Wander about looking dismayed

[aestrix]

There is a certain reason why wandering around outside by yourself while looking dismayed and thinking about your troubles might get you a bit more than sore feet, burrs in your shoes, and catharsis.

Sometimes, you might just find a mysterious old woman. It's hard to tell them apart from perfectly ordinary old women, just the way mist curls around her feet or for the way her eyes catch the light a bit too well, or other telling signs of mysteriousness. Those vary, though, and often it's quite a good idea to err on the side of caution with these things, and take care with heeding their advice.

While their advice often is a very bizarre set of instructions, following them perfectly will get you exactly the result the mysterious old woman advertised, without fail. If she advertises a fixed roof if you were to weave a net made of reeds picked only at midnight on a new moon and then drape it over your roof at sunrise, or a full stomach if you filled a large pot with clear water, acorns, and fresh wildflowers and put it over a fire and leave it to simmer for four hours, you will get a fixed roof or a pot filled with delicious stew. If you follow the instructions exactly.

If you don't, you could get something else entirely.

Comments

[light_another_life]

"... No, I'll just. Already have them on before it's time."

[mydarkness]

"Okay."

[light_another_life]

"It'll help soothe my nerves to already be ready, anyway," she shrugs. "Less 'and this is how it could completely go wrong."

[mydarkness]

"That makes sense."

[light_another_life]

Another smile.

"Anyway, I'm sure you have - other things to do. Thank you so much."

[mydarkness]

Nod nod. Off he goes.

[light_another_life]

And back to pacing.

When it can reasonably be surmised for it to be 'evening,' she puts on the ten shifts and sits to fidget.

She does not want to get married, but she does want to get this over with. Or she wants to go back to - not this. Why did this have to happen. Why did she have to volunteer for it, there must be something wrong with her.

(She would have been on the chopping block anyway, eventually, if she didn't flee or get married or if no one ever consulted a mysterious old woman about this. It's not completely crazy. Just - a bit crazy.)

[pythbox]

And:

she receives another visit. From four guards and a servant with a dress.

[light_another_life]

Squeak.

The dress is accepted with a curt 'Thank you,' she has it on in record time and then she spends another precious few seconds reviewing her list to make sure she definitely has everything. She definitely has everything. She knows exactly what to do, even if some of it's distasteful, and if she follows instructions she'll be fine.

Out she goes, in ten shifts and a dress that doesn't fit her. Time to get married. (Aaaaaaaa!)

[pythbox]

The marriage ceremony is hasty, poorly attended, and uncomfortable for everyone involved. Even the groom, forty feet long and covered in scales, seems unenthusiastic about the whole business.

And when it's over, the unhappy couple is escorted to their bridal chamber, where all the requested items are waiting.

[light_another_life]

The groom's lack of enthusiasm for the affair is - promising. She thinks. Maybe.

The first line's his, but she wants to be able to take off the shifts as expeditely as possible, so off comes the dress.

She looks at her husband, and wonders if he'll stick to the script.

[pythbox]

"Maiden, shed your shift for me," the lindworm hisses.

[light_another_life]

"Lindworm," she replies, her voice wavering just a tad, "shed your skin first."

[pythbox]

He blinks at her, perhaps in surprise - and then claws himself out of his scaly skin, leaving a slightly duller one underneath.

[light_another_life]

And off comes her first shift.

But there are nine more under it.

She smiles, just a tad.

[pythbox]

The same demand: "Maiden, shed your shift for me."

But - is he less mournful about it, now?

[light_another_life]

"Lindworm, shed your skin first."

This seems kind of formulaic, she might as well roll with it.

[pythbox]

It claws off another layer, revealing a set of deep black scales beneath.

And the cycle repeats, each skin more beautiful than the last, until he coils on the floor in blood-streaked rainbow scales and hisses: "Wife, will you shed your shift for me...?"

[light_another_life]

"Husband," she murmurs, edging closer to the birch branches and looking guilty and sad, "shed your skin first."

[pythbox]

Beneath these scales there is nothing but flesh and blood.

The lindworm has no more demands.

[light_another_life]

"I am very, very sorry about this," winces Imarivet.

And - well. Birch rods. Time to use them for what they were brought for. Augh.

[pythbox]

The great serpent thrashes, but whether because of magic or an incredibly considerate nature, he doesn't strike her with his arms or head or tail.

[light_another_life]

That's good, this would be a bit harder to do if he returned the favor.

She runs out of birch rods before her arms give out, despite the number of birch rods, and she takes a shuddering breath that sounds like the opener to a sob but can't quite get there. She doesn't let herself cry, she has work to do, she is not done.

Her husband is dragged into the tub containing the lye, and she doesn't have the heart to attempt to scrub but does recall that more of him must be washed than left dry, so despite the sting she makes sure as much of him as she can get (which is nearly all) is washed in lye. Then she hauls him into the milk, makes sure all of him's covered in that, too, and then hauls him back out and onto the neat pile of abandoned shifts she left for exactly this purpose. Shifts get bundled, she counts to make sure all of them are bundled around him, and then really can't bring herself to haul the poor thing any further and just wraps the descaled lindworm in her arms and lets herself cry.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," she whispers, voice breaking a little.

[pythbox]

The lindworm flops around a bit during this process, but presents no serious resistance.

It has nothing further to say, when all is done; and somehow, it seems to manage to fall asleep.

[light_another_life]

She needs to do a bit of crying first, but - yeah. This was pretty damn exhausting.

When to stop holding the lindworm wasn't one of the questions she asked, so she doesn't try to un-hug before she gives in to exhaustion and falls asleep. She has had a long day.