Bogo

One more change in an attempt to make it more clear what's actually happening, outside our poor tormented heroine's mind.

I would be very interested to hear everyone's thoughts. Your suggestions were very helpful, last time. Thanks!

Agreed. I couldn't help but smile, thinking of "The Men Who Stare at Goats." If only General Hopgood had a soulstone.

Change made. Hopefully it is now more clear that the girl and the merchant are leaving the tavern together.

Wow, Kadeton! Thank you for such a thoughtful critique. Your points are excellent and are well-taken. For clarification (which I'm sure you got), whenever she is "watching herself," she is actually watching the young woman whose skin she will soon be wearing. I.e., when she sees the young woman, she imagines she is watching herself do dumb things (like sit in a smokey tavern or go home with some old merchant). I hadn't thought about the lack of relationship clues between the girl and the merchant. I suppose I thought, since they were leaving the tavern at the same time, the presumption was that they were leaving together. I may be able to fix that with a little tweak. Thanks again.

Nothing in the rules would seem to suggest otherwise.

That was exactly the challenge I set for myself.

Ageless Beauty I hope you enjoy it.

AGELESS BEAUTY Over muffled music and laughter, she could barely make out the occasional slap of rigging cables from the nearby docks. Hugging her white cape around her arms, she glanced across the street at the tavern and waited for herself to emerge. A light fog had begun to form, swallowing the last remnants of warmth and washing the cobblestones in a penetrating cold. It was nothing she couldn't bear. Someone once said people don't remember pain. But she remembered. Searing, soul-killing agony. "Pain is absolutely essential to the process," the doctor had insisted with a wide-eyed grin. "In order to attach properly, each exposed nerve must be completely alive and on fire." He gently touched her forearm with his fingertips. "I'm afraid there's no other way." Still, as clearly as she remembered the pain, she also remembered the joy. The smooth, glowing woman in the mirror had been more beautiful than she ever imagined. How many months had it been? How many murders? In recent days, she had begun to feel her skin shift at the slightest touch. And, in the mirror that had once been her sanctuary, tell-tale shadows smiled mockingly from the corners of her eyes. Her glow was fading. The time had come again. "I have my eye on someone special," the doctor purred. "A true beauty. And so, so young." It sounded wonderful. And still . . . she remembered the pain. An increase in the din from across the street drew her attention to an open door. Even as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her face had not yet turned from the tavern's interior. So many friends to wish good night. So many admirers. When she finally turned to show her face, it was everything the doctor had promised. She watched herself draw in the damp morning air and felt it wash the tavern smoke from her lungs. In the future, she would be more careful to avoid such enemies of youth and beauty. But, for now, she remained content in her naivety. A middle-aged man stepped from the tavern onto the sidewalk behind her, securing his coin purse before closing his long brown coat and offering her his arm. He was a merchant . . . or perhaps a harbor master, definitely someone of greater means than a typical dock worker. Still, the sight repelled her. How could she suffer such a man? Allow him to touch her? To pollute her with his geriatric filth? "Excuse me, miss?" There was another man behind her. How had she not heard him approach? "Is everything alright?" He was a young man, and reasonably handsome in his crisp Guild Guard uniform. "I'm fine," she offered calmly. "I was just coming from the tavern." The Guardsman's eyes darted across the street to the couple standing outside the tavern. His eyes then returned to her, traveling from her face to her feet then back again. "You don't look like someone I would expect to find in the docks at this time of night," he observed. "Are you a . . . a nurse?" "I work for the Governor's Secretary," she offered, nodding slowly. "The Coroner's office." "And those?" he asked, pointing at the many brass syringes tucked neatly into her belt loops. "Oh, these?" she asked. "These are just in case." She conjured a well-practiced smile. "You never know when someone might need to take his meds." The Guardsman shrugged and nodded. Turning from the young man, she watched herself take the older man's arm and begin walking down the opposite sidewalk. "I have to go somewhere," she stated flatly. The young man's voice suggested concern. "You know . . . it's really not safe around here. There are all sorts of . . ." She bit her lip as she watched herself move further into the fog. "Perhaps I could escort you somewhere?" She turned back to the Guardsman. "Yes," she said. "That would be nice." The young man nodded. "Where would you like to . . . ?" "That way," she directed, pointing a gloved finger. "I'm walking that way." "Uh . . . alright." She took the Guardsman's arm. "Please. Let's hurry." With Guild-issue boots clacking noisily on the cobblestones, the young man matched her brisk pace. Still, she applied a constant pressure to his arm. "What do you think?" she asked, gesturing forward with her free hand. "The girl?" he asked curiously. "Hmm." The Guardsman was silent for a few moments before answering. "A professional, I would guess." She shook her head. "Aren't we all professionals?" "Oh, uh, yes," the young man stuttered. "I only meant . . ." She turned briefly to the Guardsman and couldn't resist a smirk. "I meant to suggest she's a . . ." She looked forward again, easing the pressure on the Guardsman's arm to slow their pace. "I mean, what do you think?" "Oh," the young man acknowledged. "Well, it's hard to tell from behind." He was silent for a few steps. "Young," he observed. "Pretty hair." "Oh, I'm glad you like it." She felt her cheeks warm suddenly. "You have nice hair too," the Guardsman volunteered. She turned to the young man again and looked into his eyes. He seemed so genuine. So innocent. "I hope I'm not being too forward." She shook her head, slightly. "No. It's just . . ." She turned to look forward again. "Youth is beauty." "You're wrong," the Guardsman corrected, stopping suddenly and pulling her to a halt. "Beauty is ageless." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Back in Virginia, my grandmother is almost seventy. And, every day, when my grandfather looks at her, he still sees the beautiful woman he fell in love with." He sighed. "The most beautiful woman in the world." His expression was so confident. So honest. She struggled to picture the Guardsman's grandmother, but saw only herself, mirrored in the young man's eyes. "That's beauty," he added. She moved her gaze downward and focused upon the braided fasteners across his chest. "I'm already old," she breathed. "That's nonsense," the young man asserted, lifting her chin with a gentle finger until she was, once again, looking into his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but . . ." She felt her heart pound. The young man sighed again. "You may be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." For several seconds, she studied the young man's face. "It won't last long," she confessed softly. The Guardsman smiled more broadly and his eyes sparkled. "Then let's make every moment count." He looked up at the sky, then back at her. "My patrol ends at sunrise . . . but it's close enough. Why don't we head back to that tavern of yours? I'll buy you a drink and you can tell me what it's like to be a nurse in Malifaux." She turned to look for herself down the street--but saw only fog. She turned back to the Guardsman and felt herself smiling. "I'd like that," she breathed. Once again, she took the young man's arm. This time, their pace was slower. It won't last. She hugged the Guardsman's arm with both of hers and imagined his grandparents in Virginia. It doesn't matter.

I feel very fortunate to have finished third in this group of amazing stories. Congratulations to everyone for such strong submissions and huge congratulations to admiralvorkraft for taking the cake. Also, many thanks to Edonil for running such a fun competition. I look forward to the next round.

Thanks again to everyone for your suggestions. Revising a story in response to critiques from other authors is a fun exercise I have not experienced for a long time.

My prize came in the mail today! Thanks again to everyone!

Thanks, man. That was all you.

I apologize that the story remains more cryptic than I intended. The idea I hoped to convey is that Julia can't really interpret the letter; she simply understands it. As a result, she also understands its terrible implications (which are not revealed to the reader) and her mood instantly changes from calm curiosity to mad desperation. Something similar happened to the messenger when he read the letter, which is why he is desperate to confirm its meaning and is struggling with whether he should deliver it. At the same time, the messenger is playing a dangerous game because Lucius (in addition to his Earthside partner) is no one to be trifled with. When Julia proves to be less than helpful, the messenger realizes his mistake and becomes even more desperate. I did not mean to suggest that Lucius set Julia up to be killed. That is an interesting interpretation. Thanks again for your time and comments.

Story revised.

Here's my second rewrite. Big thanks to Haunter for some great ideas. Due to everyone's help and encouragement, this story has turned into something I'm really proud of. I would love to hear your thoughts on the current version. Word Count: 1750 Ingredients Used: All except "Sharp as a razor, soft as a breath."

Thanks for the very thoughtful insight. In this version, I was trying to convey the shooter's agitation, early on--but I clearly need to do more. One problem I'm facing is the word limit. It's a fun challenge . . . but it is very challenging. Thanks also for your comment on the last line. I really struggled with whether I should leave that in. You gave me some great ideas for another rewrite. This time, I think I'll resist putting smoked oysters in my white chocolate cupcakes.

I changed my story quite a bit. I'd be very interested in your thoughts. Thanks.

OK. I changed my story pretty significantly (particularly the last half). I'd be very interested to hear what you think.

Thanks again. This is such a supportive community.

You guys are too kind. The more I read it, the more I realize it doesn't work. Hopefully I'll have something better for next round.

Really nice. Beautifully written.

Here's my submission: Curiosity. I hope you like it.

"Riding a train to another planet," Professor Julia Bervixi exclaimed over the clacking cadence of steel wheels on steel rail. "I never would have imagined." Professor John Bervixi rolled his eyes. "I don't see why it should be so unimaginable, Julia," he noted emotionlessly. "Before the train, people walked from Earth to Malifaux . . . or rode there on horseback. I should think that would be significantly harder to imagine." Julia momentarily pulled back one side of her mouth. "You know what I mean," she insisted. "Can you imagine how far away Malifaux must actually be? Farther than a train could travel in a lifetime. And yet, somehow, the trip is nearly instantaneous." Julia smiled. "You have to admit, it redefines everything we thought we knew about what's possible." John slid closer to his wife on the leather cushioned bench of their private train car. "That's not necessarily so," he corrected. "Let's assume, for a moment, that you are correct and Malifaux is, in fact, another planet in our own universe, some great distance away." Julia nodded and watched her husband lift a paper menu from the small table that sat between the car's benches. "Even so, you're thinking too linearly." John tapped at the bottom center of the menu with the index finger of his right hand. "Imagine this is Earth," he instructed. John then tapped the top center of the menu. "And this is Malifaux . . . somewhere far away in the universe." John returned his finger to the lower part of the menu. "What you're imagining is that the only way to get from Earth to Malifaux would be like this." John slowly traced an invisible line from the bottom of the menu to its top. Julia nodded. "That seems rational." John winked. "And you can't imagine any other way you could get from point A to point B?" Julia thrust a slender finger at the menu. "Well, you could go out and around . . ." "No, no," John corrected. "Not a longer way. Can you imagine a shorter way to get from point A to point B than traveling in a straight line?" Julia withdrew her hand. "Now you're just being ridiculous." "Am I?" John asked, folding the menu so that the bottom touched the top. "What if you were simply to jump across?" Julia stared at the folded paper, nodding slowly. "And," John continued, "that assumes Malifaux does, in fact, exist in our universe." Julia stared into her husband's eyes, and John smiled at his wife's genuine academic curiosity. "Now, Imagine Malifaux exists in a completely different reality." Julia raised an eyebrow and again pulled back one corner of her mouth. Still smiling, John raised the wine list with his right hand. "Imagine Earth is in the very center of this reality." He shook the menu. "And Malifaux is in the center of this reality." He shook the wine list. Julia nodded. John then placed the menu and the wine list back to back. "Malifaux and Earth exist in exactly the same place . . . just in different realities." Julia again raised an eyebrow and smiled curiously. "And that's what I think the Breach is," John concluded. "It's a doorway that connects the same point in two different realities." Julia gently took the stacked sheets of paper from her husband and examined them. "That really does make sense," she observed thoughtfully. "No wonder your students love you." John shrugged. "It's a theory, anyway." Julia returned the papers to the table then placed her hands on John's leg. "My poor John," Julia chided. "The last realist in a society based upon magical stones." John placed one hand atop both of Julia's. "I envy you the most," he offered. "Who knows whether I'll find anything in Malifaux to support my theories? But you . . . interpreting the mountain of books still awaiting translation . . . you're almost certain to discover a wealth of knowledge that might otherwise have been lost to history." Julia nodded. "I'm certainly excited about the possibility. So many mysteries remain to be solved. I'd love to be the one to . . ." John and Julia jumped slightly at the sudden knock. "Come in," John invited. As the compartment door slid noisily on its track, the professorial couple assessed an unfamiliar man standing in the passageway. He wore a long black coat that stood in stark contrast to his alabaster skin and long, dirty blonde hair. In one hand, the man held an envelope. The man glanced from side to side then stared into the compartment. "Professor Bervixi?" he asked. John and Julia smiled. "That would describe both of us," Julia observed. "Professor Julia Bervixi?" the man clarified without humor. Julia nodded. "I am she." Without further invitation, the man stepped into the compartment, slid the door shut, and sat on the opposite bench. "I heard you were a linguistics professor," he offered urgently. "Is that right?" Julia nodded again. "That's correct." Fumbling with the envelope in his hands, the man turned a quick glance to the compartment door. "I need you to translate this letter," he explained. "I need to know what it says." "This is rather unusual," John observed impatiently. "What sort of letter?" Julia asked, still in a casual tone. "It . . ." the man began, "It's something I'm supposed to deliver. But I need to know whether I . . . well . . . whether I should." "You're a messenger, then?" John inquired. The man nodded. "So, what makes you think you shouldn't deliver the letter?" The man closed his eyes and gripped the envelope tightly. "I think it . . . it . . ." "Yes?" Julia asked. The man opened his eyes. "Let's have a look," John suggested, reaching across the table toward the envelope. The man recoiled, turning his gaze to John then back to Julia. Julia reached across the table and gently took John's extended arm by the wrist. "It's alright," she assured the man. "I'll be happy to take a look." As John withdrew his hand, the man slowly passed the envelope to Julia. The address was clearly written in English: The Honorable Lucius Gustavius FitzWilliam Mattheson Secretary of Legal Affairs--Malifaux Personal and Confidential Julia exchanged glances with John then looked into the man's eyes. "You shouldn't have opened this," she said. "It was a breach of your duty as a courier." "I know," the man hissed, again firing a quick glance at the compartment door. "I should never have opened it. I would un-open it if I could. But now I . . . I . . ." John and Julia stared at the envelope. "I must say," John breathed, "I don't see why we should be party to . . ." A metalic click drew the couple's attention back to the opposite bench. The muzzle of a Collier revolver stared back. "Do you know the risk I'm taking?" the man demanded. "Showing that to you? Do you know what he'll do if he finds out?" The Collier trembled uncontrollably. "Listen, young man," John invited urgently, slowly raising his open right hand. "We haven't seen anything yet. You can still . . ." Julia pulled open the envelope. "Julia!" John exclaimed. "I'm curious," Julia confessed casually. John shook his head, turning his gaze from his wife to the pistol and back again. As Julia withdrew the folded paper, the gunman slowly leaned forward, the Collier still trembling in his hand. "I need to know," he whispered. Julia unfolded the letter and studied the symbols exquisitely penned upon its surface. "It's certainly not any known Earth language," she observed flatly. "It looks a bit like some of the ancient writings from Malifaux but . . ." The symbols shifted before Julia's eyes, like worms writhing in a pile. "Oh my!" Julia exclaimed, dropping the sheet atop the menu and wine list on the table. "What is it?" John gasped, startled by Julia's reaction. "Who gave this to you?" Julia demanded, seemingly oblivious to the pistol. The man gritted his teeth. "I can't tell you that," he growled. "Just tell me what it says. What it really says." For several seconds, Julia stared over the gun into the man's unblinking eyes. Then, with a sigh, she looked down at the letter and lifted it with one hand. The symbols continued to squirm. "This top section," Julia began, "appears to be a salutation . . . a wish of good fortune . . . something like that. The names of the addressee and sender appear to be unique symbols, denoting specific individuals . . . something fairly common in Malifaux's written languages." Julia scanned the remainder of the letter. "The rest of these symbols are completely . . ." By the hundreds, they come. The words resonated in Julia's mind, as if someone were reading them to her. As the time draws near. "Something about numbers and time," Julia offered breathlessly, struggling against a swelling sense of dread. "It's very difficult to . . ." All is prepared and all stand ready. Julia could not finish her sentence. Awaiting the moment. "WHO GAVE THIS TO YOU?" Julia screamed, her face suddenly pale. "I can't," the man gasped, thrusting the Collier toward Julia's chest. "I should never have shown you!" John grabbed at his wife's arm. "Julia, calm down. Everything will be . . ." "WHO GAVE THIS TO YOU?" A thunderous explosion stabbed John's ears, forcing his eyes shut. When he opened them, John's hand and his wife's slender arm were painted with splashes of red. Releasing his grip, John pressed himself into the corner of the bench as Julia's hand clasped her darkening bodice. Julia slumped off the cushion onto her knees. Desperately, John turned his gaze from his injured wife to the man on the opposite bench. A wisp of smoke rose from the deep well of the Collier's barrel. "Who?" Julia coughed. "SHUT UP!" the man screamed, shifting the Collier back and forth between its two potential targets. Releasing her devastated torso, Julia pressed her blood-soaked hands onto the tabletop and looked into the man's eyes. "WHO?" The dark man flared his lips into a wide grimace. "WHO . . . ?" John thrust his hands across the table. The Collier was faster. In another reality, erudite lovers would revel in the wondrous discoveries of a magical new world. That reality is not Malifaux.

Excellent use of second person. It really drew me into the story and sort of tricked me into caring about the characters (my family) more than might otherwise have been the case. Great job!