Hello girls, and welcome to the Club. Girls from all parts of Aristasia pop in here to chat. Do come in and meet us.

Please note, this conversation will run backwards - the newest items at the top.

Red Headed Love

Dear Miss Trent,

I have just read Chapter IV of your delightful "oeuvre en cours", Strangers in Paradise. After a first impulse to pick up the pen, I became hesitant: wouldn't I make a complete fool of myself, measuring my words with your romantic prose? I must say I would have desisted, had it not been for these thoughts: such an accomplished writer deserves every form of praise, and beauty should not go silenced in the world.

So, here I am, galantly standing the public eye, to offer you my gratitude for the feelings you have evoked in me.

I am far too young to have known the atmosphere you portray in your work. Nonetheless, when reading Chapter IV I felt such familiarity as I had rarely experienced. If I may say so, your words have power, the power to bring out things hidden. Beautiful, delicate things. Things we should cherish.

I felt innocent again reading you, Miss Trent. Please, indulge little Bicky just a bit. I am sure Gudrun would plead for her before Aunt Emily.



Miss Trent Replies: Thank you so much for your kind words. I too am too young to have known the real world, but I think it is something that continues to live in all of us. The Pit is constantly conscious of it, since its whole existence is a perpetual "revolt" or "rebellion" against something that no longer exists but which continues to shape its conscousness negatively. This is necessarily so, since the Pit is actually nothing in itself, only the negation of something real - just as cold is nothing more than the absence of warmth, or darkness nothing more than the absence of light.

You say you felt innocent again reading my work. I am pleased and grateful. But notice that word "again" - implying that you were innocent before. Is this not a recognition that in all of us - however young - the un-innocent culture of the Pit is merely an overlay that covers our real nature and that there is a true innocence that lies before it and behind it, only waiting to be uncovered?

Lucy's Diary

Hello, darlings, this is Little Lucy. I am just bursting to tell you about the fun I have been having with my Mistress. A drink, Camellia, oh, thank you, just a little Silk Stocking if you please.

Well, anyway, we went to stay on a Pullman car in West Quirinelle, just across the bay from Infra, though the car itself was Trentish, I think, though it might have been Arcadian. One does get mixed up with these things, doesn't one?

Anyway, here is the station - it really is a railway station with our car in the background and our car in the foreground. Oh dear. That sounds confusing, doesn't it. I mean with our Pullman car (the one we stayed in) in the background and our car (the one we came in) in the foreground. She looks a bit dinky, doesn't she, our car (the one we came in) Actually she is quite big. Perhaps one of us should have stood by her for scale.

The Brunette who ran the station was terribly go-ahead and had imported these Pullmans which were retired and in rather poor condition, had extra track laid to accommodate them, hoisted them in by crane and refurbished them until they looked just delightful

And here is a picture of one looking just delightful. Our car was called Mimosa Two, and sleeping in it was just like being in a real train - well, it is a real train, of course, but one could pretend one was going somewhere, to Ladyton, Trent, Loveton, Arcadia and Points East, perhaps.

We couldn't resist staying in our car quite a lot. Tea was served on the Station terrace, overlooking the Railway embankment with a beautiful silver tea service, breakfast was served in the carriage if one wished (we did wish) and one could take a little wine on one's own table on one's own private piece of platform with one's own big umbrella or sunshade-thing over the table.

Little Lucy had great fun in the carriage pretending to be going along and playing with her game - Mistress gave me one of those Gamebaby-things from Novaria. You can carry it with you an has a tiny screen and all sorts of things happen on it. I was exploring a magical landscape, looking for the eight musical instruments that will awaken the Wind Fish - oh, but more of that another time.

Here is me in the carriage playing with my game. I was terribly shy about being photographed. You see I have a bit ill, and I didn't think I looked terribly good for photographing. Not that I am a vain little blonde or anything. Nobody who knows me could think that - although I suppose Mistress knows me better than any one, and she though that, so perhaps I am.

Anyway, she spanked me for being so vain, which was a bit embarrassing, as some blondes and brunettes were taking a little wine on their private piece of platform with their table and their big umbrella or sunshade-thing. Oh well, I suppose vain little blondes getting spanking isn't that unusual even in these westerly parts. After that she kissed me all happy again. Here is me playing my game in our little carriage, chugging along to who-knows-where.

Bye-bye for now.


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