Think · only · of · the · past · as · its · remembrance · gives · you · pleasure.

Sunlight gleamed in a cloudless sky as Elizabeth Liz and Desire stepped through the front door of Milliways and onto a carefully tended dirt-and-gravel road. On either side of the road, a sprawling field teemed with stalks of new crops. Colourful wildflowers bloomed in clumps alongside the road, just far enough from the tilled field to have avoided the farmers' plows. That section of road, and that field, had marked the portal between Milliways and Liz's England for as long as Liz had been patronising the bar. She did find it odd that none other from her time appeared to have located the secret and found his or her way into Milliways, but she could not term herself disappointed by this. Milliways did make a lovely retreat. A lovely retreat in which she might find herself of much need once this particular visit was completed.

Liz glanced upward at her companion, and nearly cringed when she noted the way the sunlight accentuated the other's very distinctive eyes. Already gleaming burnished gold, they now appeared to almost glow in the Endless's face. There could be no means of avoiding notice on their errand; even a blind man would likely be able to spot those eyes a mile off. Liz fought back the urge to groan. Why must all the Endless have such conspicuous eyes? If she did not know better, she would speculate that it was simply for the purpose of disrupting her life as thoroughly as possible.

There was nothing for it. Either they must proceed, or she must bend to the Endless and yield -- an insupportable idea. Friends of a kind though they may be at last, Liz felt herself nearly duty-bound to resist Desire's games and machinations as much as could be possibly managed. She had come too far in this to subside now.

Adopting a pleasant and welcoming smile, she addressed the Endless.

"The weather is much more hospitable than on your last visit, you see. As for the people..." She trailed off, every syllable rife with insinuation, as a glint of gold once more caught her own eye. Even the thickest of townspeople would recollect the scandal of Mr Willard, once they caught a glimpse of those unusual eyes. Again, there was nothing to be done for it. After a meaningful pause, she dipped her head forward with a sigh. "Well, we must hope."

She turned away from Desire to gaze along the unpaved road. For a moment, her features shifted as an air of determination passed over her face. She willed the expression away before looking back toward the Endless.

"The town of Meryton lies nearly a mile and a half in that direction," she informed Desire as she gestured up the road with her hand. "My father's estate and the surrounding village of Longbourn can be found not even half a mile down that path." The raised hand turned away from the path to Meryton, and gestured along a beaten dirt path almost perpendicular to the main road.

She did not suggest which direction be selected. If Desire wished to continue the game, let it choose what it would.

Liz, for so she is still known although the name sounds increasingly foreign to her ears, sits in silence at a table in the corner of the bar. The only sound emanating from her designated space is the faintest chink of fine porcelain as teacup is lifted from and replaced upon saucer.

Her dark brown eyes gaze solemnly about the bar, watching the other patrons with an expression that even the most charitable observer could only identify as impassive. Her entire air appears to discourage approach or interaction. Odd, this. Nevertheless...

Even those creatures that appear most vivacious must be given exception now and again.

It was a rather odd sensation, really, to be as a piece of paper. Flat, that was to say. Oh, Liz certainly felt quite normal, there should be no mistake regarding that.

It was only when she looked at her hands.

Instead of the slender, tapered backs and fingers she was accustomed to, or the soft, uncalloused palms, there were only pale, flesh-coloured slashes. The arms extending beyond them were not much better, depending upon their orientation about her. From one direction, they appeared quite as the norm, albeit more... textured. From another point of view, however, they appeared no more substantial than the rest of her. Most disconcerting, she found that.

Even after all of this time, Liz could not quite discern how she had happened to find herself in this predicament, although it must be said that even to state all this time was to risk hyperbole, as hour and day were elusive in this place, if indeed they existed at all. All in all, it would likely have been more accurate for her to say that she had thought much on the situation, however much or little time was truly spent. As best she could recollect, there had been no extraordinary occurrence -- simply an intended jaunt to the common library to procure a new book. A simple passage through a painting portal, and nothing more. Liz could not recall doing anything irregular or incorrect.

Why, then, did she appear to be within a painting of the library, instead of the room itself?

The first sensations had, surprisingly, been ones of terror. Her room was still visible, in a small frame on the painted wall of the library, pristine and clear as one of those "photographs" she had seen around Milliways. No matter how or what she attempted, however, it remained inaccessible to her. And oh, but she had tried every manner of escape she was able to invent. The standard opening charm was ineffectual. Pushing through the picture was of no use. Even the Dreaming was locked to her. Eventually, the well of ideas ran dry. All that was to be done was to wait.

And wait she had. Liz supposed that if one must be confined to a painting, there could be worse places than the painting of a library. At the very least, there were plenty of books about, however difficult their painted form might render the type inside. She quickly learned, however, that if she held a book perfectly vertical, and just enough to the side, while turning her back toward the wall on which hung the picture of her chambers, she could sometimes make out the text, although a little puzzling might be required. Seating was a rather more insurmountable matter. Plenty of painted chairs appeared scattered about the room, but none permitted rest upon them. A pity, that, as standing did grow quite wearying.

Liz idly wondered if the portraits in the ubiquitous galleries so common to family estates felt similarly, confined as they were to the same circumstances for years or even generations.

As time continued to tick by -- if it in fact still existed -- it increasingly appeared that she might very well discover that for herself.

Liz tore along the corridor as fast as she could go, hoping to reach her chambers before anyone recovered sufficiently from their shock to be equal to pursuing her. She wiped furiously at the tears springing to her eyes. Now was not the time for such trivialities. She chanted silent prayers as she moved, willing the reality of her situation to go away. Her newly-returned desires still surged through her like fire, and the knowledge of what had happened rooted itself to her mind like a foul fungus. She felt violated, tainted, and the full realisation of just what it was that she had lost that night in the bar was distilled agony. Oh merciful God in Heaven, what had she done? She now knew what was required of her to correct the situation, and could only hope that it was not too late.

She wheeled around the corner of the upstairs hall, running headlong into a maid with her arms full of pillows. Maid and pillows went flying. Liz called back a hasty apology over her shoulder, but was unable to stop. She needed privacy and silence. She needed to reach her chambers. In the foyer downstairs, she could hear urgent voices, growing in intensity as they moved towards the main staircase. They were coming for her. If not so before, surely now they believed she was insane, after her display downstairs. It was of little matter, however, as Liz did not intend to be around to see their response if it could possibly be helped. She simply needed to lock herself in her chambers for a time, away from everyone, and determine precisely how she was going to make her escape from Netherfield. That was all she needed.

At last, Liz reached her door. Flinging out a hand to touch the doorknob, she shoved her way into the room. The lamps and fire had already been lit by an industrious maid, so she was able to see clearly. When she saw what awaited her, she nearly collapsed on the spot.

"How - ?"

Mr Charles Bingley & Miss Caroline Bingley
Gala Ball
Netherfield
November 23, 1811
9 o'clock p.m.


The dual wedding was planned for the following Saturday, November 30. It was to be held in Hertfordshire, after which the Bingleys would retire to the leased estate of Netherfield, and the Darcys would make the fifty-mile journey back to Darbyshire and Pemberley. The wedding ceremony itself was intended to be a private affair, restricted to family and close friends, and the travel awaiting the newlyweds afterwards precluded any form of celebration. Therefore, an engagement gala had been planned to allow the families of Hertfordshire to share in the joy of the two couples.

As Mr Darcy's estate was inconvenient for the purpose, Netherfield had been fixed upon as the location of the event. The house was cleaned until it sparkled, and bedecked with such plants and elegance as were available during the final throes of a Hertfordshire late November. The neighborhood had begun to buzz some weeks before the actual event, and as the night arose, the flurry reached a fever pitch. The Bennet family had removed from Longbourn to Netherfield the previous day to prepare for the ball, and was now comfortably encamped there. The food was readied, the surfaces polished, and the fires and candles lit. The guests were beginning to arrive, set to experience the most lavish gala that Hertfordshire had seen in some years.

It would truly be a night to remember.

It had been a Wednesday night when she left Milliways for her world. While over a week had passed since her return, it was only Thursday night at Milliways. She neither knew this nor cared, however.

She was unaware of the talk occasioned by her departure, or of the concern for her eventual restoration. She knew nothing of Morpheus's plans to assist Moiraine by bridging Tel'aran'rhiod, or even what Tel'aran'rhiod precisely was. She knew none of the details, none of the reasoning. All was in a time or place beyond her. When the proposed attempt was made, however, she knew it.

In her chambers at Longbourn, Liz lay asleep. As had become a matter of habit, she had curled her hand about Morpheus's key as she drifted to sleep, thinking of the opening garden gate. She did not know why she did it, as she certainly did not need to do so, but the motion had become part of her bedtime ritual during her stay at Milliways.

For whatever purpose, the key worked for her outside of Milliways. She did not care to contemplate the reason for this, but if she had, and had tried to explore the matter, she might have realised that no one but her could use the key in her own time, for so it was. Perhaps it was because she was one of Morpheus's people. Perhaps it was because she carried part of Milliways within herself. Whatever the reason, the garden was hers to roam, even here.

As she had every night since Peter had returned her key to her, Liz strolled through the Garden of Dream. She inhaled the sweet, perfumed air and felt the tickle of a light breeze upon her skin. There were flowers, and trees, and shrubberies. She did not explore the gardens; there was no need for that. She sniffed no blooms; she picked no fruit. She simply walked. That was what one did in a garden, and she needed the exertion, she told herself.

She came to a low bench, and realised that she was tired from walking. She sat. Nimue, the little grey kitten, bounded up and curled itself into her lap, purring happily.

"Hello, Elizabeth," the Kitten said.

"Hello, Nimue," Elizabeth responded.

"Would you be so good as to scratch my ears?" the Kitten mewled.

"Certainly," Liz replied, ruffling the Kitten behind the ears. If Nimue needed to be scratched, she could certainly oblige it. They sat as such for some time, woman and satisfied lap cat.

Then the whole Garden seemed to shake and swirl. A gigantic pain filled Liz's mind, and Nimue went flying as Liz stood, crying in agony and clutching her head. So cold - so empty. She dropped to her knees, her head spinning as the Garden whirled around her. Pain, utter pain, consumed her as the weight of nine years of emptiness and nothingness crashed upon her, searing every molecule of her being. She did not know how she knew this, and she did not ask. She was already experiencing it. She was expanding, she was being crushed, she was going to fade away, she was going to explode. The world went black.

Liz opened her eyes - or had she? She could see nothing, just quantities of vast open black and nothingness, stretching on to infinity. And it was cold. So cold. No light, no warmth, no hope. Just cold, an absence of anything and everything. Where was she? Was she? Had she died? Or had she ever existed at all? She doubted the last, suspended there in the midst of nothing. She could not feel her body, could not hear, taste, touch, or smell. She tried to scream, but heard no sound, and the thought came to her that perhaps she was only imagining that she was trying to scream. She could only feel horror and blinding pain.

Slowly, light began to fill her vision, the agony within her subsiding to a persistent echo in the back of her mind. She reached for the light with her thoughts, feeling its attainment to be essential to her survival. As the light grew and filled in around her, she found herself in a room of calm and peace. Spent, she sagged against a nearby wall, dropping to the floor. She looked about her, uncertain where she was. The walls, marble to her hesitant touch, glowed with a sheen of gold light. Slight movement across the space captured her attention and she looked up wearily to see a tiny peacock and an equally tiny frog walking worriedly about a figure collapsed on the ground. It was Morpheus, his cheek visibly pressed to the floor of cool grey marble. His shifting cloak of nightmares pooled around his still form, and red light from a stained-glass window above played across his face. He was not breathing. This time, Elizabeth knew she was screaming.

Liz lurched upright in her bed, screams tearing from her throat. She was back in Longbourn, in the year 1811.  Desperately, she patted her body down, reassuring herself that she still existed.

After a moment, a knock on the door.

"Miss Elizabeth?" It was Martha, her maid. "Are you well?"

Liz did not answer, nor did she move to unlock her chamber door. She simply fell back onto her pillows slowly, gaping upwards at the dark velvet canopy of her bed, eyes wide and horrorstruck. Haunted by feelings of nothingness and visions of blood-red light, she lay awake the rest of the night.

Dear Sir,

I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew; he has more to give.

Yours sincerely, etc.

from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 60

My dear Peter,

I am so terribly sorry.

Should we meet again, and I fear that we shall not after twelve weeks of separation, I pray that you would forgive me.

It is all so terribly complicated, but I am unequal to writing more at present.

Oh, I would that I could return to Milliways!

Elizabeth

Dear Peter,

I have news of the most wonderful nature! Oh, it is too wonderful to be bourne! I know not whether I have mentioned my elder sister Jane's attachment to a gentleman by the name of Bingley. For quite a duration of time, it seemed hopeless that anything should ever come from it, betwixt her family's situation and the meddlings of Mr Bingley's particular friend, but it has finally happened! Bingley has made my darling Jane an offer of marriage. She is understandably overjoyed. I daresay she glows with happiness, and I could not be more pleased for her. He is a worthy man, and will be as good for her as I believe she will prove for him. My parents are satisfied, as Mr Bingley is a gentleman of outstanding fortune in addition to outstanding character. It is quite safe to say that my family's situation is no longer as precarious as previous.

I must own some jealousy, however much it pains me. I should like nothing more than to attain that level of happiness which my sister now possesses, and as long as I remain in this time, I do not believe it shall be a possibility. It is quite apparent to me that I left more than my garden key and my duct tape behind when I left Milliways. I have left my heart, as well. Perhaps it is best that you shall never read this letter, as I must surely suffer embarrassment from the reading of these sentiments, however true they are. But it does not seem that such exposure shall be in evidence, as I find myself still unable to return. My efforts are complicated by a lack of knowledge of the process that brought me to Milliways originally. As I do not know what occurred previously, I am unable to consciously duplicate the circumstances. I begin to despair, as it has been nine weeks since last we met, but I shall not give up hope. As long as there are prayers, hope must remain.

Yours, etc,
Elizabeth

Dear Peter,

It is now six weeks since I have left Milliways, and I grow increasingly desperate to return. I made my first attempts to make my way back eight days hence, to no avail. I refuse to believe that I must be stranded here. Instead, my determination grows ever stronger, in response to each failed attempt. I shall find a way back. I have given my word, and that must prove binding.

You will scarcely believe the most recent developments, my dear Peter. Indeed, I am certain that you will not, as I scarcely believe them myself. Allow me to relate them to you.

Following their wedding, Mr and Mrs Wickham journeyed from London to Longbourn, my father's estate. Thence they remained for ten days. During their stay, I had opportunity to speak with both halves of the couple, but it was my conversation with Lydia in particular that yielded most interesting fruit. She unthinkingly allowed the intelligence that Mr Darcy (you must certainly remember his name as I know I have spoken of him to you previously) was present at the wedding, serving as Mr Wickham's groomsman.

Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham have never gotten on very well at all, owing to some very bitter circumstances in their pasts. For this reason, that Mr Darcy should be present at the wedding of a man he loathed astonished me. I immediately wrote to my aunt Gardiner, begging for immediate details of the situation that should occasion the presence of such an unlikely party. My pleas were answered with news of a most curious nature - that my uncle had not been responsible for Lydia's discovery and salvation at all! No, it was Mr Darcy who had taken that part in matters, and insisted that my uncle take the credit. Whatever purposes for such an action are still unknown to all. My aunt conjectures, but her theories are scarcely to be given merit, as I believe them to be idle fancy on her part.

That is all there is to speak of at present. I shall not cease my efforts to return to Milliways, nor those to seek out the dream garden at night. I shall never grant that hope is lost. I miss you excessively, and should like nothing more than to spend even a few precious moments in your presence. In time, I shall.

Yours, etc,
Elizabeth

Dear Peter,

Even were there postal service between my world and Milliways, I would not send you this letter, as to do so would be highly improper. I miss you greatly, however, my friend, and as such shall address this letter to you, as it allows me to imagine that I am speaking with you.

I know not how much time has passed at Milliways since my departure, but in my world it has been three weeks. You will be relieved for my sake, I am sure, when I tell you that my sister Lydia has been located. She and Wickham had taken lodgings in a less savoury part of London, but were eventually discovered by my excellent uncle. Wickham has been prevailed upon to marry my sister, and their wedding shall take place three days hence. It is both a blessing and a curse, as while my sister is preserved from notoriety, and my family with her, she is forced to tie herself to such a man as Wickham. I wish to think him simply misguided, but I do not, I must confess, believe him to be a good man. We may only hope that he does not harm my sister more than he already has, as there is little else that we can do in the situation.

I miss Milliways excessively, and all of my friends there, particularly you. I recall our parting when I left Milliways, and the memory is bittersweet. It is truly a sad twist of Fate that such happiness should be granted at the same moment that must be its last. Perhaps it is true what is said, that absence makes the heart grow fonder, as I may say with complete candour that I miss you increasingly as the days pass. I have not sought to return to Milliways yet, as I wish to see the conclusion of events concerning Lydia, but I hope that it shall not be much longer. Until then, adieu.

Yours, etc,
Elizabeth

My dearest Jane,

I am returning home. I have learned that simply walking out the front door will return me to the location I left, should it be my blessing to depart. I shall do such on Wednesday evening, following a lakeside party on the Milliways estate. I am overjoyed that I shall be able to see my sister soon, but I must own that I shall miss this place exceedingly.

Oh, my Jane, I have so much with which I must acquaint you. I spoke in my last unsent letter of Bartleby, the angel from Wisconsin, and his abhorrent behavior towards me. I now have reason to believe that Bartleby was not well, and indeed still is not. Several nights subsequent to our conflict, he behaved in a most insane manner, wielding a weapon and fighting with other patrons like one crazed. A little girl, Ingress, was wounded by the weapon before Bartleby could be subdued. It was a horrible evening, indeed. I cannot recall such an immense quantity of blood in any other of my past experiences, and I pray that I shall never experience thus again in future.

There has been much event of a pleasurable nature, as well. I have found myself surrounded by truly wonderful friends, and wish nothing more than that I could acquaint you with them. Sara, or Pez, is a true delight, as is Raphael. I am sure you would find him unusual. He is a giant turtle, you see. No, truly, I am not mad, there is no need to be concerned. He is a dear friend, and treats me much as I expect a brother would have, had we been so fortunate as to have one. And then there is His Lordship, Lord Morpheus, former Dream of the Endless, who is recently deceased. He is a somewhat distant man, but an excellent companion when one adapts to the initial chill. He is witty and knowledgable, a true gentleman in every way. He has gifted me with access to a wonderful garden in the dreamworld, where I might spend my resting hours without fear of ill thoughts or nightmarish visions. I have transferred ownership of the key to the garden to Peter, however, so that he might partake of the garden's delights in my stead.

Peter. I have not mentioned him before this, and yet I believe him to be the most extraordinary of the people I have met during my stay here. I first came into his acquaintance when he offered his aid during a most inauspicious circumstance involving myself and liquor. We then had opportunity to speak further at a later juncture. He is not a perfect man, and has experienced much difficulty during his time, participating in events which make him quite ashamed even to this day. But I believe him to be a good man, and he proves that to me daily with his efforts to change and become the man he feels he always ought to have been. His efforts are truly admirable. And Jane, you will not believe me when I tell you this, but he professes love for me. It is not anything I had expected, but it is a truly marvelous gift indeed. I am not able to return his sentiments at present, but he does grow more and more dear to me with each passing day. I must own that I am confused and frightened. I do not see how such an alliance could be managed, and believe that any such connection must surely end disastrously. And yet, he is truly one of the best men of my acquaintance. Only Time will reveal what shall be, in the end.

I must close, my dear sister. It grows late, and I must rest. If all goes as to plan, I shall be with you in two days' time.

Yours,
Elizabeth

My dearest Jane,

I scarcely know what to write. I find myself victim to such confusion and low spirits that I hardly know myself. I wish with all my heart that you were here, my dear sister, but as you are not, this paper marked with your sweet name must suffice.

He kissed me.

Bartleby kissed me, and I -

I allowed it.

It gave him no pleasure, that was painfully apparent. And yet he persisted, and I, I did not protest. I do not begin to comprehend why. I cannot deny that I have always found Bartleby to be a very appealing and amiable man, but I have never considered him in that manner. That is to say, I have more need of friendship at present. Even were that not the case, I cannot so easily forget what it is I owe to my family. I no longer pretend that I shall be fortunate enough to find love, if such a thing exists, and as I shall never marry without it, I must at least take pains to uphold my family's reputation. That is already in sufficient danger without my assistance.

No. Bartleby was a friend, and nothing more. He appeared to treat me well, and so I trusted him implicitly. Perhaps I trusted too much, too quickly. Perhaps more caution is required in my dealings. I now understand how poor Lydia could have been so taken in.

I need to discover a way home. I had not thought to say that, at least not so soon, but there it is. Whether or not I am able to find my way back to Milliways, I must return home, and soon. I need my Jane. There is so much that has happened, so much that I must relate, that I do not understand. My friends here are truly gifts of Providence, and yet, it is not the same. I greatly desire the presence of my Jane's sweetness and calm demeanor, to help me make sense of it all, and make me laugh at myself and my silliness. I need that peace.

Oh, Jane, how I do miss you...

Somehow, I must return. Until then, farewell, and my warmest love.

Yours,
Elizabeth.

Dear Jane,

The situation gets curiouser and curiouser. This Milliways is a place like nothing I have ever encountered before.

There are so many people of such unusual backgrounds. I spent the better portion of my evening conversing with a barkeep who claimed to be an angel from Wisconsin. Either there is something very strange about this place, or the man was completely mad. After my experiences with Wickham and Mr Darcy, it is clear to me that I should not be too hasty to draw conclusions regarding people. Therefore, I shall give the barkeep the benefit of the doubt for the time being, and believe that the oddity lies in the location, rather than the occupants. I do hope that turns out to be the case.

Aside from their peculiarities, the people here are largely kind and helpful. I had barely entered the establishment when I was greeted by the self-described angel, Bartleby, and a very charming woman whose name I did not have the good fortune to learn. Both were extremely helpful in the cleaning of my gown, and made me feel quite welcome. A Mr Black, however, I found somewhat unnerving. I have not been observed in such a way since my visit to Pemberley. He puts me greatly in mind of Mr Darcy. I am not sure whether to view this as a good thing or a bad.

I should attempt to rest. I shall continue to explore this place and meet the other patrons tomorrow. Perhaps I can learn something else regarding the situation. I have some glimmers of understanding, but there are still far too many gaping holes which require filling with information.

I trust that you are well, and will continue my hopes of returning soon to find you thus.

Yours,
Elizabeth.

Dear Jane,

Well! This is quite the oddity. One moment, I was walking through the cobblestone roads of Lambton. The next, I found myself standing in the middle of nowhere, in sight of a rather large building with a sign that appeared to be shining. I did not understand it in the least, but chose to investigate it, as I had very little else to do.

This mysterious building is a place named "Milliways", it would seem. It is quite an unusual place. I have never seen such a mixture of people in my life. I am sure it shall prove quite entertaining. Moreso than another Meryton ball, I daresay.

I know not whether you shall ever receive this letter, as I do not believe this place is connected to the King's post. I shall trust, however, that someday I may find my way back to Longbourn, to present it to you in person.

Yours,
Elizabeth.