Georgiana Lane-Carmichael of Dimmintop spread her skirts delicately around her as she sat before the fresh grave. After only three months of marriage, Ezekiel Carmichael has contracted a rare disease and died, leaving Georgiana the sole owner of all the estates. She touched her womb, still fearing that she might be with child, but determined to carry on. Her husband had not left her a beggar by any means, however being a widow was liken to being a pariah in such a small town. Only twenty years and already a widow. A few tears trailed down her cheeks for the entire dreariness of the entire situation. Sure she would miss her husband, but she hardly knew him! A breeze blew through the silent graveyard, a piece of paper blowing in with it. It caught on Georgiana's parasol so she picked it up and glanced over it. It proclaimed that war was coming to their small isolated town. A clear, bright little thought lit up in Georgiana's mind. She had lived in this town all her life. Both her parents were dead and her late husband had no family to speak of. She felt an intense desire to fight for this town that she had come to call her own (for no one matched her wealth and stature). No matter what it took, Georgiana Lane-Carmichael would fight, fight for her own honor and the freedom of her fellow townspeople.
Georgiana arrived home from her mourning to find both her servants waiting dutifully at the door. They bowed their heads respectfully but not reverently. Handing off her coat and parasol, she walked up the staircase while they followed dutifully. "Margy, we need some more carrots in the kitchen. My aunt and her husband are coming next week, and I won't have us looking like we're failing without my late husband. Gregor, I need you to make sure the grounds are tended to. We all have to make sure this place is spick and span before-"
Her words were cut off as there was a great thundering from outside and the ground shook beneath their feet. Margy cried out, but Georgiana kept her wits and hurried to the window. A giant dirigible was floating past serenely as though dropping bombs on a city were the calmest action in the world. Setting her jaw, Georgiana turned back to her servants. "War has come to Dimmintop," she informed her servants. "I relieve you both of your posts for the time being. You must either head for the safety of the mines or go out and prepare to fight. I have my own duties to home and country."
Without a backwards glance to see if her former servants obeyed her final commands, Georgiana turned on her heel and marched into her bedroom. She knew many would see it as improper for a genteel lady to fight, but she was the last remaining heir to give honor to her family. Diving into a chest at the foot of the bed, she pulled out a pair of pants and shirt that had recently belonged to her husband. Ignoring the wave of sorrow pushing through her heart at the sight of them, she made quick work of dressing. The shirt was indecently baggy, so she fished out one of her looser corsets and tightened it just enough for propriety but leaving it loose enough for freedom of breath and movement. Releasing her hair from its pins, she took up a pair of shears from her dressing table and hacked off the blond locks. It wasn't the neatest haircut, but Georgiana knew that long hair could potentially be her downfall. After shoving her feet into a pair of boots, Georgiana grabbed her husband's hunting rifle from its usual place beside the bedroom door and belted the holster for her pistol at her waist. A final thought came to her, and Georgiana shredded a couple of old shifts and stuffed the strips into a waist bag in case she got wounded. Taking a look at he reflection she was stunned at how closely she resembled a man. With a deep breath, Georgiana donned a cap and hastened out of the house. She would head to town hall; that's where the fighters would gather...
So much carnage... Georgiana hadn't been prepared for what she would see when she decided to fight, and honestly she wasn't sure she would ever be able to forget. She'd met up with a young boy no more than twelve years old along the way, and they'd decided to stick together. She felt she had to protect him; after all he was just a boy. "My name is Thomas, sir," he had told her. "What's yours?" Georgiana had swallowed. He thought she was a man. "George." They'd made it a full day together before a bomb had fallen on their hiding place. Although she escaped with only a few minor injuries, Thomas hadn't survived. Steeling herself, 'George' made her way onward until some soldiers rounded up all the survivors and taken them to Bluster Point. Assuming she was now a POW, Georgiana considered letting her true identity be known. Perhaps they would try to ransom her because she was a well-bred lady. However, everyone soon found out that they had simply been rounded up for more fighting. Georgiana was still numb from everything she'd seen and the loss of Thomas. She didn't even try to resist when someone shoved a helmet onto her head. She clenched her rifle close and retched violently. Through the haze of her sickness and pain, she found only one thought she could focus on: This Is For Thomas.
