Cameron To Candy

Candy checked the mail with the kind of idle habit that came from long mornings of waiting. The carriage Marcus arranged for her wasn’t due for another few minutes, and Paddlewick mornings had a way of stretching on. She stood just inside the doorway, one shoe already on, the other nudged halfway into place, absently flipping through a few envelopes.

Then she saw the letter, with a seal, heavy paper, and in Elwood blue. Her stomach tightened before her mind caught up. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. It was from her mother-in-law. It read:

Dearest Candy,

It's come to my attention that you have not yet received your marital tattoo. I'm told you have reviewed options with a friend who works for the guild. That is good. I also understand you've not yet landed on a final form. I believe I know why. Traditionally, girls go to the parlor with their mothers. I know your mother is no longer with us. I heard of your brave parents giving their lives in the line of duty to Paddlewick. They were true patriots, asking not what Paddlewick would do for them, but what they could do for their fellow Paddlewickians. Their sacrifice helped keep us all safe. I'm sorry I did not realize this sooner; a girl needs her mother in these times, and I shall gladly be that for you. Not as a replacement, never that, but as your elder in womanhood, and a guide with a steady hand that can stand beside you. I will endeavor to honor your mother's memory, supporting you the best I can. I've made an appointment for us at your local guild parlor for next month, the 32nd, 10 am sharp. I will stay the night before and escort you in the morning. I look forward to joining you in this, dear daughter.

– All my love,

Lady Elenor Elwood.

Candy stared at the page.

Marital tattoo. Next month!

Her fingers curled slightly around the paper. She felt the anger first, hot and righteous. The assumption that was baked into every polite sentence. The way the decision had already been made, neatly wrapped in concern and tradition. Ten a.m. sharp.

Candy’s jaw set. Then the fear slid in underneath it, quieter but heavier. Next month wasn’t some vague future she could keep pushing away. It was close enough to count days. Close enough to make things real. There’d be no more pretending she could think her way around it. Her eyes snagged on a single word.

Daughter.

She’d never been a daughter before. She hadn’t expected that. Not that word. Not the way it sat there without hesitation, like, like… she wasn’t even sure. She’d been without a mother for quite some time, her own having died years ago. Well, in a way, Candy had never had a mother. She was a fake person with a fake genealogy, including a fake mother.

The anger flickered again, this time defensive. She didn’t ask for this. She missed her own mother in a way that left a constant ache behind her ribs. Elenor couldn’t fix that. She couldn’t step into it and make it okay. And yet… Elenor knew that. She’d said it in the letter. And there was the other bit…

All my love.

Candy swallowed.

It made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t articulate. Something about the way it was offered. She’d really only been with Elenor when she was bossing her around or talking about her “well-shaped birthing hips” (Ew). This was somehow worse. This was too vulnerable to push against.

She stared at the paper until the words began to blur. She didn’t want this, not exactly, but something inside her loosened anyway, traitorous and warm and entirely uninvited. A swell of feeling rose up before she could stop it, tight and aching and dangerously close to….

No, not now. She had the CCS class to get to. She folded the letter once, then again. The sound of wheels on stone echoed faintly down the street. Candy shoved the letter into the side drawer by the door, the one she used for gloves and things she didn’t want to think about. She left the rest of the mail out on the table; she had no time to do anything with it. Marcus would be annoyed but she couldn’t care about that right now.

She grabbed her gloves and stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. The morning air was cool and ordinary. Paddlewick carried on, uncaring, as places tended to do.

Halfway down the steps, she lifted her hand and brushed at her cheek, irritated to find it damp. She wiped it away quickly, straightened her posture, and walked toward the waiting carriage like nothing had happened at all.

***

Candy didn’t know it but Elenor had always hoped for a daughter, yet sadly they’d never been blessed with a second child. When she heard of Marcus’ marriage, she’d been elated, and further when she learned of Candy’s lack of parents, she’d suspected Candy would need her guidance. There were quite a few events in which it was traditional for new wives to complete them with their mothers or other female relatives. She’d hoped they could help fill the hole each of them had in their hearts.

She’d never said anything to Candy, though, the young lady being stubborn and Elenor not wanting to overwhelm her. But time was running out. Candy clearly had needed a nudge.

“I’ll help Candy through this and so much more,” Elenor thought. “The wife's trials, her first Thong Day celebration as a wife, oh the Paddlewick Minor beauty Pageant! It’s just what she needs. And then I can finally quite that darn Rosie Thorn! Oh, my daughter placed first this year, what about you Elenor? … oh right. You don't have a daughter. Well Thorn, you’ll eat those words this year! … But, Candy will enjoy it, I’m sure.”

She was confident as only a Paddlewick mother could be that ultimately Candy would be relieved to have had all her help.

And so Lady Elenor Elwood began making preparations…

***

Excerpt from Adam Cindersmock’s "Guide to the Cone" 5th Edition

Paddlewick is a strict, tradition-bound mountain city known for its disciplinary customs and unique cultural celebrations. The city is ruled by King Rodrick the Firm-Handed, who enforces absolute authority over household discipline and societal order. His wife, Queen Isadora, often schemes to evade her own weekly punishments, though she rarely succeeds.

One of Paddlewick’s most infamous traditions is Thong Day, a once-a-decade festival where all women under 60 are required to wear only thongs below their navels for the entire day. The event draws throngs of visitors (mostly men), eager to witness the public parades, competitions, and ceremonial punishments. It is overseen by the Royal Inspector General of Bottoms, who ensures strict adherence to the day’s customs.

Despite occasional hesitation from Paddlewick’s women, the tradition remains deeply ingrained in the city’s laws, enforced with paddles, public discipline, and King Rodrick’s unwavering decree.

Beyond Thong Day, Paddlewick is renowned for its strong emphasis on obedience, order, and a firm-handed approach to governance. The city’s architecture is grand and imposing, featuring stone manors, high-walled keeps, and banners bearing the royal insignia.

Whether loved or feared, Paddlewick remains one of the most disciplined and unusual Kingdoms in the Cone, where a husband’s word is law, and tradition reigns supreme.

Expanded entry: A word of caution. Demons and other magic folk should not attempt entry. None ever return.