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Sophie Vylar
Nov. 18th, 2004 10:00 amI spent yesterday in a state of advanced wooziness- and out of the wooze came this. It's a story I told myself while half asleep, then wrote up later. The name, Sophie Vylar, was the first thing that came through.
Vylar? What does that mean?
I googled it afterwards. There are a few Vylars around but none of them is called Sophie. There are Indian Vylars and French Vylars. There's even an LJer called Vylar but- guess-what- their journal is a blank.
Sophie Vylar
The two girls are waiting.
Candles burn in sconces on either side of the mirror.
The thief whistles softly.
The maid throws him the rope and he climbs it hand over hand and in at the window.
His feet are naked.
The maid is his friend or so he thinks. She shows him where the jewels are kept.
Then Sophie Vylar steps out from behind a screen with her pistol levelled.
It is a wheel-lock pistol with a long barrel.
“Take off your clothes,” she says.
The maid holds the pistol while Sophie takes off her own clothes.
Under the high-piled wig her hair is stubble.
They are of a height and their bodies are pale but the backs of his hands are darker than hers.
Sophie puts on his rags.
“I am marrying a rich old man tomorrow,” says Sophie- “only not me but you.”
Then Sophie takes the pistol and the maid laces him into the whale-bone stays and puts the petticoat and dress on over his head.
She fixes the wig in place with pins.
She whitens his face and applies the patches.
“Goodbye myself,” says Sophie and kisses him on the lips.
Then she climbs through the window and down the rope.
Bold girl.
The maid snuffs the candles. The mirror whitens.
He waits for the bridegroom with jewels in his lap.
Vylar? What does that mean?
I googled it afterwards. There are a few Vylars around but none of them is called Sophie. There are Indian Vylars and French Vylars. There's even an LJer called Vylar but- guess-what- their journal is a blank.
Sophie Vylar
The two girls are waiting.
Candles burn in sconces on either side of the mirror.
The thief whistles softly.
The maid throws him the rope and he climbs it hand over hand and in at the window.
His feet are naked.
The maid is his friend or so he thinks. She shows him where the jewels are kept.
Then Sophie Vylar steps out from behind a screen with her pistol levelled.
It is a wheel-lock pistol with a long barrel.
“Take off your clothes,” she says.
The maid holds the pistol while Sophie takes off her own clothes.
Under the high-piled wig her hair is stubble.
They are of a height and their bodies are pale but the backs of his hands are darker than hers.
Sophie puts on his rags.
“I am marrying a rich old man tomorrow,” says Sophie- “only not me but you.”
Then Sophie takes the pistol and the maid laces him into the whale-bone stays and puts the petticoat and dress on over his head.
She fixes the wig in place with pins.
She whitens his face and applies the patches.
“Goodbye myself,” says Sophie and kisses him on the lips.
Then she climbs through the window and down the rope.
Bold girl.
The maid snuffs the candles. The mirror whitens.
He waits for the bridegroom with jewels in his lap.
