Chương 18: Water and Fire

I ran, and ran, and ran. I didn't really care where, just… away from it all. I didn't care that the road felt rough and strange against my bare feet. I didn't care that my muscles burned, and I certainly didn't care that people might see a mad lady running through the streets in her nightgown. I hated Cinderella. Then I loved her. Then I lost her. Stupid. I'm so incredibly stupid. Stupid and pathetic. Like a naive little girl, with my silly, fragile feelings.

I knew about the Repetition, so why did I let myself get attached to anyone at all? Oh, I knew why. Because even a small kiss on the cheek made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Truly, pathetic. What was wrong with me? I shouldn't get close to anyone! Not to Cinderella, not to Josephine, not even to that blasted Suzy. Yes, I was such a pitiful girl that my feelings could be hurt even by a rodent! Would you believe it? I needed to be the mean, spiteful thing I was before.

That suited me just fine, especially as long as I was trapped in this cursed Repetition." Hah... hah..." I gasped, my lungs burning as I finally ran out of air.

"I... can't... run anymore," I announced to no one, clutching my side as a sharp pain stabbed at my stomach. I looked around. Where was I, anyway? Oh, I could see the sea from up here. It wasn't that far from home. What was it Mother used to say about the beach? That the hot sun would turn my skin the color of brown peasant, that the salt air would ruin my hair, and that if I dared get in the water, I would be beaten, as it was thoroughly unseemly for a young lady.

Well, that was exactly where I was going right about now. I stumbled down the hill. I fell and scraped my knees, but I didn't care. I scrambled back up and continued my descent. As the salty wind whipped across my face, a sudden, breathless smile broke through my tears. An overwhelming feeling of freedom washed over me. The sadness was scrubbed away by the sea breeze. Yes, not everything was bad. The world was mine, and I was free to do as I pleased.

And if I wanted Cinderella to like me, I would just buy her that silly fruit tart that had brought her to tears. Simple. I reached the beach. I could see a few boats bobbing in the distance, but the shore itself was entirely empty. It was the first time I had ever been to the beach in my life. Every sight, smell, and sensation was entirely new to me, and despite my newfound bravery, I felt hesitation. First of all, there was the sand. It was so… yellow. And incredibly soft.

I stepped onto it, and it felt really nice. The warm, fine grains shifted and molded perfectly to the arches of my bare feet. I bent down and grabbed a handful, letting the dry sand sift pleasingly through my fingers like an hourglass. And the shells! They were sold as jewelry in town, but who knew they were this incredibly abundant? They were literally everywhere, scattered across the tideline! It was as if a master craftsman had molded them from delicate clay. Some were really, truly pretty!

Then, there was the water. The waves came and went, looking entirely different this close up. They rushed forward, bubbling and frothing like spilled champagne, leaving little translucent critters darting in the wet foam. A larger wave suddenly rushed up the shore, washing fast toward my toes.

"Eek!" I shrieked, jumping back out of instinct. Then I laughed aloud. The silly wave couldn't hurt me. Should I actually go in? Of course. That was the whole point of coming down here. But wait... wouldn't the salt water burn my wounds? After all, Lucifer had left a deep cut on... I paused, lifting my hand. There was nothing on the back of it. It's silly I didn't check it before, but of course. The repetition made my entire body return to exactly how it was two days ago. So even if I die…? Maybe…

maybe it is best not to test that particular theory just yet. But I also realized something else: this meant I could never physically train or build muscle. If my skin returned to how it was, my muscles would too. I would always remain physically weak in the Repetition. Yet, of my many, many flaws, being weak was the least concerning. Being ugly and having the grace of a toad was always a far more pressing issue. But none of my flaws mattered right now. I was alone. I cared not what anyone thought of me anymore.

I was free. I stepped my bare feet into the shallow water, feeling a delightful tingling sensation. It was wonderfully cool, a perfect contrast to the warmth of the day. As the water receded, my feet sank an inch into the wet sand. Taking a deep breath, I waded deeper. Step by step, I hesitated, shivering slightly as the water crept up my calves, giggling to myself like a madwoman the whole time. When the water reached my knees, I boldly sat down. The water rose to my chest.

I tentatively touched a wet finger to my tongue—so incredibly salty! I began to splash and slap the water with my palms like a little child. This was fun. Now, I wanted to swim, just like I had seen those fishermen children do. My family had always laughed at them doing peasant things, but secretly, I had always wanted to try it. It looked like flying, in a way. And from watching them, it looked incredibly easy. Still, I would be careful.

I would stay only chest-deep, so if I failed to swim, I could just stand back up. I walked a little deeper. Whenever a small wave approached, I gave a little hop to avoid it splashing my face—a sensation I quickly discovered was highly unpleasant. Now, I would jump and stroke with my hands to try and stay afloat. Jump. Stroke. Back to the ground. Good. Jump. Stroke, more strokes…. back to the ground. Jump. Stroke, stroke, even more strokes... and back to... Back to the…! Glub... The ground wasn't there!

Blast and damnation! I panicked. The seabed had definitely been there a moment ago! Where had it gone?! I thrashed and stroked with all my power to keep my head above the surface.

"AHAHA! HELP!" I yelped.

"HEMLFMFL—" A mouthful of seawater cut me off. I waved my arms frantically. I was drowning! And there was absolutely no one here! I had to get back to the shallows! I kicked with all my might, but I could barely keep my chin above the water. And... did it look like I was somehow getting further from the shore? Was I imagining it? How could the sea pull me away?! I needed to... I must... hold on... I stroked and stroked, but I felt my strength leaving me with terrifying speed. My muscles ached. I was so weak.

I always was. I had no way out of this. I swallowed a lungful of water. It burned like acid. The panic was absolute, a crushing weight in my chest. I cried, the tears mixing with the sea. I was going to die. I hoped the Repetition would work and save me. But even if it didn't, maybe that was fine too. My life hadn't been that wonderful, to be perfectly honest. I couldn't keep my head above the water anymore. I sank beneath the waves. It hurt, and the bright blue world above began fading into cold, dark black. I...

I did want to live. I didn't want to die! Really, I truly didn't!......

"I'm sorry if Your Highness objects to an early breakfast." I heard Cinderella calling Lucifer behind my door. Oh... oh, good... thank heavens! The Repetition worked. I stared at my bedroom door, but strangely, I saw a red light shining beneath the door slit.

"But you must eat," Sinderella continued,"you must separate the flesh from the spine in them humans..." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"WHWHAAAA—!" I bolted upright, my throat raw and burning with a desperate, agonizing need for AIR! I NEED AIR! MUST GET AIR! CAN'T— I violently threw up a lungful of hot, salty water onto the sand. I coughed and hacked, my entire body convulsing. And then finally SWEET, BURNING AIR. It flooded my lungs, painful and magnificent. I stayed like that for a moment, just breathing. My chest heaved as the realization hit me: I was alive. I wasn't dead. I was really, truly alive.

My eyes cracked open slowly, my lashes fluttering as the dark fog in my head started to clear. The first thing I saw was a prince's face. And he was very close. My gaze locked on his mouth first. A full lower lip, soft-looking, with a tiny faded scar sat at the right corner, barely noticeable. Then my eyes followed the line of his jaw. Strong, straight, perfectly carved—no extra softness. It was honestly the perfect jawline. Then, his nose. His perfectly... crooked, bent nose? No, no, no. That was no prince!

My senses snapped back, and I scrambled backward through the sand. I was on the beach. And I was alone with a stranger—a man who was most definitely not a prince. Had he tried to steal a kiss from me by pretending to be a prince?!

"Hey, it's alright," he said slowly, waving a hand in a calming gesture.

"You're safe now. Are you... angry?" I was, actually, quite angry. I still felt somehow tricked by him. But... thinking more clearly about the situation, he hadn't actually pretended to be a prince. And, well, he was clearly the one who had just saved me from drowning. The second thing to cross my mind was how I must look in front of this mostly handsome male stranger. I looked down at myself, instantly covered my chest with my arms, and let out an involuntary shriek.

I was in my nightgown, soaking wet, without a corset or petticoats. Worse still, the seawater had rendered the thin fabric completely translucent. Heavens! I was practically naked! My face flashed scalding red. Should I slap him? No, no, that wasn't his fault. And he had saved my life. But to save me, he had to swim out, hold me, and pull me to the shore. Which meant his strong, muscular arms had to wrap around... where, exactly?

I tried to picture it, running through all the possible variations of how he might have held my unconscious body.

"Are you... alright, miss?" he asked again.

"Mind your manners!" I snapped, pulling my knees to my chest.

"You ought not to look at a vulnerable lady with that sleazy stare of yours!" I had actually meant to thank him for saving my life, but I was still a bit confused. He only laughed.

"Does my stare look that sleazy?"

"Quite so," I sniffed. I let a long moment pass before sighing.

"But I shall overlook this indiscretion. And... thank you... for... saving me."

"You are most welcome," he said with a terribly pretty smile. Then he stood up.

"Apologies, Miss, but I must take my shirt off to wring the water out." He politely turned his back to me, pulled his soaking wet shirt over his head, wrung a gallon of seawater out of the fabric, and pulled it back on. It was proper of me to look away during this display of undressing. I obviously didn't. He then turned to a neat pile of garments he had obviously left on the dry shore before diving in to rescue me.

First, he pulled on his tall boots, then a thick leather belt that held a pistol—a beautiful thing of polished steel and brass that glowed like pure gold in the sun. Finally, he placed a rather silly Shako hat upon his head. Ah! I had been rescued by a gentleman in uniform! The absolutely perfect way to start a scandalous romance! I already wanted to tell everyone all about it... oh, right. I had no one to tell. Not really.

He also picked up a dark, forest-green woolen coat with polished silver buttons, which he stepped forward and politely offered to me. Well, a true gentleman, indeed. I gladly took it and wrapped myself tightly in the heavy, dry coat, finally covering my sheer nightgown. It wasn't cold or anything, but I obviously couldn't walk all the way back to town in my soaking wet nightwear.

Of course, if I hadn't drowned myself, and wasn't saved by a handsome gentleman, I would still be in my wet nightgown, and I would need to walk back to town without the coat to hide in, because I was stupid. But now I have a fine gentleman to help me. Drowning was a brilliant move! I wonder… I can probably fake drowning in the next repetition! Just swim out, flail about, and pretend to faint when he comes to my rescue. I felt a flutter of excitement just imagining it. It was a great idea.

"Do you live close by, miss?" he asked.

"Shouldn't a gentleman introduce himself before inquiring about a young lady's whereabouts?" I replied haughtily, lifting my chin.

"Oh, but of course," he smiled, looking at me as though every serious thing I said was a private joke. He tipped his hat.

"Lieutenant Bastien Morel. I serve His Majesty's Customs, commanding this coastal sector."

"Customs, you say…" Damn. I didn't actually know what that word meant, and I couldn't ask and look stupid.

"Mostly, I try to catch English smugglers," he helpfully supplied.

"They try to sneak in shipments of cotton, sugar, and tobacco by boat at night without paying a single sou of tax to the Emperor."

"Oh, like a tax collector with a pistol!" I offered.

"Not… not exactly.." Now he didn't smile at all.

"And you, Miss? Who might you be?"

"Drizella Tremaine, daughter of Lady Tremaine." And a time goddess!

"Well, Miss Tremaine," he said, offering his arm.

"Shall I escort you home?" How generous of him. Of course, as an officer of the law, it was practically his sworn duty to aid a damsel in distress such as myself. Also, he probably just wanted to make sure he got his expensive coat back.

"No."

"No?" Think... think...

"My chateau is... too far," I lied.

"And, well, I am already terribly fatigued. I... probably wouldn't survive the journey."

"You... wouldn't?" He looked thoroughly confused. I confess, I was not the most natural liar.

"I actually live quite close to here," he said after a moment of consideration.

"My sister lives with me. She isn't home at present, but we do have a housekeeper. We could loan you one of my sister's gowns."

"Why, thank you, Lieutenant," I smiled. I didn't really have a plan, nor did I know what I wanted. I just knew I didn't want to go home, and I truly didn't mind spending a bit more time with this Bastien Morel fellow. As he straightened up and shook the remaining sand from his trousers, the sun caught the gleaming metal of his pistol.

"It's pretty," I noted, pointing at the weapon. It was the first time I had ever seen one this close.

"May I...?" It took Bastien a very long moment to consider the request, but eventually, he drew the pistol and handed it to me. Heavy! The weight of it immediately dragged my hand down; I needed both hands just to hold it comfortably. It was obvious he took great care of it; the metal was clean and shiny as jewelry. But beneath the polish, it was a deadly weapon. Unlike a sword, a pistol didn't rely on a person's physical strength, only their skill.

If I had one of these, and learned how to use it, I would be as powerful as any man, regardless of my pathetic physical weakness. If I aimed one of these at Mother, she would plead for mercy. She wouldn't dream of lifting a finger against me.

"A Model IX flintlock cavalry pistol, in service since 1801," he provided.

"A beautiful piece indeed. They shortened the barrel and simplified the lock—it's faster to draw and far less likely to jam in the heat of a skirmish than the clumsy pistols of old."

"I see," I said, genuinely impressed.

"Could you... show me how you shoot it?"

"We should probably get going," he said, gently taking the heavy pistol back from my hands." You are getting cold already, no?" I desperately wanted to see him shoot it. By watching, maybe I could learn how it was done.

"Oh, but please, sir," I pleaded, widening my eyes and putting on a frail voice.

"You see, I am so terribly rattled and scared out of my mind! I truly did almost drown; I even saw the other side!" That was true enough. I vividly remembered the horrific, demonic dream I had right as I was passing out, and I gave a genuine shudder.

"So you see," I continued dramatically, "I am shaken to my very core! But if I know for certain that I am with a capable officer, one who can truly fire a pistol to defend us, I shall feel at ease. I'll know that nothing can hurt me as long as a man of true power is my protector..." He looked at me with a baffled expression, then threw his head back and laughed.

"Fine. If it is that important to you." Yes! It worked! Yippee! He then looked carefully all up and down the empty beach.

"We are far enough from town not to alarm the other folk with the noise."

"Oh, and you may as well explain what you're doing," I added quickly.

"If you wouldn't mind, I mean."

"Watch closely," he said, holding the pistol between us.

"First, we bring the hammer to half-cock," he explained. I watched him pull the hooked metal striker back until it locked with a distinct clack.

"This is the safety position, where the trigger won't engage and fire accidentally." I nodded vigorously, committing every detail to memory.

"Now, the cartridge." He pulled a paper tube from a pouch, bit the tip off, and spat the paper scrap onto the sand.

"We must prime the pan." He poured a pinch of the black dust into a small, shallow shelf on the side of the mechanism, then snapped the little steel cover shut.

"The rest of the charge goes down the barrel." He poured the remaining powder down the long muzzle.

"And then the ball," he continued, and shoved the paper with the heavy lead ball in after it. Drawing a thin steel ramrod from beneath the barrel, he packed it tight with two sharp strokes.

"Finally, full-cock." He pulled the hammer back further. It clicked sharply, ready to strike. He raised the pistol toward the horizon, and I braced myself for the noise. Instead, he lowered the barrel and looked at me with a faint, encouraging smile.

"Want to shoot it?" I blinked in utter surprise, my heart suddenly racing in my chest.

"Truly?"

"Yes, you seem enthusiastic enough." He placed the pistol back into my hands.

"Lock your elbow," he instructed, stepping to my side.

"Keep your arm straight, and keep your face away from the lock—the sparks will fly. If you hold it loosely, the recoil may break your wrist or the barrel may strike your forehead. Grip it like you mean it." He pointed to a stack of washed-up driftwood ten paces away.

"Try to hit that." I leveled the barrel, squinting at the wood. I realized a massive, wicked smile was spreading across my face. I pulled the heavy trigger. The flint struck the steel. A shower of bright sparks flashed near my ear, followed instantly by a deafening CRACK! And the heavy pistol kicked back like a wild mule against my palm. Through the thick, sulfurous white smoke, I saw the driftwood splinter and collapse into pieces.

"YES!" I all but screamed.

"Did you see that?! I hit it!" The boom, the smoke, the shattered wood—I loved all of it! I was so thrilled I jumped up and down with excitement, paying absolutely no mind to how incredibly unladylike I must have looked.

"A direct hit," Bastien smiled, giving a slow nod of approval.

"Very good." He took the smoking pistol from my hand and tucked it safely back into his belt.

"Now we really must head out," he said.

"Do you... feel safe enough now?"

"Oh, I think so," I smirked.

"If we happen to meet men of ill-intent on the road, you can simply have me shoot them."

"No doubt," he laughed. As we began walking, a thought occurred to me.

"But is it really acceptable for you to leave the shore? What if a dangerous smuggler arrives while you aren't here to stop him?"

"I work the night shift," Bastien explained, stifling a yawn.

"I was actually about to head home when I saw you in the water. My relief officer will be along shortly to take the morning watch."

"So you stayed awake all night?"

"That's right," he said.

"And I am barely on my feet as it is. So, home it is for me." He set off toward the edge of town, and I walked beside him. I had run out of excuses to make us stay on the beach, but that was alright. I liked Bastien, and I wanted to know more about him. I planned to interrogate him as much as possible on the walk back, so I could make him like me even faster in future Repetitions. But my mind was already turning to something else. I was going to Bastien's home right now.

And, not much later, he would be fast asleep. That meant, if I paid close attention to where he kept that pistol, I might be able to steal it in the next Repetition. I wanted that pistol. Badly.