Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing. Even my chosen path for Polly is inspired by my friend Swanwhite (surprise, Swan!).

Prompt: "I have been many things: a pawn, a dancer, a master of the blade; but none of these in the way you might think, and none of them for less than a moment." (from ServiceScape)

Thanks to: Kristi for reading this over for me.

Jill breathed deeply, but it didn't do much to calm the butterflies in her stomach. A dinner party with strangers was not her idea of fun, even if she'd fit right in. So said Eustace, anyway. Jill supposed he should know, as he knew half the party, but she was still more than a little nervous.

The taxi rolled to a halt and Jill gathered herself together to trundle out. She reached for the handle, but the door was opened from the outside instead by the young man whom Eustace had introduced as his cousin – how he'd exited the taxi and come around to her side so quickly she didn't know. "Mind your step: it's a little slick," he said as he offered his hand.

Jill would have managed on her own and very nearly said so, but she took his hand anyway. Peter had not yet said much in the cab – except to enquire about the journey from Experiment House –, though hardly from lack of wanting to: his eyes seemed to smile every time she looked at him. She did not wish to lose her chance to hear his story by offending him. Even if she felt a little shy of the dignity he exuded.

Darkness had already fallen and snow drifted in the breeze, contrasting starkly with the warmth of the illuminated windows of the house before her. It reminded Jill somewhat of her first glimpse of Harfang, only this house was ever so much smaller than the massive stone manor of the Giants. Peter and Eustace fetched the bags from the trunk and led the way to the front door that opened before they reached it.

"Welcome, come in! Let me take your coats."

"Hullo, Aunt Polly!" Peter responded. "It's good to see you again."

Jill caught Eustace's eye. He shrugged and shook his head.

"Wonderful to see you, wonderful! You may set those bags here for now, just so. And these must be your cousins."

"Yes, ma'am," Eustace answered while he shook her hand. "Er, no, ma'am. I mean, I am his cousin, yes; Jill here is my friend."

"That's right, I do remember Lucy telling me. How do you do, Jill?"

"I am well, thank you, Miss Plummer." Jill had to wrestle her coat into the crook of one arm before she could shake her hostess' hand. The hand was tender in both age and feeling, but its grip was that of firm assurance. The woman smiled warmly, crow's-feet crinkling the corners of her merry eyes. Jill couldn't help but smile back.

"Excellent; what a merry party we shall be!" Miss Plummer turned aside to hang their coats. "The others are in the parlour, and supper is nearly ready. If you need to freshen up, it's down the hall beyond the kitchen, and then to the right."

Eustace followed Peter to the parlour, where voices greeted them, but Jill skirted past them on her way to the loo. She straightened the pleats of her skirt and finger-combed her hair into presentability – surely even Mother would have approved, Jill thought as her reflection examined her with appraising eyes, eyes that shone more than the glittering snow outside. If only she could reign in her nerves! Stepping into the hallway, she steeled herself to rejoin the party.

Or she would have, had not she not caught sight of three small paintings on the wall just opposite her. The first depicted what appeared to be a living doll stepping out of a pond, awestruck by the scene around her. Around her feet were waving grasses, on which perched colourful butterflies. On the far side of the pond was a murky shadow populated with thorns and ominous yellow eyes – a small section of the painting to be sure, but a contrast to the doll's side of the water. One of the doll's hands cradled a bright yellow jewel, and on the same wrist was wound a thread – a masterful line so fine that Jill only spotted it after some study – that draped into the pond itself.

Painted in much deeper, quieter tones was the image of a ballerina on a tightrope, poised and graceful. Her blush pink skirts swept with the motion of a gentle turn ushered by a slender arm. Her other hand reached up into the purple twilight sky, where hung the single star that illuminated her next steps forward.

The third painting dispensed with the wonder and elegance of the others. Bold colours and sharp edges portrayed two knights dueling in a ring. Their swords flashed in the glare of the afternoon sun. Their feet kicked up the sand in great sprays. Their pennants snapped in the wind. Something seemed odd about the knights though. Jill squinted thoughtfully at the picture until it dawned on her: neither of the knights held up his sword. The tips of the blades scraped the sand, leaving sweeping arcs in their wake like fractions of an invisible circle surrounding the knights.

"I see you've found my story."

Jill nearly jumped out of her skin. "Miss Plummer! I apologize. I was on my way."

Miss Plummer smiled. "It's no trouble. Paintings are meant to be seen." She turned her eyes to them herself, as though to invite Jill to resume her viewing. She continued in a thoughtful tone, "And stories are meant to be told, even if one must disguise portions of it into children's books."

That might explain the spirit of the paintings. "If I may," Jill ventured, "what is your story?"

Miss Plummer's eyes twinkled and she waved offhandedly at the illustrations. "Oh, I have been many things: a pawn, a dancer, a master of the blade; but none of these in the way you might think, and none of them for more than a moment."

Jill furrowed her brow before she could help it.

Miss Plummer smiled down upon her again – the same sort of smile Peter had. "Supper's laid in the dining room. Come and I'll tell you everything."

The promise of good company did not go unfulfilled, nor did Jill's mounting curiosity remain unsated for more than a few minutes longer. Comfortably seated between Eustace and his cousin Lucy – whom Jill was inclined to like very much –, she listened while Miss Plummer and Professor Kirke told their story together. As they did, Jill recognized the paintings for what they were: balancing footsteps on rafters, puppets of a cruel trick, and a ring of earth dug by spade in a garden.

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