Aaralyn is written by Alicia E. Goranson and read by Amber Ashe.
Transcript:
Aaralyn despises the world because the world smells of smoke. She despises polite society because society smells like men. She spends her days in her laboratory reading the chemistry periodicals, and the magical works of Agrippa, trying to synthesize the two among her beakers, flasks, and burners. She confirms every new development herself, unaffected by sulfurous plumes or mercurial spills, yet always feels years behind the scientific world. She wants to make a discovery someday that will get her name printed on the front of her favorite journals, or be referenced in the footnotes of students. While she understands the potential of her discoveries, releasing energy or clarifying water, she is not their driver, their trailblazer, and many a flask has suffered by her hand.
Aaralyn is called to attend a fundraising party by her clan. She pulls out the usual case of party tricks; demonstrating sublimation and glowing substrates. She is prepared to be bored to tears. The parties always smell like smoke. They are always dominated by men. This one will be no different.
Aaralyn dresses herself in her hoitiest, toitiest fashion and pretends to be interested in her introduction to Prussian royalty. She downs several cups from the drinks table and heads out to the balcony to watch the clouds roll by – cumulus tonight. She is not expecting a French heiress to come sit by her a full minute before speaking. “You hate it here,” the heiress says.
“Come with me,” Aaralyn says. She returns inside and evades conversations until she finds an unoccupied sitting room, filthy with tobacco. The heiress is still in tow.
“What are you looking for?” the heiress says.
“Like always,” Aaralyn says. “Money.”
“And what would you do with it, if you were to come into some?” the heiress says.
“I would buy sulfur, platinum, various salts, and I would figure out a way to burn this motherfucking society to the ground,” Aaralyn says. “If we’re being honest with each other.”
“Would that include me?” the heiress says.
“It depends,” Aaralyn says. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing so grand,” the heiress says. “I simply want to live forever.”
“You’ll need money,” Aaralyn says.
“So do you,” the heiress says. “How much?”
It is not Aaralyn’s decision. It is not one she needs to make immediately. But this woman does not smell of smoke and does not smell of men, and Aaralyn could make this transaction easily. So very easily, like sublimation or producing glow in a glass.
“I want to be known forever,” Aaralyn says. “And for now, like you, I must continue existing without this. But come. Let’s talk.”
-END-
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