Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
F etch hunkered down more tightly, his body almost becoming one with mine as I held a finger to my lips as if he knew what I was saying.
Silence, my friend. Not a sound.
I closed my eyes and tried to hear through the pulse suddenly pounding in my head. The people out on the street had clearly heard it too, because the silence was absolute. Everyone knew the best way to avoid getting eaten was to stay still and quiet.
And pray.
I had just started on the latter when a scream pierced the silence.
My eyes shot wide, and I reached for my bow as I let out a low hiss. “Cissy!” I lurched into motion, the knocking of my arrow made near impossible by the trembling of my cold, clammy hands.
“Cissy!” I called, this time in full voice as I sprinted through the icy grass back toward the cobblestones.
The town center came into view at the same time Cissy Petway did, and I skidded to a stop in horror. She was ten feet in the air, suspended by the insectoid creature who had her by the too-large coat, locked between its mandibles. Cissy kicked her feet wildly as she hollered, desperately trying to free herself. Luckily, the mantis was not yet an adult, which meant its movements were hampered by the extra weight it was carrying.
I raised my bow and blew out a breath. If I could get off a clean shot, maybe I’d at least stun the insect into dropping her. It would be a hard landing but given the choice between that or the thing dragging her back to its nest, slicing into her stomach with its blade-like limbs, and slurping her guts out, it would have to do.
I was just about to fire when Fetch pecked my cheek in a stern warning.
The mantis had only taken two flaps to lift it and its captive a dozen feet higher. Despite its youth, its wings still seemed massive, at least ten feet from tip to tip.
Maybe the play wasn’t to go for a vulnerable bit at all. Maybe I should shoot for a wing, and hope the hold I left behind made it?—
“Hellllp!”
Moll was right. I spent too much time thinking. It was time to act, before it was too late.
I lined up my shot, steadied myself, and let loose. My aim was true. The arrow sailed toward the mantis with pinpoint precision…until the thing lifted its mighty wing and batted it out of the air like it was a toy.
“Damn it!” I brushed Fetch from my shoulder with a stern warning. “Stay back. You’ll be of no help.” Then, I ran into the middle of the street, waving my arms like a lunatic as I chased the mantis. Cissy was slowing it down, but we were only a few hundred yards from the Great Wall. If it got to the other side, it was game over.
“Hey! Ho! Here, you big dumb fucker!” I howled.
The mantis swung my way in a jerky motion.
“Yeah, look at me. She’s barely a morsel, and I’m a whole meal!” I dropped the squirrel I’d been holding and lifted my woolen sweater to bare my belly.
The mantis’s pupils narrowed, like it was considering my offer.
“Come on,” I urged, wriggling my hips and pushing out my lean stomach as far as I could manage. “You know you want me. My spleen is super juicy, or so I’ve been told.”
“Let me go, you bastard!” Cissy flailed hard, her legs wheeling violently as she flung her arms with wild abandon. She managed to connect the toe of her boot with the creature’s chest, and it let out a screech, dipping lower in the night sky. It was then that I noticed the top few buttons of her coat had come undone.
“Cissy, listen to me!” I called. “Try to wriggle free of your coat!”
The mantis picked that moment to make up its mind, going with the bird in the hand over me in the bush, and wheeled back around, heading straight for the wall.
Bile bubbled in my throat as I broke into a sprint after them, legs churning as fast as I could make them.
“Do it now! Right now, Cissy.” Panic clawed at my chest as the creature steadied itself and increased pace, hitting its stride. Thirty seconds to the wall at this rate. Maybe less. “You’re not so far from the ground now! You can?—”
A sudden streak of orange flashed through the darkness and my breath stilled. What the hell?
A loud, animalistic scream echoed through the night as the flame slammed into one of the mantises’ legs, severing it in a shower of sparks.
My thighs burned as Cissy dropped from the sky and I poured it on to reach her before she landed, to no avail. She hit a patch of frozen earth a short distance from the Great Wall with a grunt and a cry of pain.
“Cissy!” I bent low and gently rolled her onto her back so I could see her face. “Are you all right?”
“She’s fine, thanks to the skill and bravery of the king’s guard!”
I turned to see Preacher Pete dragging his pulpit from the street to the grassy area and climbing on top with a beaming smile as a palace guard stalked past Cissy and I toward the mantis, writhing and screeching about ten yards away.
It made sense now. The orange streak had been a flaming arrow. Hollowers weren’t allowed to have them, despite being closest to the wall that separated us from the mantises. But the palace guards and the wealthy people on the other side of the Cradle? That was a whole other story.
There was one last, weak cry, and then silence.
The grim-looking guard came our way, looking over Cissy with a cursory glance before meeting my gaze. “I’ve got to get back to report this. According to the heatseeking wards around the perimeter, there are no other threats in the area. Apparently, there was one, small weak spot that needs to be reinforced. Total fluke the thing found its way in but should be fixed by morning. We’ll send a palace falcon to patrol the area in the meantime, just as a secondary precaution.”
With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the horse he’d apparently rode in on.
“Witness the greatness of our monarchy here in Alabaster,” Preacher Pete crowed, clapping his hands in glee. “Tis truly like no other! Their love and benevolence have again shone upon us and saved this child.”
“Give it a rest, would you,” I muttered, “A little girl was nearly killed tonight.” I gathered Cissy closer, inspecting her scrunched face. “Talk to me, kiddo.”
“Well, for starters, I’m not a little girl,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “And secondly, I’m pretty sure if you guys gave me a little more time, I might’ve been able to take the bastard.”
Her words got the smile she’d been aiming for, and she smiled back, but given her chalk-white cheeks and wide eyes, there was no doubt she was shaken to the core. Who wouldn’t be?
But life in The Hollow meant being resilient. You bounced back quick and kept on going. There was no other choice.
“Don’t tell my ma. It’ll only worry her,” she added as she sat up with a grimace.
I nodded, not bothering to point out that her ma was going to hear it from one of the dozen or so people watching from the alleyways or through their windows.
“Cissy? You okay?”
Cissy’s gang had come out of hiding, looking shamefaced and worried, but she kept up the same brave front with them as she pushed my helping hands away and stood gingerly.
“Yeah.” She flexed both hands and stretched. “Yeah, I think I’m good. I was telling Harm that I was just about to kick that thing’s ass when that guard showed up. You guys all right?”
They exchanged looks and nodded.
“Yup. We were trying to come up with a plan to come help, only…”
“Harm had it under control,” Cissy said with a brave grin. “We’re pretty tough.”
I ruffled her hair and let out a sigh. “I’m glad no one was hurt, but I think it’s probably time to head home. There’s been enough excitement for the night, and we need to give the palace time to fix whatever went wrong.”
I half wondered if she might argue with me, but instead, Cissy nodded and gestured to her friends.
“Come on, guys. Let’s call it a night.”
I took a few minutes to retrieve the squirrel I’d abandoned and walk each of them home. But it wasn’t until the last had closed their door behind them and locked it that I let myself slump at the waist and feel the feelings.
Hot tears flooded my eyes as the image of Cissy in that thing’s grip flickered through my mind. That had been way too close for comfort. We’d lost people in the past, but it was getting more and more rare, and I could hardly remember the last time one had snatched a child.
I was no fan of the crown, but Preacher Pete had it right for once. That guard had saved Cissy’s life. And he’d saved me from having to go to sleep at night, watching her death on a continuous loop for all eternity after having failed her.
“Fucking hell.”
I straightened and Fetch returned to his perch on my shoulder, nestling his face into my neck.
“I know it’s freezing out here, but I’m afraid to say, our day isn’t done.”
As much as I wanted to go home to recover from the shock and horror of what just happened over a hot mug of tea, I still only had a single squirrel and a lot of mouths to feed.
Cissy would sleep a whole lot better with some hot food in her belly, and so would Fetch and I.
I headed back toward my original hunting spot, bone-tired now that the shock and adrenaline had worn off. Instantly, my thoughts went to Moll. She’d be at the jubilee by now. I hoped word of the mantis attack wouldn’t reach her. She needed to stay focused and worried about her own skin, not wondering what was happening back at home.
“What do you think, Fetch my boy? That mantis probably scared all those rabbits away anyhow. Maybe we’re better off foraging after all…”
A loud rustle directly behind me had both Fetch and I wheeling around in surprise. I dropped my bag and knocked an arrow in one motion. Whatever had made that sound was a lot bigger than a squirrel. If it was another mantis or a bear, I'd be on the wrong side of that fight even with my bow. Lucky for me, it turned out to be neither.
I blinked in total shock as a four-foot-tall wild turkey scuttled into view, its bright red waddle wobbling as it gobbled.
Sweet Mother, he was a big bastard. Thirty pounds if he was an ounce.
I sucked a breath in through my nose and held it, closing one eye as I aimed. I knew as soon as I released the bow string that it was a good, clean head shot. The bird dropped to the grass without a sound or a struggle.
I muttered my thanks to the animal, both elated and a little sad as I rushed toward it. Killing for our meals wasn't something I enjoyed. If it could've been avoided, I'd have done so. But we lived in the worst part of a cruel world, and that was a fact. Death came to us all in The Hollow, usually sooner rather than later, but I was doing my best to stave off his visit to me and Moll.
I couldn't stem the rush of tears that sprang to my eyes as I laid a hand on the turkey's downy chest. This would feed us all—even those I promised meat too—tonight and tomorrow, including Fetch, who was decidedly pro-cannibalism.
"Even better than a rabbit," I whispered, filled with gratitude.
I tugged the knife from the belt around my hips and began the tedious work of dressing the animal. When I was done, Fetch napped in a tree with a belly full of offal, and my hands were numb and aching from the cold. It didn't dampen my mood, though, because I had two sacks filled with meat and one of feathers for pillow-making. Moll was going to positively lose her mind when she saw the haul. I had to hope it would be enough to pick her up after what was sure to be the final, failed turkey hunt of her own.
I let out a whistle and Fetch left his perch to settle on my shoulder as I started the walk back to town.
"We'll stop off at Druzilla's and give them one of the legs,” I said to Fetch, turning my focus to the positives. “Then, we'll stop by Cissy’s and Xavier’s with supper for them."
The walk to my stepmother's house was not far, and I used every second of the time daydreaming about turkey stew. I was sure we had a bit of flour left, which meant dumplings were a must, just floating in that savory, rich broth…And if Moll came through with some pilfered daintiques from the jubilee?
It would have gone from a wretched day to a great one.
I slowed to a stop as my childhood home came into view. Or, at least, the part of my childhood I remembered. Black smoke puffed from the chimney of the squat little house, and a sense of relief mingled with the dread that always came from visits home. At least I could get warm and dry.
"You head on back to our place and I'll meet you there when I'm done," I said to Fetch, who seemed to nod in agreement before flitting off without a moment's hesitation.
Who could blame him? If I wasn't bound by family duty, I'd have avoided Druzilla and her dumb-dumb sons at all costs. But you didn't always get to choose your family.
Correction.
I didn't, at least. They had gotten to, though. Or at least my father had. Druzilla and her sons Wayne and Spalding—who I privately referred to as Pain and Suffering—had all voted no on adopting me. But dear old dad, Willliam Fallowell, had decided that the day he found me hiding in a hollowed-out tree in the woods, curled around my little book, Fetch guarding the entrance. That was the one day he put his foot down with his shrew of a wife and the jackasses he called sons. He’d made the decision to keep me all on his own.
At four years old—give or take—there was no way I would have been able to survive on my own, even with Fetch on my shoulder, so his choice had kept me from starving to death or being eaten by a predator. On the flip side, it had also caused him a load of grief. Constant badgering about already tight finances, and "one more mouth the feed" were regularly thrown at both me and him. Indignant scoffs and shots about blood being thicker than water and real men putting their children first. It had been tough on my father, but he never complained.
Not that it was all peaches and cream for me, either. I grew up not knowing who I was or even where I’d come from. Because the book in my arms was made with a type of leather my father had never seen, and the stories within were unknown to him, he theorized that I was from one of the other kingdoms. Although, why my birth parents would’ve sent me here, to the undisputed worst of the three Kingdoms, I couldn’t imagine. Maybe they were bad people who didn’t really care what happened to me. Despite vague memories of a beautiful woman with dark hair and tawny eyes like my own, and a man with a beard and a soothing, deep voice, I didn’t remember them at all, so I’d never know.
It was a fact that haunted me.
Eventually, Druzilla had grudgingly accepted the title of stepmother, but even at that, had insisted I call her by her first name except when in public. We had to keep up appearances, after all. Behind closed doors, it was worse. Always the blame fell to me, never given credit. I got slapped far more often than I got hugged, and waited on Druzilla, Pain, and Suffering like I was the hired help. But as meager and shitty as they were, I got three meals most days and a cot to sleep in. More than if I’d been left in the forest.
And, for twelve years, I had my dad.
William T. Fallowell. Willy to his friends, and “Sir” to me when Druzilla was around. But when we were alone, I called him Pawpaw, and he called me Cinderella just like the girl in one of the stories in my book. A fly on the wall might've thought that was because I was always covered in ash from cleaning the fireplace, but they'd have thought wrong. I earned that nickname fair and square when I was taking my first crack at making explosives that would help me, the earliest version of what I now called “bang ‘em ups.” They could break up boulders into smaller, usable stones for building a wall. Back then, I wasn’t as cautious, and my invention worked too well. The next thing I knew, my test bomb exploded in my face. The black soot clung to me for two days. It could've been a real tragedy, but it only cost me my eyelashes for a couple years, my best jumper, and a few layers of skin off my back when Druzilla tanned my hide over the jumper.
Worth it, in my opinion. Me and Pawpaw had secret nicknames, and they didn't.
At least none they knew about.
As I made my way to the front door, my hands broke out in a clammy sweat. Druzilla couldn't hurt me, physically or emotionally. Not anymore. Still, I felt a little nauseous every time I stepped inside. Moll spit on the ground whenever we walked past and had been insisting for more than a decade that I stop giving them the time of day. But that wasn’t what Pawpaw would've wanted. For reasons I would probably never truly understand, he loved them.
So here I was, for the promised weekly visit he’d secured via a deathbed request, with a food haul for them to complain about—and yes, they would complain, I had no doubts on that front.
"Just think about the dumplings, Harm. Get through this, and straight home to make dumplings and stew," I muttered under my breath as I lifted a fist and rapped on the door.
"Who is it?" a raspy male voice shouted from inside.
"It's Harmony. Open up, it's freezing out here."
The sound of locks tumbling open, then the door swung wide to frame my youngest “brother”, Wayne.
"Well get inside before you let all the hot air out, then," he grumbled, stepping to the side and waving.
"Tell her not to bring that winged rat in here with her. I'm pretty sure that's where my precious Minuet caught those fleas from!" My stepmother’s voice rose high and demanding. Again, as per usual.
I forced a tight smile and slipped past Wayne, sighing as the warm air enveloped me. The room opened straight from the entry hall into a sitting area, a roaring fire dominating the center of the far wall. "Fetch isn't with me, but birds don't get those kinds of fleas anyway.”
Druzilla’s once blonde hair was shot with more silver now, but she still had it done up in the most current fashion of a braid ringing around her head, like a crown. It suited her really; she’d always been queen of the house. She was wearing a deep blue gown—well-worn and older in fashion with the heavy velvet—that brought out the sharp blue in her eyes and accentuated her pale skin. She’d been a beauty once, but her sharp tongue made it hard for me to see.
She shot me a quelling look and shifted in her overstuffed chair. "Thinks she knows everything, this one," she muttered to Spalding, who sat across from her on a sofa that had seen better days. Spalding was the shorter of the two boys—dirty blond hair with a receding hairline, blue eyes too, but all washed out, like a poor copy of his mother’s coloring. Wayne favored father. Deep brown hair, like the color of tilled soil, and blue-green eyes. Even his frame was like Pawpaw’s—strong and heavily muscled, like an ox.
Spalding snorted and cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, she's a real smarty-pants, this one. So smart that she didn't even bother to wear a coat outside. Use your head, Harm. If you catch your death of the cold, who's gotta come up with the coin to bury you?" He poked a beefy thumb at his own chest. "It's me, that's who."
There was no point in reminding him that he didn't have a job, and that I wanted to be cremated anyway, which was free.
The name of the game with these visits was speed. Get in, drop off the food, and get out. Duty done, safe for a week from their pointed jabs.
I held the largest bag high. "Turkey. A big one, at that."
Druzilla wet her lips as her greedy eyes narrowed on the bag. "Hmmm. I prefer pheasant…"
"Oh, okay then," I replied, shrugging. "I'll just keep the whole thing for myself and make a pot pie for the rest of the week."
"N-no, no!" she leapt to her feet and patted down a stray gold and silver curl. "At least it's not squirrel again as the last four weeks have been. Give it over." She wiggled her fingers at me, and I handed over the sack containing the turkey leg, which she promptly dropped into Spalding's lap. "Get that into a pot and heat some water for tea." She shot me a look and then whispered, loudly, "Don't waste the sugar, though."
Gods above, she was insufferable. I held my hands up, stopping Spalding. "Oh, no tea for me. I‘m going to warm my hands by the hearth for a minute and head back home. I've got loads of work to do."
"Of course you do," Wayne said with a bright smile. "Who else is going to break stuff and catch themselves on fire if you're not out there doing it, am I right?"
I smiled sweetly and aimed for the low hanging fruit. "Still pissing the bed, Wayne, or did you finally grow out of that? Hard to get a wife when you can’t hold your water."
Spalding let out a guffaw and Wayne popped him hard in the diaphragm, sending him into a coughing fit, gasping to catch his breath. I fought not to wince—I’d been on the receiving end of Wayne’s fist and catching your air after was a chore.
Wayne’s eyes narrowed. "Shut up, Harmony. It wasn't piss. I spilled some water, I told you that a million times."
I tipped my head. "You know I had to wash the sheets that week? Water doesn’t stain yellow, Wayne. Oh, that rhymes. Wayne the Stain."
Spalding managed a breath and used it to pile on. “Wayne the Stain! Oh, that’s good!”
Wayne spun on his brother, both fists curled. He lunged at him, and they tripped over the low coffee table, dragging it across the floor with a screech.
"Enough!” Druzilla’s voice cracked through the room like a whip as she stood, and the three of us froze as if we were children still. “All of you, stop! I've got a headache to start, and you're only making it worse with your arguing!" Druzilla pointed a finger at Spalding, then directed him toward the tiny kitchen. "Tea. Now."
Spalding scuttled off, and she turned to me and Wayne. He glared at me, and I smiled oh so sweetly back.
"You may as well sit and chat a minute while you wait for your tea," she said, retaking her seat with a sniff. I padded toward the fireplace and knelt low, letting the heat seep into my icy skin. Despite my protests, I was going to have to stay for the tea now.
I had zero interest in chatting, but I also knew this was part of the ritual. Like me, Druzilla felt some warped sense of obligation to my father. Hers didn't extend to helping me in any way, shape or form, but when I showed up, she made sure to spend ten minutes asking me stupid questions and feigning interest in my life.
"So...how are things?" she asked, her tone stilted by the effort of exchanging pleasantries with someone she could not have cared less for.
I should probably mention the whole mantis attack thing, but I still wasn’t fully recovered, and if I had to watch Pain and Suffering gleefully reenact the event, I was liable to start swinging. Besides, we both knew Druzilla had no interest in my problems. Instead, I mentally thumbed through the approved script and smiled. "Really good. Great, actually. Everything is just great."
Her head bobbed. "Good to hear it."
"And you?" I asked dutifully, already prepping to tune out the coming list of complaints.
Druzilla didn't disappoint.
"My gout has been acting up, and I think I have that rash on my back again. Do you want to see?"
I certainly do not, ma'am. "That's okay. Seen one rash, you've seen 'em all, right?"
She narrowed her eyes at me but then her face cleared. "Oooh, did you hear, it's the Winter Jubilee at the palace tonight, oh, how lovely it will be! Every ten years they host it, the last I was at was before…" she trailed off, then leaned back and laid a hand on her sagging bosom. "Imagine how glorious it must be. The costumes. The decor. The food!"
Druzilla knew all about the balls and jubilees. Better than anyone else in The Hollow, at least. She’d been born in Little Alabaster, after all, and spent the first sixteen years of her life there living in splendor and excess. Until she ran away to marry a boy from The Hollow.
The story went that she and Willy Fallowell had met at a merchant bazaar, one of those rare times in the past when folks from The Hollow were allowed through the single gate in the Cradle that was usually locked tighter than a mantis’s jaws on a meal. For a few, blessed hours, they rubbed elbows with the wealthy folks over silks and spices only the latter could afford while feasting on ham hocks and ale that the crown provided as a rare, strategic show of its so-called benevolence.
The attraction between Willy and Druzilla had been instantaneous.
She was a handsome woman at the time, but unmarried long enough to hear the whispers of “spinster” due to her sharp tongue, despite her young age. Willy was funny and sweet, but more than that, he was off limits. To a spoiled rich girl who had been spurned by her own, what could be more attractive than forbidden fruit?
It had taken six months of wedded bliss for the bloom to rot off that rose, but by that time she was very pregnant, and there was no going back. She’d made the mistake of giving up a life of leisure and material wealth for life in The Hollow—her parents had declared her dead to them, and she'd be stuck here until she truly died.
From that day forward, she’d made it her whole personality to ensure that Willy paid for the loss of luxury.
As for his part, he took whatever she dished out. Because, despite being a great provider by Hollow standards as a blacksmith, he accepted the blame for his wife’s change in circumstances down to his very bones.
"I’m sure it’s a nice party, but I hear it’s not all roses on the other side of the Cradle,” Wayne said with a sneer, drawing my attention from the past back to the conversation at hand. “Apparently, the Prince Regent has been a real handful since he's been back. Developed an eye for the ladies in his travels and has a habit of taking them whether they want to be taken or not, if you catch my meaning." He waggled his brows like he was talking about a steal of a deal at the butcher shop as opposed to rape.
"Where did you hear that?" I demanded, frowning. "From Bigsby down at the pub? You know you can't believe anything that tree stump has to say. He once told me he swallowed an apple seed and shat a whole-ass apple a few weeks later."
Wayne cracked his knuckles and shook his head mulishly. "Not Bigsby. For your information, I have it on good authority. You know Tilda from the bakery? Well, her cousin is a maid at the palace. She said she found a woman naked and bloodied, wandering the halls at night, babbling about the prince hurting her and needing help. They helped her, alright. Nobody's seen or heard from her since, and it’s been two weeks. Her family was told she was so ashamed of her immoral behavior, she exiled herself to The Hollow. If she's here, I sure haven't heard tell of it, have you?"
Bloody hell, that was horrifying. Tilda was a straight arrow and, while we weren't exactly friends, I’d never known her to be an idle gossip.
"Best tell Moll not to be nosing around on the other side of the Cradle either," Wayne continued, inspecting his dirty fingernails. "Apparently, he has a real taste for redheads in particular. Curls too."
I let the words sink in, swallowing back a rush of nausea as I straightened.
"You're making the last bit up," I managed, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy in my mouth.
Nope. Not now. Please, God, not now.
I squeezed my eyes closed, sucking long breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. Lights flickered behind my lids as my head began to throb with a pulse of its own.
Surely, Moll was alright.
Surely even if the Prince Heinrich noticed her, he would never risk hurting her in the midst of a palace filled with people? It only made sense that she was safe.
But my experience with wealthy, powerful men told me different. And so did my gut.
Damn it, Moll.
I could hear Wayne talking, but he sounded a million miles away. "Why would I make that up, Harm? Moll's alright, even if she does hang ‘round you. I wouldn’t be opposed to courting her myself, if not for you."
"Good gods, she's doing the thing again," Druzilla muttered as I grabbed onto the mantel for purchase. "You're almost thirty years old, broke as a church mouse, and a spinster to boot. Surely you've grown out of these weird spells by now."
The vice on my skull tightened. I could not afford to go under when Moll needed me!
Shit, shit, shit.
Thwack!
I don't know what jarred me back from the brink, the clash of teeth as my head snapped back, or the sharp sting in my cheek that redirected my attention. Whatever the case though, suddenly, the headache was gone. My eyes shot wide, and I found Druzilla staring at me, her expression flat.
"All right then? You need to get control of yourself, Harmony."
I nodded, rubbing my cheek absently as I stuffed the other bags into her hands.
"Yes. Thank you. Have one of the boys bring Cissy's mom and Xavier some turkey. If they don’t, I’ll hear about it,” I added with a warning glare. “I've got to go...run an important errand."
"What the hell are you on about, missy? We don't work for you, you know?—"
But the rest of her words were lost as I bolted for the door, brain already ten steps ahead of my body. There was no time to forge myself an invite. Even if I had more supplies to do it, it had taken nearly eight hours to get Moll’s just right. No, I would have to get over the Cradle and into the palace the hard way.
Step one?
Find a dress for the Winter fucking Jubilee.