Clockwork Kiss

Crash Landing

I’m flat on my back when the white dissipates. My vision is blurred, even in the dim shadows of the room I’m in. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of burning oak and pine and expensive perfumes permeating the air. I sit up with a groan, rubbing my head. At least the ringing and humming is gone. Instead it’s replaced by music I don’t recognize. A soft lilting melody is muffled through the heavy door. Even inside this place, the bitter cold bites at my skin through my sweater.

I have no idea where I am, and I’m panicked to say the least.

I push myself to my feet and look around. The room is filled with long fancy jackets and cloaks hanging on a rod. Even in the dark, I can tell they’re made of luxurious fabrics. Velvets and silks in deep, rich colors.

The doorknob starts to turn and I tuck myself in between a long wool cloak and a silk jacket with tails. The fabrics move between my fingers and against my face with a softness unlike any I’ve ever felt before as I press myself against the wall.

A stream of light cuts across the floor, the music is louder now, and a shadow appears. I barely look between the cloak and the jacket to see a tall slender woman dressed in a simple black dress - the kind that I’d always imagined a “frock” looking like - carrying a velvet coat of deep crimson and hanging it on the rod opposite where I’m hiding. Her white hair is pulled up in a tight bun, revealing long sharp ears, just like the nutcracker’s. I can’t see much else about her without risking giving myself away. So I hold my breath and wait for the door to click shut again.

I let the breath out with a heavy sigh, closing my eyes for a moment to relish the fact I hadn’t been discovered yet. I crept to the door, and opened it a crack to peek out. The woman in the frock had her back to me as she greeted another woman. The second woman wore a deep purple ball gown that shimmered under the light of the crystal chandelier. A matching mask with silver roses crawling along the edge hid half her face. Her pale blonde hair hung down in waves that reached her waist, and those same sharp ears poked through the silky strands.

I closed the door back. My hands smoothed over my sweater and slacks. If I emerged from this closet, I would stick out terribly. I didn’t know where I was, or who - or what - these people were. Sticking out could be dangerous.

I grabbed the wool cloak I had hid behind and pulled it over my shoulders. Instantly, I was enveloped in a comforting warmth that melted down into my bones. I pulled the hood up over my head to shadow my eyes, trying to hide the fact that I didn’t have a mask. Holding the cloak closed, I approached the door again and it cracked it to peek out into the hall again.

It was empty.

I slipped out of the closet, closing the door behind me, and started walking. I had no idea where to go, I just knew I needed to go. It was hard to tell if I was walking to or away from the music, it seemed to encircle me no matter what.

I froze upon coming face to face with the woman in the frock though. “Oh, let me take your cloak, you can’t rightly dance with that on,” she said, and it took my brain a moment to process and catch up to the fact she was reaching for my poor disguise.

“Oh no, it’s fine, I’m warmer with it on.”

“Nonsense, dear, come on now. No one’s wearing their cloaks on the dance floor.”

My eyes were wide with panic, and my heart was hammering a rhythm faster than the waltz playing around me.

The cloak was pulled open and she gasped. Her eyes met mine, and I could see myself reflected in her lavender hues. The fear was clear as day in my eyes. “What in the world are you wearing?” she asked. “Why I’ve never seen garments like these. Let’s get you dressed appropriately.”

She took my arm, looping it in hers as she rested her hand on my forearm. She led me away to another room, her grip iron where I couldn’t flee. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to flee.

I tried to swallow. I tried to breathe. I felt like I couldn’t do either.

She led me into a side chamber, lit by softly glowing, hanging orbs that cast a beautiful, ethereal light. It was a makeshift dressing room, filled with fabrics and ribbons, and half-dressed mannequins.

“You must be terribly late,” the woman muttered, though I wasn’t entirely sure she was talking to me, even as she studied my modern clothes with disapproval. “Those colors are simply criminal for a Solstice Gala. We’ll fix this quickly.”

Before I could protest, she was stripping the cloak from me. Her movements were fast and controlled, and I felt exposed, even fully dressed in my sweater and slacks. The biting cold of the room mixed with the humiliating scrutiny of the strange woman made me want to disappear.

“I…I don’t belong here,” I finally managed, my throat tight.

She paused, holding a bolt of shimmering silver fabric. “Nonsense. Everyone belongs to the Night. You look lost, perhaps a little ill. Once you’re in something befitting our host, you’ll be just fine.”

She didn’t wait for a reply as she sat the bolt down and moved to a wardrobe. The dress she selected was a royal blue with silver trim. The corseted waist led up to a plunging neckline and long off-the-shoulder sleeves. The heavy velvet fabric looked warm, and I felt a small spark of excitement at the thought of wearing such a gown.

“Go on, quickly. Change and I’ll fix your hair right up.”

I had no choice but to lose the clothes that screamed outsider, and slipped behind a privacy screen. The woman’s authoritative - though kind - manner and iron grip had already told me there was no room for disobedience. The dress was lined with silk and wonderfully warm. Even though my chest and shoulders were far more exposed than they had been in my sweater, the bite of the cold had disappeared. When I reemerged, the woman stood there with a silver comb.

“Much better, the color suits your eyes.” Her expression was softening. She handed me a pair of black silk slippers to replace my brown ankle boots. “Here, now see if these fit.” They did, as if they were made for me.

She sat me down in a chair at a nearby vanity. Then she untied my sandy blonde hair from its loose bun and shook it out. I sucked in a deep breath, still trying to calm my racing heart as she slid the comb through my hair. Then she wound it back up into a much more elegant updo, securing it with sparkling pins. A simple, elegant black mask was plucked from a bowl and she tied the ribbons behind my head.

“There,” her hands rested on my shoulders as she smiled at my reflection in the vanity’s mirror. “Now go enjoy the music, and try not to look so frightened.”