“That is so cool,” I whispered as he took a turn on a winding path well down the incline of the town or city like place and disappeared around a building.
“The switch, it succeeded?” I heard a woman ask and I jumped in surprise and turned.
Standing beside me I saw a woman with gray hair pulled back behind her head. She was wearing a voluminous wool cloak the color of cranberries and it had a collar made of black fur.
Her eyebrows were up. Her face was lined in a way that made her look interesting and was a testimony to the fact she’d laughed much in her long life. Her somewhat faded blue eyes were alert and she was examining me.
“It worked,” I whispered then jumped again when a loud banging came from across the room and I turned my body that direction to see it was someone knocking on a door.
“Sjofn!” a woman yelled from the other side of the door, sounding desperate. “Open the door! We need to speak with you now! Your mother approaches.”
I stared at the door.
My mother approaches.
I couldn’t stop my smile.
“Close this after me,” the woman in the room with me ordered urgently, I looked to her then her eyes moved the length of me and back before she smiled and whispered, “Enjoy The Drakkar. I think you will and more, I think he will enjoy you.”
I blinked at her.
What?
“Sjofn!” Another shout and loud knock, my body jolted again, I looked to the door as the woman behind it shouted, “Please!”
I felt a whoosh and turned again to see the woman in the room with me was gone. I glanced around quickly as more knocking came at the door, more pleas but I was stunned to see I had no company.
Where did she go?
I turned to the window, looked out and down and saw a cranberry cloak streaming around the nearest building then I lost sight of it.
Holy moly, the bitch jumped.
I looked down at the two story fall and heard the begging, “Seeeeooohaaahfin!”
“Shit,” I whispered, grabbed the windows, pulled them to and set the latch. That stopped the arctic gust of air but the cold still came through so I grabbed the heavy curtains on either side and pulled them closed over the window, succeeding in shutting out the draft mainly because the curtains were a thick, voluminous velvet. Nothing was getting through those.
More knocking that was now more like pounding and it didn’t stop so I turned to the room to hurry toward the door but stopped, arrested by what I saw.
Gleaming dark wood everywhere. Dark plank floors covered by thick pile, wool, patterned rugs. An enormous fireplace, the massive mantel carved from cream stone. More deep carvings in the dark wood cornices. The carving on both mantel and molding were pears, apples and oranges with leaves and vines and it was so intricate, even at a glance I saw it was sheer perfection. I could even see dimples in the oranges. With that kind of craftsmanship and that amount of it in the big room, it had to take a hundred artisans a hundred years to do it all.
There was a big bed, four poster, headboard carved with the same motif with an ice blue coverlet that had a silken sheen, a fluffy, winter white blanket folded across the bottom and six fluffy, European square pillows stacked in twos at the head, two dove gray, two winter white, two ice blue. The heavy curtains around the bed also were ice blue.
There was dark wood, heavily carved furniture everywhere. Two nightstands. A big dresser. A long, tall wardrobe. A desk and chair. A full-length, freestanding, oval mirror with the pear, apple, orange, leaf and vine theme at the top and drifting down the sides. A small table with a huge, cushy armchair next to it that I desperately wanted to curl into covered by that fluffy blanket on the bed, it looked that comfortable.
There were pearlescent globed lamps lit not with electricity but flames dancing within on either nightstand, on the desk, on the table by the chair and dotting the walls.
The whole room was freaking amazing. Way cool. Unbelievably cool. I’d seen a lot in my life and I had the money to go for the gusto but I’d never seen anything this amazing.
“Sjofn! Please!” Another call and more pounding at the door so I shook myself out of it and saw a folded piece of paper on the bed.
That must be my note.
I stared at it a second thinking there didn’t look like there was much to it.
I started toward it as I could swear the pounding on the door became kicking. I looked that way but caught a flash of something in my peripheral vision, my head turned and I stopped dead.
Then I stood straight.
Then I turned to look at myself in the mirror.
Then I slowly walked to it, the pounding and begging outside the door muted as I stared with deep fascination at what I saw.
When I got to the mirror, I reached out a hand to touch the cold surface just to be certain it was real. When my fingertips brushed the glass, I changed directions and moved my hand so it lay flat to my belly and I felt it.
It was real.
I was real and I looked like that.
“Wow,” I whispered.
I was wearing ice blue too. An ice blue velvet gown that had this kick freaking ass sheen at the tip of the pile that looked iridescent white, like the shimmer on top of new snow. The neckline was square, had thick, braided embroidery around the edge and it shoved my breasts up so I was giving some serious cleavage. The sleeves of the dress hugged my body from shoulder to wrist, a sharp point of embroidered-edged material coming down my hand that hooked at the end around my middle finger. The top of the dress, from bosoms to hips, skimmed my body to perfection. The skirt had a slight flare and when I tested it by kicking out at the back, a slight train too. The dress had a no waistline, simply flowing elegantly from bodice to hem and there was an intricate silver or… I peered closer… no, platinum chain liberally splashed with aquamarines and dusted with diamonds that hung low on my hips, a long single length of it hanging down, winking through the folds of my skirts, weighted at the hem by a large, twinkling aquamarine.
I was wearing a choker necklace that matched the belt and earrings of the same dangled from my ears. My white-blonde hair was a mass of long, thick twists that were pulled off my forehead somehow but hung down my back, chest and shoulders. I had shimmering pink on my cheeks, a gloss of pink on my lips, an iridescent blue on my eyelids, a dark blue rimming my eyes and a sparkle of pearlescent white around my temples, the same powder but applied less opaque dusted my chest.
But the best, the absolute best, was the crown.
Yes, I said… the crown!
I was wearing a crown low on my forehead and however it was fashioned it was heavy but comfortable, something soft and maybe furry protecting my skin from the metal.
And it looked like icicles shooting up and slightly out, crusted with glinting diamonds and sprinkled with glimmering aquamarines.
It was freaking phenomenal.
I lifted the heavy skirts up, up and saw a pair of winter white, low-heeled, supple suede boots that kept going to over my knees. Above that, skintight, woven stockings that were also winter white and looked (and felt) like they were made of cashmere. Up I pulled the skirt and I saw winter white satin tap pants dripping with icicle lace at the bottoms, over this were satin garters holding up the stockings but I saw the boned point of the bottom of a satin bustier at my navel and I felt more boning that I couldn’t see against my skin at my ribs.
Freaking great underwear.
“This… is… so… cool!” I whispered as I stared at myself in the mirror.
“Seeoohaahfiiiiiiiin!” I heard the frantic cry, I started, dropped my skirt and looked to the door.
Then I dashed to the bed, snatched up the paper, folded it twice so it was smaller and shoved it into my cleavage.