Some days just suck. One moment, I plucked a string, teasing the note to make it quiver, reciting the climax of a particularly raunchy poem I was working on. The next moment, my mother snatched the notebook, scrunching the pages, screaming at me.
“Is this what your father and I are paying for? So you can learn to sleep with women and write songs about it?”
I froze up, knew how much shit I was in—kinda why I was only practising when I thought she was out—but then she started dragging me, still shouting.
“If he hears about this, he’s going to call off the engagement and then who’s going to marry you? My friends will laugh at me if I ask them—who wants a lesbian for a daughter-in-law?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, every time she paused to breathe. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? If you know you’re doing something bad, why didn’t you stop?” She shook the notebook. “This isn’t sorry! This is spitting in our faces for every sacrifice we made for you! How many hours did your father work, how many handkerchiefs did I embroider, and for what? A daughter who won’t have a husband to look after us when we grow old!”
She finally stopped, letting go of my wrist, leaving red marks behind. That pause let me realise where we were: the river at the back of our garden.
“You forget this,” she sharply whispered. “You forget this and learn to be a good wife.”
I felt lost and confused for a moment, knowing what was going to happen, yet not believing it. Face blank, I stared at the notebook in her hand, watched her toss it out, saw it land on top of the water.
“Never again, you understand?”
I heard her say that, but there was this feeling inside me, the same feeling I’d put into that notebook. Years and years and years of learning who I was and what I loved and what I wanted in life.
And she threw it away like it was nothing, like I was nothing.
My face must’ve shown something because she tried to grab my shoulder, but I was already diving, her nails scratching my arm.
Then there was just the cold. I swam until my arms and legs wouldn’t move, lungs burning, still trying to grab something that wasn’t there, that would never come back to me.
Feeling the darkness swallow me, I recited the ending of my favourite poem.
Come to me now once again and release me from gruelling anxiety. All that my heart longs for, fulfil. And be yourself my ally in love’s battle.1Translation by Julia Dubnoff
And maybe She heard because I finally felt at peace.
Nothingness smothered me, wrapped tight, then it slowly pulled back into emptiness. The darkness felt lighter, having my eyes covered and there being no light somehow different. Until, one moment, there was something to see: a warm smile from a woman lying down, her head resting on a bosom.
Then a jolt and I was awake, blinking, shading my eyes, so bright. My heart pounded, but that wasn’t loud enough to cover up the loud whistle.
I knew that sound: a steam engine.
It took a while to stop being so overwhelmed, to piece together everything. I was in a compartment on a steam train, seats made of leather, floor grimy wood, walls grey metal. There was a sealed letter in my hand, a map hastily drawn on the back. And I had a trunk—a big, bulky, old-fashioned suitcase, all leather and coppery metal. Inside it were clothes and, oh gosh, they were so pretty. I didn’t want to make a mess and not be able to pack them all back in, but the top one was a dress shirt with ruffles, black, and the buttons were copper.
That was when I looked at what I was wearing and I nearly squealed—it was so cute! A burgundy strapless dress, but leather suspenders pulled it up into a minidress, with puffy bloomers in a dark brown underneath that almost reached my knees. And from just below my knees, long leather boots, complete with high heels. Back up top, I also had a brown waistcoat and a violet cravat, which left my chest covered, arms bare. My nails were done in violet too, and weren’t chewed, but still cut short.
Best of all, a top hat! It was a bit small, only really staying on because my hair was tied up in a bun on top, but it matched the dress, an earthy red, detailed with copper rivets and a beautifully made copper feather, the strands so thin that it looked real, but the colour and shininess gave it away.
Honestly, I kept thinking of everything as copper, but I didn’t really know. If it was shiny and a reddish brown, I called it copper, or bronze if it was a light brown—which was probably wrong, but I didn’t know better.
As much as I wanted to stare at it forever, I put it back on, staring at my faded reflection in the window instead.
It wasn’t long before the sight outside grabbed my attention, though. The beautiful landscape of rolling hills covered in trees gave way to huge factories, as big as stadiums, with dozens of chimneys sticking out, white steam billowing up. And I swear I saw rainbows hiding in the steam, faded but there.
The brakes soon started squealing, lurching me forward for a second, and the sight outside became a blur of buildings, built right up to the edge of the track, then it broke into a station, slow enough I could see the crowds of people on the platform, all wearing such amazing clothes—like mine. And top hats, everyone had top hats.
When the train finally stopped, I quickly realised the platform was on the other side, so I left my compartment and shuffled down to the nearest door, a bit of a queue, made worse by everyone tugging along trunks and other bulky luggage—thankfully, mine had wheels.
After the hassle of getting down to the platform, I followed the loose stream of people, thinking they knew where the exit was. Down the stairs, through the tunnel, then struggling back up more stairs, into an absolutely crazy huge hall. And the roof was made of tiny glass squares and giant girders going across in a ribbed vault—stunning, but I felt kinda scared imagining if it fell. So I rushed out what looked like the main entrance.
Then I had to just stare, even as people kept bumping into me, one almost knocking me over.
The buildings—everything was so intricate and beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. The walls had buttresses sticking out, the roofs either flat or pointed, windows tall and narrow and made of tiny panes of glass. The buildings were mostly sandstone, black slate for the roofs.
But then there were pipes—so many pipes. Some were coppery or bronze, some silvery, some caked in grime, some letting out tiny bursts of steam, some shaking, the sound of clattering and clanging.
And the cars! Long, bulky things with six thin tires, and most had dual chimneys sticking into the air at the front. That was when I noticed there wasn’t any smoke. At least, it looked like just steam and the air was clear.
The constant bumping finally got me to move. On the way, I decided to follow the map, so I carefully held it up and tried to find any of the street names on it. “Bristol road,” I mumbled, stretching up and trying to peer over the crowd… and failing. If only the boots were taller.
Eventually, I scavenged enough signposts to follow the map, easier once I got away from the busy train station street—harder because there were new buildings to admire. The place I ended up was fairly quiet, a pedestrian street with shops all along, benches to sit and lamp posts sticking up really high, made of like wrought iron.
One shop sold clothes, and I couldn’t tell if it was for men or women before I remembered that, well, half the styles were unisex, maybe just a small adjustment to fit better. Another sold glasses and monocles—I wasted a few minutes admiring them, so intricate. I mean, one monocle on a rod, the rim was made of braided copper and there was a beautiful flower attached, also made of copper wire.
The other shops weren’t as interesting, normal things like a book store—that I definitely wanted to visit soon—and a pocket watch seller/repairer—there wasn’t anything to distract me on display at the front—and a cobbler, as well as more clothing stores.
As for the map, it left me outside a tea shop, or maybe a coffeehouse, or maybe some store for another drink everyone here liked.
What I liked was the name: Paphos. The letters were a bit hard to read, but I knew those ones well, quickly spotting it was an anagram of “Sappho”. It didn’t matter to me if it was just a coincidence, I liked it for that.
Nothing good coming from standing outside, I tugged my trunk inside, bell tinkling. It was a spacious place, but small, only room for six people to sit at the counter and a few tables along either side of the room, the middle clear. That made it easy for me to get to the counter.
“I’ll just be a minute, love!” a voice shouted from the back, soft and melodic, those plain words sounding like poetry.
After a second of melting, I remembered to reply. “N-no rush!”
Trying to not assume the pretty voice came from a pretty woman, I let out a long breath and looked around. It wasn’t actually decorated like, well, the rest of the city looked. There were pipes running across the roof and the tall, narrow windows were made of lots of small panes of glass. Other than that, the aesthetic was kind of Mediterranean, I thought. It was bright, the walls chalky white, a light blue stripe with a white seashell pattern repeating across it. And the floor looked like it was made of marble—sounded like it too. The chalkboard above the counter didn’t really fit “steampunk” either.
“Sweet child, what beverage would quench your thirst?”
She stepped out from the back and I forgot to breathe. Oh gosh, she was stunning and… apparently only wearing a large apron. I could only see that her arms and shoulders were uncovered, but my gay as fuck brain was convinced she was naked. Looking at her face didn’t help, so beautiful I was lucky I didn’t have the breath to embarrass myself.
As horribly uncomfortable as my staring must have been for her, she didn’t lose her little smile, but she did raise an eyebrow and that nearly killed me. Since I survived, I offered her the letter. It had led me to her. Full of grace and elegance, she took it, then sliced it open with her nail. I trembled at her power.
For a moment, I got to admire how beautiful she looked reading a letter. But it didn’t take her long.
“Oh my poor child,” she whispered, teary eyed, and she shuffled around the counter.
And I was frozen, not even moving when she hugged me, my hands terrified she wasn’t wearing anything under the apron.
“Let me just lock up and we can get you settled in,” she said.
It took me a second to realise what she said. “W-what?”
She let go of me and started walking to the door—finally showing me she was wearing something underneath: a corset with the rings and string, and tight trousers… leaving her lower back bare. So, so hot.
“You have nowhere to stay, no? Allow this to be your harbour until the storm passes.”
I heard her, but could only reply when she turned around. “That’s, um, kind of you, but I can’t… inconvenience you.”
She tittered on her way back to me, hips swaying, the apron like a dress on her as it fluttered. “Oh, your accent is lovely—you must have practised a lot.”
I forgot how to smile, mouth making the weirdest shape. “Oh, yeah, there’s, um…” I said, no clue how to answer that.
But she wasn’t waiting for one and picked up my trunk like it weighed nothing. “Come on, dear, I have a room upstairs for you,” she said, leading the way, and my horny ass followed without question.
Carrying on, she said, “In exchange, there are some chores I hope you will help me with, and you can always work some shifts for spending money.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, captivated by her butt as she climbed up the stairs.
There were a few rooms off the landing, one a bathroom and another a storage closet with spare linens and towels, the last a guest room, while her bedroom suite was on the next floor.
“We can go shopping for toiletries and such tomorrow, but is there anything else my child needs when we do?” she asked.
I was still massively overwhelmed by everything happening, especially my raging hormones, yet I did think of something. Something I needed so much I’d died for it.
“A notebook,” I whispered.
“We can certainly find one my child likes,” she said, looking at me with a soft smile.
And I suddenly realised what she was calling me, had been calling me since reading the letter. “Why are you… doing all this for me?” I asked, losing my nerve halfway through.
She reached out to me and I flinched on instinct. Shame washed over me, hating that I’d done that, but I glanced at her and she still had that soft smile.
“I wish to help the person in front of me who needs help,” she whispered. This time, I didn’t flinch when she reached out and gently patted the top of my head. “I shall not tell you how to feel about your parents; however, I want you to know that everyone, including you, deserves love. It is not your fault that you did not meet the expectations they forced upon you, nor are they entitled to love you less for it. For now, though, I shall be your mother—until such a time that you have found others to fill you with the love you need to thrive.”
Like she’d seen my soul and cleansed it, and the pain came out as tears, tears that stained her apron as she hugged me. This time, I hugged her back.
Eventually, she sat me down on the bed, stroking my face as she pulled away. “I shall prepare some dinner—would scrambled eggs and sun-dried tomato with fresh bread be to my child’s liking?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled, trying not to sniffle.
She gave me another of her beautiful smiles, then turned to the bedside table. “Ah, as you are not from these parts, might you not know of our coel?”
I frowned, not recognising the word. “You mean coal?”
She shook her head and reached over to the lamp on the table, lifting the shade for a moment. “You see that rock? The details are unimportant, but, when heated, it begins to glow and heat itself.”
Showing that, she picked up a lighter like I’d seen in movies, then opened it and spun the sort of gear-shaped part, igniting a flame. After holding it under the “bulb” of the lamp for a few seconds, a warm light started shining—dim, but it soon grew to mildly bright.
“It gets hot, so be careful. And there are more coel stones in the drawer when that one runs out. Unfortunately, there is no way to easily and safely stop it, so try not to add another if you are planning to sleep shortly thereafter.”
I nodded along, listening, but also loving how the light wobbled like it came from a fire.
“Ah, and welcome to Lunsdown. I think you will come to love it here.”
Smiling, I turned to her. “Me too.”
A good start to my new life.
EthanPeh· Apr 22, 2022
Steam punk!
