Chapter Text
The woman who danced with the Gentleman with Thistle-Down Hair turned around, and Segundus was struck with horror. He expected anyone but her. Lady Emma Pole was supposed to be asleep in bed: her maid Pampisford, when she left her ladyship's bedroom that night, nodded to Segundus in a brief acknowledgement that lady Pole was safely tucked in. And yet Emma did not look like she had just risen from her bed. Her pale dress resembled a colorless, spongy underside of a mushroom; its pores oozed glistening tears. Her hair was pinned up with eyestalks in place of pins, the orbs at their ends gently waving around, catching and reflecting the scarce candlelight.
Standing in the middle of the dance circle, Segundus could not move: his limbs were full of lead. He didn't have to: when the Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair noticed him, he took Emma's hand and led her towards Segundus.
"Why, if this isn't an English magician!" he said. "What a delight to have another Christian grace my court!"
The dance paused. The lone fiddle that had been spinning a mournful tune fell silent since the Gentleman's first words. All the fairy host turned to stare at him. "My hand-picked Christians have an exquisite and original taste, and the sight of them will enliven our ball," he said to his courtiers, apparently to explain why he was so delighted at Segundus's unexpected appearance. "Lady Pole is a prime example. Take a look at her hand!"
Still holding Emma's hand, he raised it to the shoulder level, presenting it for the guests to examine. Segundus noticed it was the hand that had the little finger missing. He never dared to ask Emma about it, realizing that this question can't possibly elicit any good memories. The splendidly-attired men and women leaned forward in a flutter of dragonfly wings and quiver of gossamer webs that made up their clothing and jewelry.
"Do you see how graceful her hand is?" said the Gentleman. "How unusually narrow its silhouette, how elegant it is now that the extraneous part has been cut off? Lady Pole is one of the most beautiful women in both England and Faerie realms. She will be easy to turn into true perfection. I have already started that work by refining the shape of her hand. But why stop there? There are so many opportunities to chisel away the bits that hide her ideal form."
A distant objection flickered through the back of Segundus' mind. Once upon a time he used to think human bodies were fine as they were, and none of their bits were excessive. But that was before he came to this splendid court and understood what true beauty was. No doubt, humans could benefit from removal of the unnecessary matter that hid their secret, true shapes.
"Let's start with her ears," the Gentleman continued. "The sublime oval of her face would be more perfect without those funny appendages. Mr Segundus, why don't you do the honors?"
Before Segundus could understand what was being asked of him, another fairy gentleman stepped into the circle and brought him a sword. He bowed before Segundus, handing him the weapon with both hands. Segundus accepted it, frowning in puzzlement. He had not had much practice wielding a weapon. Yet as soon as he grasped its handle, it settled in his hand as snugly as in an experienced swordfighter's. When he raised his hand, it was as if the blade guided it.
The Gentleman with the Thistle-Down Hair smiled approvingly. "I'm sure that you, as a true artist and appreciator of beauty, could improve the shape of Lady Pole's head with one precise cut. Please show us how it's done!"
Segundus was proud of the trust placed in him. He raised the sword and brought it down on Emma's right ear. It sliced through the base of the ear cleanly; the appendage flew up in the air and the Gentleman caught it daintily with two fingers. Emma screamed, but her scream was drowned in the chorus of cheers and applause.
Emma's blood gushed and sprayed the left side of the Gentleman's face and green coat, and bloomed with a thousand tendrils in his silvery hair. He laughed, plucked at the stain and pulled it off in whole, like a floppy, red handkerchief; then he flicked it towards Emma's face. It settled in the shape of a rose over her mouth. Emma's scream was cut off, only her face twisted in agony. Her bleeding stopped too.
The Gentleman raised his hand and the crowd fell silent.
"Isn't our lovely Emma now one step closer to a platonic ideal?" he said. There were nods around the room. "Shall we proceed with the other ear, to complete the symmetry?"
Many nodded, but a voice shouted out: "Symmetry is boring!"
"Who is this?" the Gentleman said. "Oh, it's our friend from the Orient! You are not big fans of symmetry, aren't you?"
The guest that was being addressed had a face as featureless and as smooth as an egg; there was no opening in it to make sounds, and no indication where the voice was coming from. It made Segundus's stomach twitch. The blank face was surrounded by waves of dark green hair that looked like billows of the sea, topped with constantly churning and mutating foam, and it was that churn that produced sounds similar to speech. "Symmetry is stagnation. It precludes surprise," said the egg-faced oriental fairy. "And you, my lord, value nothing more highly than surprise."
"You know me well, dear friend," said the Gentleman. "Emma might not look as beautiful with only one ear, but much more striking. More compelling. So perhaps we should leave it like this."
The Gentleman waved for the musicians to resume playing, and led Emma off into a dance procession. The sword in Segundus hand lost its buoyancy and weighed heavy enough that he had to lower it. The colors of the room were fading, dissolving into mist. Before Segundus could understand what was happening all of his thoughts ceased.
He woke up in the morning feeling unusually tired. He could attribute it to exhausting dreams, but could not remember a single one.