11-29-2025, 03:05 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-29-2025, 03:27 PM by Ruth Longbottom.)
Ruth’s life had never been better. She had a warm and comfortable cottage, elegant dresses made in Paris, jewellery to die for, every pretty little trinket her heart desired, and more money than she could ever have imagined. And on top of all of that, she looked fucking amazing. Her bony angles had turned into soft curves. Her skin and hair looked better – clean and oiled and without the bruises from the rotten apples in filthy backstreets. Magnus never hurt her. He worshipped her. The initial repulsion she had felt towards him had long since melted away and been replaced with something softer. She basked in the feeling being so desirable. She was addicted to her own power.
It would come crashing down. Magnus didn’t know about her family yet, and her family had not yet discovered her new-found fortune. She dressed down when she went to visit her kids. But that was a concern for the future. In the meantime, she’d bleed Magnus of as much of his wealth as she could.
The fire last night had reminded her just how lucky she was. Like so many, she had gone to watch the blaze when she heard the bells and smelled the fire. It was unlike anything she had ever seen and the chaos outside had been overwhelming. She believed she had seen two people being led away, but what with the blaze and the smoke and the jostling of the crowd, she couldn’t get a proper look. She had heard a woman say that she had seen one of the girls and she had said that that all the girls had been told to leave before the blaze started. But the situation had been too chaotic to make much sense, and Ruth had been too full of liquor to remember to care for those inside.
It was only this morning, as she lay in bed, half-dozing, that she suddenly sat up and remembered: “Lory!”
Lory was probably fine, she told herself as she got dressed. Hadn’t she heard someone say that the girls had been sent away beforehand? She had heard other accounts as well: charred bodies, screams coming from the burning building, girls jumping from top windows. But she had seen or heard none of this for herself, so she chose to focus on the former. Still, it was probably best to go looking for her friend.
Dressed in a fine but ‘modest’ day dress and coat, she made her way over to the smouldering remains of the Pony. The firemen were still at work dousing the structure, though she could see no more flames. Most of the brothel was destroyed, the middle a charred skeleton of a building, like a rib cage, torn open to expose its black insides to the public. They had managed to save the adjacent buildings, though they too were black with soot. The entire scene looked surreal. And Ruth was absolutely delighted to realise what a bullet she had dodged.
Suddenly her attention was drawn by a man shouting two names while he ran towards the building. Male names. Ruth glanced about her awkwardly. Bit risky, this. She glanced back at the man, assessing him.
At the same time?
Then the man shouted a woman’s name.
Greedy.
Ruth glanced around again. Then she approached the poor fool. When she was just behind him, she leaned in and muttered: “How many people did you fuck in there?” Someone had to remind him of where he was. Crane would sooner bend over for this man than put him in cuffs, but the new Whitby police force wasn’t quite so soft.
It would come crashing down. Magnus didn’t know about her family yet, and her family had not yet discovered her new-found fortune. She dressed down when she went to visit her kids. But that was a concern for the future. In the meantime, she’d bleed Magnus of as much of his wealth as she could.
The fire last night had reminded her just how lucky she was. Like so many, she had gone to watch the blaze when she heard the bells and smelled the fire. It was unlike anything she had ever seen and the chaos outside had been overwhelming. She believed she had seen two people being led away, but what with the blaze and the smoke and the jostling of the crowd, she couldn’t get a proper look. She had heard a woman say that she had seen one of the girls and she had said that that all the girls had been told to leave before the blaze started. But the situation had been too chaotic to make much sense, and Ruth had been too full of liquor to remember to care for those inside.
It was only this morning, as she lay in bed, half-dozing, that she suddenly sat up and remembered: “Lory!”
Lory was probably fine, she told herself as she got dressed. Hadn’t she heard someone say that the girls had been sent away beforehand? She had heard other accounts as well: charred bodies, screams coming from the burning building, girls jumping from top windows. But she had seen or heard none of this for herself, so she chose to focus on the former. Still, it was probably best to go looking for her friend.
Dressed in a fine but ‘modest’ day dress and coat, she made her way over to the smouldering remains of the Pony. The firemen were still at work dousing the structure, though she could see no more flames. Most of the brothel was destroyed, the middle a charred skeleton of a building, like a rib cage, torn open to expose its black insides to the public. They had managed to save the adjacent buildings, though they too were black with soot. The entire scene looked surreal. And Ruth was absolutely delighted to realise what a bullet she had dodged.
Suddenly her attention was drawn by a man shouting two names while he ran towards the building. Male names. Ruth glanced about her awkwardly. Bit risky, this. She glanced back at the man, assessing him.
At the same time?
Then the man shouted a woman’s name.
Greedy.
Ruth glanced around again. Then she approached the poor fool. When she was just behind him, she leaned in and muttered: “How many people did you fuck in there?” Someone had to remind him of where he was. Crane would sooner bend over for this man than put him in cuffs, but the new Whitby police force wasn’t quite so soft.
