) "-and everyone else in both coaches- there was another coming from the other direction- and several people on the road, and then there were all the people about as we brought you here, oh Titania, there's no way we can pretend it was all a tragic mistake, too many people *saw*!" His eyes are wide, he is almost in a panic himself, still trying to deal with your inexplicable resurrection, following so closely the shock of your death. He brushes your cheek again. "*I* don't care, Titania," he whispers, "I'm just glad to have my little sister back." He rubs what would have been more tears away with the back of his hand. "But others will. What are we going to do?" And once more your older brother, who's grown up so much faster even than you, very much a man now, looks at you helplessly, waiting for the de-facto head of the Charbonneaus to tell him what must be done. <><><><><> <> Damn, damn, and double damn! Was God playing a joke on her? To perform such a miracle and then make her life a living hell? No, there had to be some way around this. Her mind raced through every possible idea. Cym was right. Far too many had seen her, and so a cover up was out of the question. And the world would never accept a virtual ressurection. No, for Society, Titania de Carbonneau was dead. Perhaps that was it. Let her be dead. And let another rise in her place. It wouldn't be very hard. Few outside of her aunt and uncle's estate had even known her; she'd never travelled before. As long as she stayed away from Devon and her aunt and uncle. Such a harsh step, though. Leaving behind her identity forever. Sure, she'd always have her brothers and sister..but still.. "Thanks, Cym," she gives him a grateful smile for his support. "Do you think," Titania begins hesitantly, "that maybe I should just let Titania de Charbonneau stay dead? What if I was to become someone else. I could come stay with you in London?" She well aware that Cym's bachelor lodging's were highly innapropriate for a young lady, but who else could she stay with? Her only sister was married, and her husband would definately not understand. Besides, Viola lived too close to Lyndham Hall, the residence of Lord and Lady Marston, her aunt and uncle. <><><><><> [GM] Cym turns pale. "Let you stay dead?" He swallows. "Well....but what about our brothers and sister? We cannot perpetrate such a cruel deception on *them*, but....if six people know a secret, can it really stay a secret?" He sighs and slumps against the small brick recess behind him. "We'd have to go through the funeral and everything...dammit, Titania, why did you have to run in front of those horses anyways?" He runs his fingers through his hair. "Staying with me in London would be...a bit awkward. I mean, well...." he flushes. "Keeping a lady in my quarters would not be....entirely out of keeping with a certain....reputation, which I have acquired." His flush deepens, not so much embarrassment at his scandalous behavior, but at having to discuss it with his younger sister, who of course, in Cymbeline's mind, should be completely ignorant of such things, kept innocently unaware. "But what they would think about you!" He shakes his head. <><><><><> <> Titania vaguely hears the last of Cym's words completely, her mind still stuck on the 'why did you have to run in front of those horses' bit. She gapes at him, staring disbelievingly. Finally, after he stpos speaking, she gathers her wits. "Penses-tu!" she hisses in their father's tongue, wanting to yell, but not daring. She cuffs him on the ear in anger. "And leave that little boy to die!? Forgive me for complicating your life, _Marquis_," Titania says through clenched teeth, using his title in displeasure. "Allow me to hie myself off, and I will no longer be a trouble to you." Her stormy eyes glare at him before standing up to leave. <><><><><> [GM] "Titania!" Cym sputters in exasperation, wincing and rubbing his ear, then rises to grasp your arm, as you knew he would. "Don't be ridiculous!" Which is the wrong approach to take, and he knows it, after another reproachful glare from you stops him in mid-stride. He adopts a more conciliatory tone of voice. "Titania, pardonnez-moi, s'il tu plaise." He moves closer to you, leans forward to brush his lips against your dark curls. "I know....you only acted as you have always acted...rashly, with concern for others, even homeless street urchins. I cannot change you, but please forgive me if I find the fact that your tender heart led to your death, a bit disconcerting. Now in the same hour, I must cope with your death, your miraculous resurrection, and the necessity of pretending you are still dead." His shoulders slump. "We haven't much time, sister. If you wish to berate me further, can you please do so after we figure out a way to spirit you away from here, and then explain what happened to your body?" <><><><><> <> A caustic remark had, indeed, been on the tip of her tongue. But Cym's last words had stilled them. Instead, she made do with a petulant frown directed at him. She snapped her fingers. "Ah, it is easy. Throw a fit. People are used to the eccentricities of the nobility. Plus, you are a Frenchman- a froggie," she said this last in perfect imitation of the local Devon dialect. "They will believe anything of you. Listen," she leans conspiratorially closer, "say that you will not have your poor sister's trampled face shown to the world. Refuse to let the casket be opened. Have it sealed shut. Tell them you do not wish her to be remembered with a hoof print on her face. "I know you can do it, Cym," she winks at him, forgetting her earlier annoyance with him, "you're quite good at tantrums." <><><><><> [GM] "Why, that's brillaint, sister!" Cym says, adding in a lower voice, "If a bit embarrassing. Tantrums, indeed!" "Very well....but what shall you do? Sneak out and wait by the road for me to pick you up after sundown, while I take your empty casket away from here? And what after that? Shall we deceive our siblings? Oh, Titania, I don't think we can do that!" <><><><><> <> "No," she says without hesitation. "We can't keep something like that from them. It just wouldn't be..right." Never to see any of her family again? No, she couldn't do that. "We shall just have trust that even silly Viola can keep her mouth quiet about this. Besides, as if anyone would would believe them if someone did slip." She appears to think for a few moments, her brows furrowed together. The prospect of hanging about the side of a road did not appeal to her. "Listen, what if I were to wait for you in an inn closeby. I could wear some of your clothes. They wouldn't fit me, but at least I would be thought of as a boy. I could put my hair up in a hat. Carry on as normal, and on your way with the casket you can get me at the inn and we'll travel together from there. If you borrow a horse for me, I can ride to an inn between here and there. As for the future, well," she sighs, "I don't know yet. I'll have to consider the matter. Are you taking the casket to Aunt and Uncle's? If so, I obviously can't go there." She was beginning to used to speaking of her own coffin. <><><><><> [GM] "Yes, I was going to take you back to Devon," Cym says. Mastering his emotions, he goes to the door of the chapel and peeks out. "All right," he sighs, "let it be as you say. Wait here while I procure some clothes for you, then change quickly. I'll say....you are the sexton's son, and I'm sending you on....some errand." He waves his hand vaguely. This goes fairly smoothly....you're soon on a horse, wearing Cym's clothes, with your dark curls tied up and hidden beneath a hat. Cym looks you over and shakes his head and says "Try not to attract attention, or get in a conversation, sister. No one will mistake you for a boy for long, I'm afraid." He seizes your hand and holds it in a tight grip, for long seconds. Then he kisses it and releases you. "God be with you, sister," he murmurs in French. As a small knot of people, including your aunt and a priest, proceed from the road up to the church, Cym quickly retreats inside, and you hear him going into a magnificent paroxysm of weeping and wailing. You almost have to suppress a smile, as you take the circuitous route around the chapel and towards the road that will avoid passing too close to your aunt and the pallbearers. It feels almost unnatural, riding unchaperoned by yourself on the open road, but you could get used to it. You've put a little over a mile behind you when you see a small figure darting into the woods ahead of you. As you approach and slow your horse to a trot, you see a dirty, childish face peeking out from behind a bush, to watch you with the wary gaze of prey trying to camouflage itself. You make eye contact, and the boy's eyes go wide...with recognition. It's the urchin you ran in front of the horses to save. <><><><><> <> At the sight of the small figure in the trees, the small figure on horseback drew the reins in gently, slowing the equine to a halt. A smile of recognition breaks over her face. Slowly, as one would act with a frightened doe, she swings a leg clad in dark breeches over the horse and dismounts. "Why, hello there," Titania calls softly to the half hidden figure. "Please, don't be afraid- I promise not to hurt you," she smiles. "I only wanted to see how you fared after the incident yesterday." Ariel <><><><><> [GM] The boy remains wary, ready to run back into the woods at any moment, but he keeps watching you with wide eyes. "You saved me," he says, in a thick, lower-class accent. "I seen the horses run you over." He swallows. "Are you a ghost?" <><><><><> <> The smile quickly fell from her face. Oh yes, she was supposed to be dead. In the excitement of seeing the boy she'd completely forgotten. Perhaps she had wanted to forget. She smiled once again, but this smile carried within it a sadness that it had been lacking before. "No, no ghost. Here," she held out her hand to him, "see for yourself if you'd like. "No, I suppose I shall just have to say that God works in mysterious ways, for I somehow survived." <><><><><> [GM] The boy very cautiously steps away from the roadside, and approaches you, to touch your hand, watching your eyes all the time. You guessed his age at first to be 9 or 10, but you revise that estimate upward upon getting a closer look at his face. He's probably more like 12....but lack of proper nutrition may have stunted his growth. He obviously doesn't get any kind of proper care; his face is streaked with layers of dirt that could probably reveal by archeological excavation how long it's been since he last washed it, his hair is matted, and his clothes are worn and filthy. And all the while he has the same wary, hunted look you saw in the eyes of the peasants in Paris, especially in those last days before you escaped. He feels your hand, and says wonderingly "You isn't even hurt Miss...I seen the horses and coach crush you flat! If you isn't a ghost, you must be an angel!" Then a more mundane thought overtakes him. "How come you're dressed like a man?" <><><><><> <> "No, no angel," she smiles at the urchin and shakes her dark curls.. "My brothers can attest to that. At his next question, she frowns slightly. "I..I," she sighs deeply and toys with the reins in her hand. "Everybody thinks that I am dead. I think I should be. But," she shrugs, " I'm not." Before she knew what she was about, the truth came spilling out of of her mouth. She found herself telling him everything that had happened, as if once her words had gained momentum the truth would come tumbling out without pause. After she was finished she found herself looking at the boy whom she hardly knew and who she had confided everything in. Her siblings were always telling her to think before she acted, and she was beginning to think that they had the right of it. What would this boy make of it? True, he was a bit older than he had seemed at first; and he had probably lived through many hardships. But he was still only a boy. "I'm on my way," she finished, "to an inn where I may wait to meet my brother. You don't think," she added worriedly, "that my disguise is too flimsy?" <><><><><> [GM] The boy listens to you wide-eyed. "That's some story, miss," he says when you're done. He pulls his cap off and scratches his dirty scalp. "Maybe God did you a miracle 'cause of yer helpin' me. I never believed in miracles before." He inspects you critically. "You can pass for a real pretty boy, I guess, but you walk like a girl and you talk like a girl. And," he claps his chest, "your boobs is too big for that jacket. You better cross your arms over your chest or something." This brings a rush of color to your face- none of your brothers has EVER used the word 'boobs' around you! He puts his cap back on his head. "I reckon you saved my life, miss," he says. "I dunno why you'd do a thing like that, but now I owe you. Except I don't have nothin' to give you. But if you need to hide, I'm real good at that, I can show you how. And how to get past the law." <><><><><> <> Her eyes go wide as the stain of colour spreads over her cheeks. Boobs! Self consciencly she does what he suggests and crosses her arms over her chest. "Really, you don't owe me anything. I couldn't let you be run down like that, not if I could help it." She wonders what sort of life the boy has had if he already knows to hide from the law. Where were his parents, she thinks naively, to let him live like that? "Um, what exactly are the finer points of..hiding?" <><><><><> [GM] The boy grins. "Oh, there's lots of things. First you got to learn not to make yourself stand out. You can't just move down the center of the road plain as you please like you're doing now. And you look like someone on the run. Your eyes are darting about and you breathe too fast, and that's just with ME here, what are you going to do if you're trying not to be noticed by someone who's actually looking for you? You always have to *look* like you belong where you are and act like you're s'posed to be there. And you have to learn how to sneak and move quiet-like, but I can't tell you how to do that. You just got to learn it." He kicks at the dirt. "In town I know lots of places to hide, and people you can get things from, and ways to throw off searches, 'specially if you have money to spend, but you gots to be careful not to let on that you have too much money, if you know what I mean. Stick with me and I can make sure no one ever finds you. Except, beggin' your pardon, one thing about hiding is it isn't exactly cakes and linen beds, and you seem like you're sort of used to that. How bad do you want to hide?" He thinks some more. "Now if you wants to get out of the country, or become someone else, I even know where you can get papers and made-up certifieds, but that definitely takes money." His rush of words done, he adds hopefully, "I don't s'pose you packed anything to eat in your bags?" <><><><><> <> "Eat? Well, no, I haven't. Are you hungry? Would you like to ride with me to the inn? We can get some food there." But before making any movements to go, she adds, "Look, I don't need to actually hide from anyone. Everybody _knows_ where I am. Or should be, anyways. And I know that hiding isn't all cakes and linen beds," she grumbles, taking umbrage in his implication that she was sheltered. "I just need to not attract any attention while I'm waiting for my brother. But this becoming another person business. _How_ much money do you think it would be? "And how do you know so much about this stuff, anyways? Where are your parents?" <><><><><> [GM] "You'd take me to the inn?" The boy's eyes shine brightly, then he says "But they won't let ME in!" He tilts his head. "Buying forged papers is 'spensive, but it all depends how good you want 'em to be. You could spend several pounds each to get really good papers." He looks at you oddly when you ask about his parents. "How should I know?" he asks. "I never met 'em." <><><><><> <> Titania puts her hands on her breech clad hips. "And whyever wouldn't they let you inside the inn?" she asks with a mulish set to her jaw, as if used to getting her own way one way or another. Her ebony eyes scan the youth's less than sparkling appearance and her stubborn look quickly changes to one of hope. "Oh, well, perhaps they'll allow us to bring the food outside." An "O" of surprise forms upon her lips at the boy's remark about his parents, as if she had never considered that one could never know one's own parents. "I'm," she clears her throat awkwardly, "I'm sorry." Sensing that this was a personal thing and none of her business, she quickly drops the subject, although a spark of pity leaps to her eyes before she can help it. "Well," she breathes deeply, "shall we?" Her small hands indicate the horse. "We can both ride, Audrey," she states as she pats the mare. "That's what I named her. It rather fits don't you think?" As an afterthought, she adds, "Have you ever ridden a horse before?" <><><><><> [GM] The boy shrugs. Then blinks when you ask your question. "Me? Ride a horse? Hell no!" (It's hard to get used to such language coming from a child!) "I've snuck onto the back of a carriage or two, but I ain't never been on the back of a horse." He doesn't seem averse to trying it, though, and you quickly mount him on the saddle in front of you, and begin trotting down the road towards the inn. <><><><><> <> As the horse trotted down the road, Titania breifly wondered just how long it had been since the boy had taken a bath. Shame on you, she scolded herself. The poor thing probably hasn't in..well..days. He was obviously an orphan, the poor mite. What had happened to his parents? Something tragic. His parents murdered by an unscrupulous relative? Perhaps they they had been the unfortunate victims of a terrible illness, leaving the young child to fend for himself. In the midst of her mental ramblings, a thought occured to her. "Oh my! Do you know, I haven't even introced myself. Shame on me," she said as politely as if she had been in a drawing room. "I am, or was," she amended ruefully, "Titania de Charbonneau. What is your name? And how are you finding the ride?" <><><><><> [GM] "Uh, my name's Tim," the boy mutters, perhaps abashed at having so few syllables to compare with yours. "Oh, the ride's all right. I didn't think it would be so bumpy." He squirms awkwardly on the saddle. Getting the boy a bath and some new clothes is running a close second, for things you'd like to do, to getting him some food (not to mention yourself, you're getting quite hungry), as the inn comes into view. As Titania de Charbonneau, you could walk right through the front doors, and in moments everything you need would be getting arranged for you without your having to lift a finger or offer any explanations. However, as an alleged boy, accompanied by another, even less presentable boy, things are bound to be a bit more complicated. <><><><><> <> So lost in thoughts of food was she, that it wasn't until she dismounted that the problem before her was discovered. Would they let her in? And worse, would they take one look at her and realize that she was no boy? Horror of horrors! She wished fervently that she could just send Tim inside. But no..at least she was clean. They would never accept him inside in a million years. Her heart began doing flip flops inside her breast as the prospect before her loomed. Yet, it was in a steady voice that she instructed Tim to wait outside with the horse. Somehow, Titania managed to keep her hands from trembling. She halted after her first steps. She *did* walk like a girl. In her mind, she conjured up a picture of Cym. How did Cym walk? After the next few steps, she quickly gave up on the idea of walking like a man. The sight, she was sure, must be quite ridiculous. Titania surreptitiously glances back at Tim, expecting to see him laughing. Taking a deep breath, she yanks her cap farther down over her face and walks inside the building, her head down as far as it can be without fear of walking into something. **Pretend that you belong here,** she instructs herself as she heads for the taproom. <><><><><> [GM] Tim doesn't laugh at you...instead, he is already slipping off the horse and into the shadows, out of sight. No one stops you at the door, and a couple on their way out, no doubt to take in the countryside, walks right past you without giving you a second glance. In the taproom, men are drinking and smoking and engaging in jovial conversation. Your imagination suggests that all eyes must be on you as you enter the room surruptitiously...surely there is practically a glowing nimbus around you proclaiming "Here is a GIRL, masquerading as a BOY!" But no one seems to notice you at all. <><><><><> <> The dark eyed figure of the slender boy stood in the entrance way just inside the taproom and licked his lips nervously. The hesitation lasted only a moment before the youth seemed to come to some sort of decision and walked farther inside. His eyes cast about for a serving girl. He wore non descript clothing that seemed a few sizes to big. Nothing unusual about the lad. Unless one choose to look closer. Surely no boy would have such an enticingly femine curve to the hip. Titania knew this. She could well imagine one of the patrons in the inn standing up and shouting, "Girl!" As if it were some form of sacrelige to pose as the other sex. The stronger sex. Her fear quickly melted, to be replaced by that indomitable courage that had seen her and her family to England's shores. Boldly, she sat at an empty table and signaled a serving girl. "Beggin' your pardon, miss," she tried to keep her face down as low as she could without suspicion, "but I should like to purchase a loaf of bread and some cheese. And a tankard of cider," she added, for she was inordinately thirsty. It was only a pity that she had no way of carrying drink back to Tim. <><><><><> [GM] "Yes sir." The serving girl bobs her head, and goes off to fetch your bread, cheese and cider. As she sets it down in front of you, she looks at you with slight curiousity. You don't *think* it was more than curiousity, though. Nonetheless, you watch her and the other patrons of the inn nervously while you eat. You seem to be waiting forever, and in fact, some of the serving staff are glancing at you with increasing frequency, probably wondering why a lone boy is sitting by himself at a table all afternoon. Finally, just as you're sure you're going to have to leave, or order more food, or do something to avoid exposure, Cymbeline appears in the doorway. He looks around, spots you, and says "Ah...there you are!" He smiles and nods reassuringly to the innkeeper, mutters something to him, and comes over and takes a seat at your table. "Well, Sister," he mutters in French. "You seem to have done well enough in passing yourself off as a boy, though looking at you myself I can hardly believe it." He pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at his eye. You notice he's managed to get his eyes nicely reddened with melodramatic tears. "They fell for it, all of it. Your coffin is in the carriage outside. I managed to rid myself of all but George and Ben, and they're Auntie's servants, and don't know you very well. So I supposed we can get you out into the coach. We'd best have a better plan in mind by the time we reach Devon, though." <><><><><> <> Thank goodness Cym was here! Every glance directed her way had begun to feel like a launched arrow that connected squarely with it's target. Herself. And now she could leave this place. But before they left, something had to be dealt with, something that she'd pondered whilst waiting for her brother. "Yes, I'm sure I'll think of something on the way," she replies somewhat distractedly to Cymbeline. Titania leans toward her brother, a serious expression upon her face. "Listen, Cym," she begins hesitantly, "how would you feel about having another passenger?" Before her brother can utter a single objection, Titania rushes on, not pausing for breath until the entire story is out, "His name is Tim and he's the boy that I saved from the rushing coach, he's real nice and he has no parents, I don't think he eats very often because he doesn't have a home, the poor mite, I want to give him clean clothing and a roof over his head and regular meals, think how terrible it would if I went to all the trouble to save him from an oncoming coach and the poor thing were to die from the cold and malnutrition anyways? and he says that he knows how one would go about accquiring a new identity, which is what I might have to do, you know, and can we keep him, please?" She halts her breathless rush of words abruptly and turns her pleading brown eyes upon her hapless brother. <><><><><> [GM] Cym's mouth drops open. He continues staring at you in amazement, even for a few long moments after you've finished speaking. Finally: "'Can we keep him'?" he repeats slowly. "Mon Dieu, Titania, a child is not like a cat one takes home to set on your pillow..." He shakes his head. Then holds up his hands, looking imploringly towards heaven. "Why do I bother? I know you'll refuse to set foot outside this inn until I accede to this latest whim of yours. Fine, go retrieve this urchin of yours, but *you* are responsible for seeing to it that he behaves! How did I ever get such a willful, headstrong sister! Even after dying you are determined to drive me mad!" With a resigned expression, still muttering to himself, he precedes you outside. The coach with two attendants waits- the coffin sitting atop it sends a strange shiver down your spine. You can't see Tim; no doubt he's well hidden somewhere nearby. <><><><><> <> As Cym speaks, a brilliant smile forms upon Titania's face. It was a smile that said, "I knew you were going to give in, but you won't regret it." As soon as he finishes, she gives him a big hug and a smacking kiss upon the cheek, an impulsive gesture which nearly sends her hat flying, along with her disguise. Titania flushes and looks around the room guiltily, positive that her action would give away her secret. She quickly looks back at her brother and flashes him an impish grin while fishing out a handkerchief that she remembered being in her coat pocket. Upon it's discovery she wraps it around the bread and cheese that she'd saved for Tim and follws Cym out the door. The sight of her coffin sends chills creeping down her spine and quickly ends the merriment she'd been having at her brother's expense, but she quickly averts her eyes and looks for Tim. Where could the little scamp have gone? "He's around here somewhere, Cym. Wait here a second." Titania slowly walks off in the direction she'd seen the boy dissapear. "Tim!" she calls in a loud whisper, "I'm going to eat your food if you don't show yourself!" There, that should bring him out. <><><><><> [GM] Ignoring the odd looks your sudden burst of affection elicits from the other customers in the inn, you proceed outside. Cym stands next to the coach, sighing heavily as you go looking for Tim. There's a rustle in the nearby hedge; a dirty face emerges from the dense foilage. Tim eyes the bundle in your hands covetously. "Like luring a wild animal in from the forest!" Cym mutters, behind you. Tim grimaces as he extracts himself from the prickly branches and climbs out of the hedge. Approaching you cautiously, he gestures behind you at your brother. "Who's that?" he asks. <><><><><> <> Titania throws her brother a dirty look at his comment before turning back around and catching sight of the urchin she now considered under her protection. Her brother Valentine had once told her that her heart was too big for her own good. That had been after she'd taken in a hurt racoon and then gotten bitten for her troubles. Maybe he had been right. She wouldn't be in this whole mess if she hadn't tried to save a little boy that she hadn't even known. But she couldn't help how she was, how she felt. If she could do it again, she would still save Tim. And she had to try and help him. How could she live with herself, sitting in her nice, warm house with plenty of food, while Tim might be starving to death, or worse? Couldn't Cym understand? Titania holds out the wrapped food for Tim to take. "That is my brother, Cymbeline. He's harmless, don't worry. Tim, I was wondering," she paused for a moment, wondering how best to approach him, "..you seem to know so much about this identity business...I couldn't possibly remember it all myself. Would you come with me..us? It would be such an enormous help if you could. And we'd feed you, give you a warm place to stay...what say you?" she smiles at him encouragingly. <><><><><> [GM] Tim almost snatches the food from you, and tears into it eagerly. He looks up at you wide-eyed, mouth stuffed full and bread crumbs dribbling down his chin, as you make your offer. He stops chewing for a second, pauses, then swallows with a great gulp. "Are you playing a trick?" he asks warily. "You want me....to come WITH you? To your HOME?" His eyes narrow suspiciously. "I've heard tell of rich folks who take beggar-children in off the streets, and it ain't fer tellin' 'em how to find forgers." Then he looks down at the loaf of bread and cheese in his hands, perhaps pondering the generosity you've shown him already. Not to mention your saving his life. When he looks up, his expression is a little less hardened; he seems almost wistful. "Beggin' yer pardon Miss Titania, you seem real nice an' I can't believe you'd be some kind of a.....weird'o." He looks past you, at your brother, who's standing just within hearing range, hands on his hips, staring at Tim as if the boy was a bug he had just distastefully fished from his soup and laid on the tablecloth. "I ain't so sure about HIM, though...." Tim mutters. Cym makes a peculiar choking sound, and turns away, pressing his fingertips to his face and temples. <><><><><> <> "Of course I'm not a wierdo," she states matter of factly with a bright smile, wondering what exactly he meant by "wierdo". "And don't you worry about my brother. He's perfectly happy to have you along. He just has a peculiar way of expressing his feelings." This last is said with a warning look tossed in Cym's direction. "Well," Titania continues briskly, as if Tim had already decided to come with them, "we really should be on our way. Brush those crumbs off your shirt and we'll be on our way." She beckons for him to follow as she heads for the carriage.