(no subject)

[out_of_my_part]

[A moment ago . . . ]

There is a young woman standing on the shore of the lake.

She wears a long dress, well but simply made, and of a style that could belong to a dozen times . . . or no time at all.

Both the dress and the woman's hair are wet.

She turns slowly, in a full circle, looking all around her.

"What country, friends, is this?"

Would anyone like to let her know it's not Illyria?

Comments

[theunsmiling]

"Your damp attire would make it seem so, as would your emergence from the lake."

Michael's mouth twists wryly. Again.

"And in the absence of a door, magic seems a fair option."

[out_of_my_part]

"This option fair of yours, this 'magic' spell . . .

"You do not speak of that which conjurers
Perform at fairs to charm the viewer's eyes?"

[theunsmiling]

"This is no sleight of hand, lady," Michael says.

"Nor is it trickery done with mirrors and doves."

Mirrors and rats maybe.

If you squint. And are determined to believe all of Milliways a delusion.

[out_of_my_part]

Viola nods.

That's what she was afraid of.

"'Twould take a mirror large to make all this."

And a lot of doves, no doubt.

[theunsmiling]

"More than one, mayhap, considering the depth."

She doesn't laugh.

[out_of_my_part]

"I never dreamt of such a place as this.

"No trick nor dream, impossible . . . but real."

[theunsmiling]

"Your dreams will be richer for it, then, will they not?"

Bright green and piercing, her gaze remains fixed on Viola.

"Some might count that a fortune, indeed."

[out_of_my_part]

"Mayhap a poet sees it so, but I
Would rather dreams less rich and garments dry."

[theunsmiling]

"How about both?" Michael says, arching an eyebrow.

"Bar, if you would be so kind."

Hopefully Viola does not mind trousers.