Sunset ^beta

Celia looked into the steel-blue eyes of her husband-to-be as he tilted her chin up to examine her. The room was cold, and she shivered under his gaze as his eyes traveled from her lips to her breastbone, and then down her body slowly, as if he was examining a horse before purchase. She wore a sheer gown with just enough gauzy layers to protect her modesty, but in truth, very little was hidden.

Ambrose licked his lips. He smiled wolfishly at her, then glanced at her uncle, who oversaw the proceedings with a grim sort of fury. He had been her protector -- hers and also her sister's -- ever since their parents had died in a terrible hairdryer fire, and though tradition gave him a kind of ceremonial authority today, there was nothing he could do to protect her honor now but let Ambrose do what he would with her, because Ambrose had seen her with her hair down; had in fact contrived to walk into the room while her sister Viridia was brushing her hair.

And of course, it was her own fault for going to Viridia for brushing, rather than someone with a lock on their door. Viridia was the elder sister, but there had been a great scandal in her last year at school, something no one had ever adequately explained to Celia. Viridia's hair had been cut short as punishment, and she had become enamored of brushing her sister's hair for her, for she had barely any of her own anymore. She had never resented Celia for taking the status of sole heir, and she was much gentler with it than their uncle ever was.

On some level, she supposed, Celia must have wanted all this to happen, or else she would never have allowed herself to forget to put a chair under the door and keep unwary houseguests from wandering in. But she could not imagine why she might want to be married to Ambrose. He was very handsome, of course, but he left her cold. Oh, what she wouldn't do to go back to that moment -- she would have leapt up to lock the door, and then never had to leave the warm safety of her own room, and her sister's soothing touch.

"She will do," said Ambrose, and she saw her uncle's jaw tighten.

"Very well. The Radiant House of Helmingselmingham-Graham welcomes you," said her uncle. Celia felt her family's magic reach out to embrace Ambrose, and though it did not yet take him, she knew that would come soon enough. He would be inescapable. "You may take your leave, and complete the bond."

Ambrose took her by the elbow and led her to the nuptial chamber. As the door slammed heavily behind them, he turned her so that she faced him, her back to the bed. "Are you excited? I think you must be, my darling." He was no longer even making a pretense of looking at her face now; he saw only her body. "I have so very much been looking forward to taking what's mine." He kissed her roughly, and she felt his fingers sink into the hair wound up behind her head. "Oh, don't worry. I'll take good care of you," he said.

That morning, Viridia had carefully placed a silver hairpin in her hair; the same one that their mother had worn for her wedding. She had kissed Celia's forehead after, and told her it would bring good luck, and as Celia felt Ambrose grasp it, she wanted to cry out and force him to leave it. But she was well-bred and resisted this defiant urge, and her amber locks tumbled down around her shoulders. In that instant, she felt her family's magic accept him, even as she could not.

Ambrose stepped back, taking the sight of her in; he was breathing heavily now. "Yes. Such power here," he said, clutching her mother's hairpin in one hand, and running the fingers of the other through her long hair. "And such flesh." He grabbed her thigh, and pushed her down onto the bed violently, and she bit her lip and closed her eyes, and and braced herself for whatever might come next.

But his grip faltered, and she heard something fall to the floor, or rather, she heard two things -- something small and metal, and then, an instant later, something rather larger and heavier. Something in the magic snapped, and she dared to hope that she hadn't imagined that.

She opened her eyes and sat up. Ambrose lay crumpled on the ground, his face an unnatural green. Beside him lay the hairpin.

She did not scream. She knew she ought to, but all she could feel was relief. She nudged Ambrose's face with one toe. He did not seem to care; his face was frozen into a leer, but it looked a bit ridiculous now, rather than worrisome.

She detected the slightest creak, and looked up; the door was opening slowly. Celia tried to gather her hair back but she did not have the time to put it up just now, and --

Viridia slipped through the door, and shut it silently. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"N-no," said Celia. "Well, a little, but -- but not --"

"Good," said Viridia. Celia watched as she pulled on long silk gloves, then picked up the hairpin, wrapped it carefully in a handkerchief, and put the bundle in a small cloth bag before pocketing the bag. "Now. Let me see you," she said, sitting down on the bed next to Celia.

"But what about --"

"Don't worry about him," said Viridia, nodding with undisguised contempt at Ambrose. "We shall put it about that he got everything he wanted, and then he got everything he deserved. Mother Magic protects her own." She removed her gloves methodically, careful not to touch the fingertips with her bare skin.

"But -- but that's not --"

"Sometimes, though, we must help her along a little," said Viridia. "Let me brush out your hair, and then we'll ensure that you look the part of the unexpectedly bereaved bride."

"But he didn't get anything he wanted," said Celia, turning to face the wall so that Viridia could brush out her hair. It was very soothing.

Viridia answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "I know that, and you know that, but if he died before he was able to consummate the bond, don't you think people might suspect you had a hand in what happened? Don't you think they'll wonder if you didn't want to become his wife? There would be a terrible scandal, and after we were so careful not to make the whole thing seem rushed. You were compromised, Celia, and if anyone finds out that this bond was not true, you will be well and truly ruined, even as a widow. Just let me take care of it. I know what it's like, being ruined; you don't want it."

It was tempting to let her take care of it. "But won't they suspect --"

"They'll suspect our uncle if they suspect anybody. He would have done it to protect the family name and fortune, but he wouldn't have acted so swiftly as I did. He does not care as much for your happiness as I do. Now face forward," she said, draping Celia's hair on the bed instead of plaiting it and putting it up as she might have before. She stood from the bed, and looked Celia over. In fact, there was not much difference between how she looked at Celia and how Ambrose had looked at her, only at least she knew Viridia had her best interests at heart.

It was, therefore, a bit startling, when Viridia lunged forward and seized the top of her gown, tearing it from neck to navel in one quick motion. "What --"

"You have to look the part, Celia, I told you," said Viridia. "This is what men do when they bed their brides."

"How do you know that?" Celia asked.

Viridia smiled wryly down at her. "Do you not trust me?"

"Of -- of course I do, I only thought --"

"Some men -- wicked men, of course -- do this when they bed women they do not care to marry," Viridia said darkly.

"Oh," said Celia. She wondered if someone had done that to Viridia; if that was why she barely had enough hair to pull back into a bun. She watched in silence as Viridia ripped the rest of the gown off, and laid it open so that she was quite exposed.

"Now, the tricky part," said Viridia. "This might hurt," she warned, "but that will make it all the more convincing."

"Right," said Celia, her heart racing. What was she going to do?

"And I promise it will feel much, much better if you just let it happen," Viridia said.

With these comforting words, she parted Celia's legs, and pressed something hard and smooth -- the handle of the hairbrush -- up and into Celia. It did hurt, a great deal, and she cried out in pain. "Yes, very good, very convincing," said Viridia, smiling down at her. She thrust the handle into her again, and Celia bit back another scream. "No, no, let it all out," said Viridia, using her free hand to brush a strand of hair out of Celia's face, even as she pushed the hairbrush handle roughly in and out of her. "Think how much worse this would have been if it was Ambrose doing it," she added, as Celia blinked back tears. She paused her thrusting for a moment. "Is it hurting less?"

It wasn't, really, but she was more used to it, and Celia did not want to let her sister down, so she nodded.

"Good," said Viridia. "Let's try something a little different. It will be better, I think." She withdrew the hairbrush, and took out a little glass bottle. She poured some viscous white stuff onto two of her fingers, then leaned over Celia and thrust them into her, where the hairbrush had gone. It felt different -- slicker, and less painful. "Is it better?"

"Yes," said Celia, weakly.

It wasn't comfortable, but there was something almost good about the feeling building within her, and when Viridia adjusted the angle of her fingers slightly and rubbed up against a certain place, a sudden jolt of pleasure ran through her. Celia did not mean to make a noise at this but she did, an embarrassing low moan. "Much better, I gather," said Viridia, with a sly smile.

"Yes," said Celia, breathlessly. She could not help thrusting her hips up to increase the pressure on that sensitive place, and soon she was panting. There was a pressure building up within her, and she didn't know what would happen if it became too much. "I'm. It's -- oh," she said, as Viridia quickened her pace. "Oh, I can't, I can't. it's so much," she whimpered, and suddenly she felt the release she needed.

Viridia withdrew her fingers, quicker than Celia wanted her to, and looked her over, seeming almost proud. "Lovely," she said. "Now, stand up," she said, "and try to look upset."

Celia got to her feet, still feeling slightly wobbly. So much had happened, and she didn't understand most of it. She watched shakily as Viridia knelt by the corpse of her husband, and unbuttoned his trousers. She spent a few moments adjusting something -- whatever it was, she brought out that bottle of viscous white stuff again -- before standing and wiping her hands and the bottle off carefully with a clean handkerchief. "What's going to happen now?" she asked.

"I'm going to sneak out of here," said Viridia, "and you're going to tie your hair up with this," she said, ripping a strip off of Celia's white gown. "Then wrap yourself up in blankets, count to one hundred, and scream at the top of your lungs. When someone comes to help you, tell them he did his husbandly duties before collapsing. It will be more convincing if you're terrified."

Celia had been putting on a brave face for her sister, but if she was honest with herself she had never stopped being terrified. She nodded.

Viridia leaned in to give her a sisterly kiss on the forehead, but Celia stopped her. "When -- after this is over... could. Could you do that thing again? It... it felt nice."

Viridia gave her a thin smile. "Maybe. We'll see." She kissed her forehead, and started for the door, before pausing once more to return to Ambrose's corpse. "I almost forgot!" And she took their mother's silver hairpin -- or perhaps a perfect copy of it, for this hairpin had not been wrapped carefully in two layers of cloth, and she had handled it with her bare hands.

She put it on the floor carefully, next to Ambrose's discolored face, and then smiled at Celia. "I told you it would bring you luck."