Madam Kaereah Bitterdawn

"I heard the bells..."

She knew it was coming. She had been reading the signs, listening to the wind, extending her senses into the signature of energy that filled The Red Moon and waited. While she’d done her best to fill the place with a sense of home; boughs of evergreen and winterberry, great braided garlands of holly and mistletoe, candles in red and gold, the scents and sounds of the season - she knew they were all but padding on the cruel edges of reality. 

Among the staff there were a few who, despite their chosen career were welcomed and accepted amongst their families and friends, there were others who were not and never would be. There too were those who had no family and only the friends they had made within the home and halls of The Moon. Such was the life, the world of those who gave service to the pleasure and upliftment of others through the carnality of sex, the hands-on duty of reminding and reflecting the singular gift of being desired and even if for only a little while, adored.

The early hours had seen the departure of those scant few who had places to go during the holidays. And by whatever miracle of empathy and perhaps even love, they made their escape quiet and largely without event. Those who remained, listless and seeking for the joy of the season slept late or lingered in their rooms reading, writing, or preparing small gifts for those who like them would gather round Kae’s large table to feast and drink come the stroke of midnight. 

However, there was a weight, Kae could feel it all around them, an oppressive numbness and painful nostalgia that seeped into the curtains and leaked into the floorboards. No amount of cinnamon and pine could bury the stink of it, at least not completely. 

The Madam had risen early, donned her favorite green velvet dress and embroidered corset, tucked up her loose waves, and pinned them into place with pretty little hairpins that Aember had given her. Among the crimson now sat sparking flakes of snow, made of wire and tiny rhinestones. 

Around her neck hung the fine silver chain, with a pendant of moss agate; it s center held an occlusion that looked just like a fir tree, proud and tall and green. This, she’d been given by her sister, the witch, the last Winterveil the two of them had been speaking. Her ears were likewise adorned by bright ruby cabochons circled with diamonds. Like the other jewels, they were a gift: a special gift that came one Winterveil by post from Greneda and Vaughn before The Third War. 

It was up to her, with her costume of joviality on and her smile though worn, well shaped and freshly painted to scoop up her people, her little tribe of misfits and Sheppard them through the bleakness. This was their family now, for good or ill just as in birth and the sooner they embraced that idea the better for their hearts and spirits.

Quietly she’d entered the kitchen, checking on all the dishes that she and the cook had begun the night before. There was enough food to feed a detachment of Blood Knights, but then Kae had found over the years, that many a dreary heart would wander through the door and be in need of the comforts of a home long lost. 

It was a night where the light was off. The red orb that hung over the doorway to the Moon was put out just before the cook finally found her bed, and it would stay that way until sundown the day after next. In their business there were few times of the year, holiday, or no that they did not provide diversion and delight to the curious, needy and lonesome. Nevertheless, over this span of days, the peddling of flesh would not be done. 

They would fill cups and plates, sing songs perhaps around the fire and tell stories if there were those who would listen, but no sheets would be slid between, no corsets loosened or breeches shimmied out of for any amount of coin. Whores spend their lives giving, it was only appropriate in Kaereah’s mind that as the year rolled over, one to the next that they take some time to serve themselves, to give to one another and when in deepest need, go dim and silent in a sort of spiritual hibernation.

Dipping her finger into a simmering pot of stew, she reflected on the year and on all the bounty they had gained over the few months since moving and taking Sana into their fold. There had been much leaner years by far, and it made her proud that this would be the finest of Winterveil Eves she had ever been able to offer to her folk, to those good hearts and warm souls who plied their trade under her roof. The stew; thick and flavorful was sucked from her finger with an air of satisfaction. 

In the corner near the large fire, nodded off one of the porters, a boy still, who had no home in Silvermoon, but found one here as apprentice to the cook and a ready set of hands and feet to clean, truck linens and tighten the odd corset or two. He was a good lad and Kae had high hopes that one day he would run this kitchen, when both she and the cook were too old or too tired to do so anymore. 

She swished round the long trestle table that ran the middle of the room and stepped over to the sleeping youth. Digging into her pocket she found a gold coin, which she dropped into his shirt pocket for him to find later. Despite the absence of her daughter, of her sister, of any man who she might have called a lover, she felt the spirit of the season lift her lips into a smile, put softness in her gaze, and lighten the yolk of responsibility about her shoulders. 

It was good too, this sudden buoyancy of mood. It would be needed soon, a refuge to those about the Moon for whom the season did little to usage their historic hurts and emotional wounds. There was one among them, for whom the season was like a double-edged weapon, and she would fall eventually to the wailing and the maudlin distress. Kae would need every ounce of her brightened mood to combat the yearly fit of deadly nostalgia.

(( Music: 

Part 2
Part 3