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 Posted: Thu Jan 01, 2026 7:51 pm
Ria took a deep breath. There was no concert tonight. Green Chapel had told her about this, even explained how to do it. There was nothing left, but to do it. The university student wrinkled her nose. The other page had made it sound so easy when she'd described it. Swear a specific oath, get instantly teleported to something called a Wonder. On Venus. A planet altogether too close to the sun. If it wasn't for the sheer amount of magic apparently present in the universe, this would've sounded like a great recipe for getting burnt to a crisp.
But, still...
Some part of her wanted to know...
What was this place, and why did part of her want to see it so badly?
Thus, she found herself summoning her little shortbow, relaxing as the fancy, silky, lacy clothing in the colors of fire or autumn leaves settled around her body.
Now...what were the words again?
Ohhh...yesss...
"I pledge my life and loyalty to Venus, and to Fontainebleau.
I humbly request your aid, so that in return I may give you mine."
She stated the words, focusing on the gentle tug at her heartstrings that was the strange response in her heart of hearts to the idea of seeing her Wonder. Whatever that was.
What she was not expecting was the bright burst of light, like intensive sunlight, flaring to near incandescence before vanishing.
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Posted: Thu Jan 01, 2026 8:16 pm
As the light cleared, she found that the ground beneath her feet was no longer the wooden floor of her apartment, but pitted cobblestones. Blinking, the page gazed up at the unfamiliar sight before her.
The hulking ruins of a horseshoe shaped chateau rose above her, straight halls terminating in broad, round towers. Smashed windows lined the golden sandstone walls, and fragments of autumn-colored glass littered the broad, gracious courtyard. The front doors hung battered open on broken hinges, as did other, smaller doors adjoining the courtyard. Beautiful wrought iron lanterns either lay shattered on the ground, or dangled weakly from their fittings. The shredded remains of sunset-colored bunting and banners were trodden into the ground, or rested snagged on the leafless branches of the surrounding forest, bearing a device of flowers--myrtle flowers, her mind supplied, though how she knew, she could not say. Terracotta roofing tiles lay scattered over the ground, where they were not still affixed haphazardly to the roofs. Spires of a minty, uneven shade of chalky green hinted at a past where they might have shone a gleaming bronze. The remains of what looked like rose vines clambered up the stones, choking what looked to be grand and elegant sculptures, though what forms those sculptures took, beyond the twisting and arboreal columns of the left hand wall, which flanked a line of massive stable doors.
Stable? Where had that come from?
She shook her head, and turned her gaze to the center of the courtyard, which seemed to serve as a focal point.
Broken cobblestones lined a massive pool, deep and almost completely dried out. At the center of the pond rose a boulder, topped with a truly massive myrtle tree, stately and tall, even in its bare and leafless state, seeming to draw the eye.
And she almost seemed to hear a voice, and feel a hand on her shoulder, gripping her firmly.
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Posted: Thu Jan 01, 2026 8:45 pm
Fontainebleau found herself looking down at her hands, which weren't her hands at all, they were pale and calloused a bit differently from hers, as though from years of wielding a bow.
"Look at Fontainebleau, Freyja Aslaugsdottir. If you are accepted as its next knight, this will be your home, your fiefdom, your sanctuary. You will be its lady and mistress, aiding others in their Hunt for Love."
The courtyard above her was different, grandiose, beautiful, sculpted with patterns of myrtle, deer, and beautiful maidens draped in sensuously flowing cloth, hair falling lushly about their faces, or caught up in ribbons and coronets, woven with delicately carved roses. Jeweled light glinted through the stained glass windows, sometimes winking through actual gemstones worked into the designs. Gleaming bronze capped the roofs, and there was the sound of creatures in the stable, stamping about, while some frolicked in pastures adjoining the stables. Sunset-colored roses practically glowed from where they clung to the warm sandstone walls.
And, towering above the great pond, filled with golden water lilies, was the Great Myrtle, the Sacred Tree of the Holy Pool of Beautiful Waters, decked out in summer flowers that peeked amid the deep, rich green leaves like tiny golden stars in the summer skies.
The page shook her head, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Once again, the courtyard was a sad and broken ruin, its glory long gone, walls scorched in places by a forgotten fire, almost desperately hidden by the withered and blackened rose vines. The stables held no occupants, the trees were bare, no flowers bloomed, and her hands were her own again.
What...the...heck?
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Posted: Thu Jan 01, 2026 9:13 pm
Without pausing to think about what she was doing, Fontainebleau dashed toward the doors, skirting the pond, sprinting up the grand marble staircase, scattered with dead autumn leaves that crunched dryly underfoot.
Up the stairs, turn left, toward the Lady's Tower--yet another thing she didn't understand how she knew--and up, up, up the spiraling staircase to the topmost chambers of the Tower, nearest the sunset, with the clearest view of the evening stars, sealed with doors of myrtle on hinges of corroded bronze, decorated with a motif of a half-naked maiden riding a stag whose antlers and neck were bedecked in myrtle blossoms--
The page stood panting in the beautiful mess that had been made of the chambers of the Lady of Fontainebleau. Shreds of lace, samite, and heavy brocades hung from the furnishings and windows, alongside exquisite and faded tapestries worked with gold and tarnished silver, depicting hunting scenes and courting scenes.
Knocked off the nightstand, half hidden in blankets and moldering fur rugs was a heavily damaged jewelry box, exquisitely carved and gilded, in a pattern of roses and myrtle blossoms.
Walking unsteadily toward the box, Fontainebleau knelt beside it, and lifted it with trembling fingers.
It was mostly intact. Ages later, and it was still sealed shut with a complex locking mechanism of wood and gold. She breathed a sigh of relief, and pressed and pushed the various elements into place. The page was rewarded with a soft click, and the lid swung open, creaking as it went.
Inside, on a bed of threadbare orange velvet lay a simple golden ring, flattened on top, bearing an engraved device of the Ring and Cross of Venus, the ring a woven hoop of myrtle branches and flowers, the sides decorated in roses and brambles with an inlay of amber.
Fontainebleau lurched to a seat, with her back against the collapsing four-poster bed, and, trembling as she did so, placed the ring on her finger. Fishing around in subspace, the page pulled out a notebook and pencil, hastily scribbling on it, and, after digging around the detritus of the desk, located the remains of a stick of warm wax. Breaking off a chunk, she pressed it onto the paper with the ring, heaving a sigh of relief when the paper vanished.
The paper had read only:
"I HAVE FOUND IT."
After a few minutes of pacing around the room, a reply came back, likewise written on binder paper, but bearing an inky seal of a wheel formed of tree trunks whose branches and roots interlocked.
It read only:
"CONGRATULATIONS!!!"
Outside, unobserved, in the weedy remains of the chateau's gardens, which hugged the base of the walls on the western side, for the first time in a millennium, marigolds bloomed.
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