Sep 24, 2018 10:13 AM
living words
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A Rebecca lands in Scriven
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"You will never be the Marquess, but you may not be a terrible substitute."

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"Thank you."

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"Want to try the locked wing again?"

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"Sure!" And she traipses thataway.

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They reach the door behind the throne.

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Knock knock. "Lemme in."

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"I suppose," the crown says.

The door opens.

The Marquess's quarters are human. There's a living room with a large, comfy chair and a footrest you can open with a handle. The bedroom has a large queen bed with a faded quilt. The bed is piled high with stuffed animals, some are very well worn. 

There's no magic in sight.

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That's interesting in its own right! "What can you tell me about this wing?" Rabka asks the crown.

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"The Marquess lives, perhaps lived, here. She insisted that it be decorated only with non-magical items. She had servants running all over the kingdom and even sneaking onto Earth to find them."

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"Any way I can hear too?" 

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"Can you let my friend here hear you?"

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"Her? She's nobody. Why would I let her hear me?"

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"'Cause otherwise I have to tell her what you say if I want her to know it."

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