One Wicked Season

The Four Seasons

Below, in giant caves turned into cities, with the earth reshaped into villages and sloped into roads, the Townspeople—gentries, middle class, and service people alike—all had but one goal: live and survive the four seasons.

It did not mean sunshine and rain, or fallen leaves and snow. The elements aboveground would shy away from the dangerous seasons belowground because in the Town, the four seasons meant war.

Every quarter of the year was a bloodbath, a desperate battle for status and marriage.

The soldiers? Manipulative mamas, desperate daughters, and reluctant gentlemen.

Their weapon, you may ask? Dowries, gowns (and the lack thereof), seduction, and the most powerful of all: scandal.

Delicious, horrifying, and sometimes even deadly scandals.

Many hopefuls prayed to find a love match during the Sheills Season, which fell between July to September. Despite its boring and uneventful balls and entertainments, it always promised the most romantic pairings in the Town.

But the aforementioned season was merely a slow march to the least exciting season of all. Hosted in the most devout town, the Granville Season was the most restrictive: Gowns could never have a neckline lower than the collarbones; no ladies should walk around balls without gloves; and social distance was limited to five feet—anything shorter would end in marriage under the condemning nose of a pious man. Only the most desperate and boldest dared challenge the last quarter of the year, and may their brave souls rest in peace until eternal damnation, Amen.

Hope would rise again by the first quarter of the year, from January to March, with the Willowfair Season. While political vengeance over the results of last year's Granville Season was being planned amongst the Houses of Lords and Commons, the mamas and their daughters happily discarded their dreadful gowns from the previous season. They, the true brave soldiers, plotted courtships and marriages in painful detail, from the jewels over their heads down to the silks around their feet (good soles for the endless dancing much preferred, thank you very much). For the worthy, a Willowfair Season would prove magical if one could perfectly concoct the perfect dose of naughty and nice.

But no one—and not a single man or woman would contest—could ever come to par with the most-awaited and scandalous Wickhurst Season. Far more extravagant than the others, this was the occasion of brimming townsends for overflowing necklines, because a lady should never attend the Wickhurst Season dressed in anything less or—in the case of necklines—more than that of their contenders. Gloves were as thin as they could be so that a man could never deny the warmth of a virgin's touch; dresses were as light as the modistes could make them, because should a man be numb enough to miss the warm touch, he surely could not be so utterly blind not to notice the luscious curves.

It was the season of many debutantes' dreams. And for many gentlemen, it was a hunting ground for doubled dowries (thin gloves and light dresses were not always the best weapons for those who could not employ them well).

While the Town Leaders convened with both Houses for the second round of the political game of the year, the rest of the Town's polite society would be in their best armors, wicked and discreetly scandalous as one should be (if they could help it).

Scandalous, passionate, and furious marriages during the second quarter of the year were not uncommon, and rightfully so because for many, Wickhurst was the ultimate entertainment.

After all, who would not want to bear witness to a delicious scandal?

And even more so if the said scandal involved an Everard?