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I’m in the Nether, again. T‘s hard to focus, like I been here forever and can’t escape. My mind feels fuzzy and the heat isn helping, like my brain was left to dry in a smoke house over night. Well, it’s not like there’s a night or day here. There’s just darkness, ghasts, despair and such.
It would be so easy to stop the heat once and fer all… After all I did it before. No that’s not possible. I’m still here, so I can’t have done it before.
That’s strange… I... I gotta think! DAMNIT, WHO CAN THINK WITH GHASTS MOANING ALL THE TIME!
I… arh, I just want to rest at this point… I want it to stop.. I know what to do… This ledge.. it’s just over there, so familiar. It’s easy, I did it before. Just gotta… step over just like this… and… fall…
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Biakko rests for a moment, out of breath. The straw cushioned her fall of course, but only so much. She grunts in frustration and shuts her eyes, trying to untangle memory from nightmare, once again. The dream is so vivid, it is always the same patchwork of twisted memories and sometimes seems more real than her actual memories.
She threw herself so many time down the balcony, Gaston piled up a mountain of straw after she hurt her shoulder once.
It helps to not get hurt, but it’s also a constant reminder that she’s a bit crazy… Biakko scowls at herself, refusing to give in to shame. Not very productive, shame. Hard work is much better. Better get back to it. She removes most of the straw from her tangled hair with her fingers, adjusts her tunic and makes her way back to the entrance, and up to her study, groaning in pain with every step.
In her office, the candle clock is only half burnt, indicating it is less than an hour before dawn. Once again, she barely got any sleep.
She sits back at her desk where she had fell asleep, picks up a fountain pen and bends over her work, a second design for Chester-le-Ford’s town hall. A master piece, a towering, 4 stories, delicately carved sandstone and polished andesite building with beautiful arches, a six meters tall fireplace mantle, the finest acacia floors, a great library, and a large indoor fountain, and sculptures too.
Completely absorbed by her work, she doesn’t hear the door being pushed open and violently jerks up when her daughter speaks.
“Mother, how are you? Mr Shepherdson tells me he saw walk back in this morning, did you have one of your nightmares again?”
“Ah Liserett… erh, yeah, how are ye my girl? I did not know ye were back from erh.. to Chester-le-Ford.”
“From Gallen Mother, I went to represent you as Chester-leFord’s founder and lead architect, Duke Nicholas is enquiring of the progress in terms of town’s expansion.”
“Ah, yes, thank ye.”
Liserett frowns. “Is that all?”
“Erh… well done, I am proud of ye”
“Please spare me your pride, Mother. Do you know how many workers are left in Chester-le-Ford out of the sixty-seven families of settlers who came to seek their fortune in this promising land? Eleven. ELEVEN! You have this… this ridicule shelf of hundreds and hundreds of plans, what do you make of them?”
“Ah erh.., yes, Liserett, talking about the plans, I do need more parchment paper, I am down to a dozen sheets.”
“Do you even hear what I’m saying? Mrs Jamie, the artisan who made this parchment, moved out two months ago. PEOPLE ARE LEAVING. There’s no Chester-le-Ford now, it’s just a joke, an aborted project, a sad tale. It should be a county now, with a bustling market, settlers flowing in, exotic goods flowing out, but what do we have instead? A gorgeous villa with a quarter of the staff it really needs to maintain it. A watch tower with a single guard who is supposed to cover day and night on his own. An inn, out of business, that is for sale for dirt cheap because there is no one to spend money in it. A stable with the finest horses of the region, stuck in their stalls, their quality wasted in this ghost town. Oh, and plans. So many plans, BUT YOU WON’T BUILD THEM. YOU’RE RUINING THIS TOWN, OUR NAME AND MY FUTURE!”
Biakko stares at Liserett in silence, her mouth slightly gaping. Where her daughter got all this fury from is a mystery. So much anger, and not an ounce of poise was lost. It’s fascinating.
“Liserett... This... is mostly… what ye say is true. But ye’re doing good for us, ye're invited to all these balls, and weddings and coronations and such, and ye sit on these councils and ye.. ye’re seventeen years old and ye’re so..”
“I’m sixteen years old Mother, not seventeen, and I get myself invited, we are no longer important enough to just get invited effortlessly. The Empire is expanding and others certainly demonstrate more eagerness than you do. Our House has some social duties and someone has to fill them if our name isn’t going to fall into oblivion, but you’re not helping! Get out there, go see the two stonemasons and the single carpenter we have left, and take one of your plans, get out there and build! Just show that you care! I must take care of the books, of our social duties, of representing our name, town and interests in Gallen, of our suffering imports and exports, and of convincing Mr Collins to not leave Chester-le-Ford.”
“Mr Collins wants to leave? But... he’s our only healer now… I need his medication…”
“What do you expect? A healer of his skill would make a very comfortable living anywhere in the Empire. Well, that is anywhere there are people requiring his services. You know natives don’t trust our medicine, to them, cactus juice is the cure to everything. Mr Collins cannot live off the tiny, and dwindling population of Chester-le-Ford.”
Biakko gazes down, at her plans, and stares without a word for a moment. She looks up to Liresett, still standing in front of her desk. Then takes a deep breath… and releases it, still silent.
“Or you could step down,” continues Liserett, “you could ask for someone else to take over and become the lead architect. You already abandoned, it’s just a formality isn’t it? I’ll just go and marry some lowly noble if I’m lucky, and pretend I’m still somebody. Would you like that?”
This seems to hit a nerve. Biakko’s features are now hardened, she frowns slightly, opens her mouth to say something… but then shuts it again, and turns her gaze toward a window. After a moment, she stiffly lets out “I am Chester-le-Ford’s founder, it is me project.”
She picks up her pen and proceeds to edit her town hall plan. The conversation is over.
“Very well, as you wish Mother.” With this icy statement, Liserett exits and heads toward the healer’s hut in the natives’ village.
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Lady Liserett of the House O'Kleefe
Countess of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria
Deputy Minister of Hermertian History
Appointed Minister of Wysterian Architecture
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