From: mkelly10@ix.netcom.com

[note: This all takes place a few years--a little more than two,
actually--before Maeve enters the inn.]

_______________________________________________________________________
Ubunde was a city like many others, a relatively nice sized port city.
It had it's share of poor people, and it had it's share of rich people.
The poor accused the rich of being frivolous, and, indeed they were.

The people of the House of Montgomery were the most frivolous,
according to the peasants, especially that Lady Maeve. Her thirtieth
birthday approached, and still she went on painting her face and
dressing up in fancy clothes like a lovesick teenager. It was
embarrassing; the way the gossip flew.

"Sir," Sir Roderick said to his wife, stroking the small beard he grew.
"Such an outfit is inappropriate."

In reply, Maeve adjusted the skirt, making sure it was all poufy and
flew out nicely. The top was rather low cut and somewhat tight, as was
the fashion of those days.

"Pooh! I had to starve myself for two weeks to fit into this dress and
I don't intend to wear one of my other costumes. And certainly not one
of those old fuddy duddy things! I'm twenty-nine! Today's my last day!
Let me be young, oh, please! One more time!" With that Maeve moved up
from the vanity seat and clutched at her husband's shoulders. She
peered at him through thick lashes. "Darling, please."

Unable to resist--he did so love her and she had rather a sort of
'alive' beauty to her, though her features were rather plain--he gave
his consent. "You will look lovely, my dearest."

With an exited cry, Maeve kissed him, something that was considered
improper for ladies to do, even--no, especially--married ladies.

"Maeve!" Sir Roderick was shocked.

Maeve giggled. "They needn't know."


The ballroom was decorated grandly, all the gold and marble shining.
Preparing for her enterance, Maeve could not resist hiking her dress up
an inch or two to peer at her shoes. They were lovely things, of silk
and sating with heels and gold filagree. Sir Roderick was shocked.

"Those are not the right shoes for someone of your age to be wearing!"

Maeve pouted. "I hate that stuff! I suppose you'd be having me wear my
hair in a bun and black button shoes and a dull, gray dress!" [note:
that is exactly how Maeve looks in the future/present (depending on how
you like to think of it.]

The servants pulled open the great marble doors, and Maeve and Roderick
stopped bickering long enough for them to make their enterance. There
was polite clapping, such was the norm, yet there was also whispered
rumors, doubtless of the improperity of such clothing on a woman as old
as Maeve was. Maeve heard them, and was hurt, but pride forbade her
from crying. Instead, she tugged on Roderick's arm. "Darling, let's
dance."

Roderick refused her. "No. It is not proper that you should dance."

Maeve pouted, once again. "But I'm the best. Please, darling. I didn't
go here to sit and be bored. I want to dance!"

Sir Roderick once again refused. It could be said at this point that he
was either a weak man or a strong man. Strong for not giving in to his
wife's whining and weak for giving in to the gossipmongers.

Maeve batted her eyelashes. "Darling, please, let's dance. One more
time. For me."

"It is not proper."

"Phooey on properness! I want to have *_fun_*!" Maeve declared and
walked, stomped rather, away.

And *_that_* was a good thing. The ground seemed to rise up, and start
shaking violently. Maeve was rudely thrown to the ground as pieces of
ceiling began to fall all around her. By a miracle none fell on her,
and neither did the great marble columns which also collapsed.

Within two minutes it was over. Shaken, covered with plaster dust, but
none the worse for the wear, Maeve stood up. She viewed the sight
around her. Total destruction. The ballroom had been felled almost
completely, save the section she was standing in. Every last person who
had been there was dead, including her husband, Roderick.

She did not mourn. Rather, then and there a change came over her. A
change that was for both the better and the worse. She even looked
different, physically. Her eyes no longer glowed with that alive
sparkle they used to have, and her lips did not curl prettily up, but
rather lay in a perfectly straight line. She was no longer the
frivolous girl she had once been. What was the use? Look where it had
gotten her. She now had nothing. Never mind that the earthquake could
have struck even if she was the most sensible person in the world,
never mind that her lifestyle had nothing to do with it, she believed
it to be true. She had to leave, and she had to change. Her past
lifestyle embarassed her. Only a life of work--no parties, no fancy
clothes, no anything of that sort--would do for her now.

She had changed.