I realized that the sense of déjà vu I'd had earlier hadn't just been about the physical resemblance to Elskia, but also the unnatural stillness that convinced me she was a portrait at first glance. I was also struggling to reconcile the very much alive person standing before me with the prevailing wisdom I'd possessed that the Baroness was dead.

"Erm... Hello?"

The Baroness tilted her head, much in the way a cat will do so when a mouse does something moderately surprising. And that was very much the feeling I was getting: of prey animal before the predator. She had silver eyes, not like those of the blind, but vibrant and shining, catching the light and holding it even as their unblinking focus held my own gaze.

"So, the coffer, yes. Well I'm here on behalf of your daughter Elskia, and—" I began.

"Elskia?" Her voice rolled out thick and husky, a rich vibration dripping with sensuality, "Write this for me."

I cautiously crouched to the ground and drew the characters of Elskia's name in the dust. I glanced up and the Baroness was already directly in front of me. Her presence was overpowering, stifling. She placed a hand on my shoulder and... I could barely comprehend the motion she made. To say she leaned down, or crouched, or knelt, lowered herself... none of it captured her. It was like her entire body had for a moment aligned itself in a singular purpose, a gesture of such absolute control and physical perfection it could only be inhuman. It was almost like the motion of a machine, designed to perform a singular action to a million repetitions, and then instilled divine grace. And just like a machine, I felt she could crush my shoulder with the indiscriminate and uncaring mutilation which only a machine can produce on human bodies.

I was utterly powerless in her grip, and she was looking down at Elskia's name with the first sign of emotion I'd seen on her face.

"My clever Baron, so in love with words...," she traced her hand ever so lightly over the text I'd written, giving it the same singular attention she gave to all things, "does he still live?" She turned to me suddenly, eyes once again holding my own hostage.

I saw the opportunity I needed to try and talk my out of this. "He died only a few days ago. Elskia contends with...," I suddenly wondered about the wisdom of informing the Baroness of her late husbands infidelity, "...a rival claimant to the Barony. I am aiding her against this interloper, but she was recently injured in an attack. Our plans required the use of your... make up."

The Baroness stared at me intently, giving nothing away in her expression as she contemplated my words. Without warning she leaned in close, breaking all barriers of personal space, and breathed in deep.

"...And you? Another rival seeking to unseat her? To betray my daughter?" Some bones in my shoulder filed a notice informing me of impending structural failure.

"No no no no no, I'm firmly in your daughter's camp. The rival is attempting to kill us both. Elskia has my loyalty," I blurted out.

I received another long look and then without warning the grip relaxed and the Baroness was standing again.

"You will tell me everything."

The Baroness had a truly astounding capacity for predicting the future, as that's exactly what I did.

At her pointed look I placed the coffer on the ground. She began to walk away and I, skeptical of the wisdom of doing anything else, followed. As I spoke she moved through the rooms, stopping to inspect specific objects by some logic only accessible to her. I recognized a compulsion in her behaviour, the meticulous and exacting way she handled every piece: testing a clockwork orrery's full range of motion before being satisfied; tapping the nose of every sculpture.

I babbled on, and the only acknowledgement the Baroness ever gave of my presence was the occasional pause wherein she would breathe deeply, inhaling more air than I thought her lungs could possibly hold, and then turn to me and minutely shudder while her hands clenched and unclenched. It felt dangerously like she was exhibiting an incredible feat of self-control.

I eventually reached the moment of our encounter and fell into silence. In our wanderings she had taken us to an armoury. Assorted weapons of beautiful design and fine suits of armour were stacked so heavily I was sure a small army could be geared with this room alone. She was examining a sword with such intent I wondered if a blacksmith somewhere had just broken out in a cold sweat.

"You thought I was dead. Is this belief widely held?" I tried not to look at the sword in her hands.

"Well," I struggled to think of confirming statements from anyone I'd encountered, "Whenever you're mentioned everyone says 'may she rest in peace', and I just assumed..."

"I am temperamental when my slumber is disrupted. They are not praying for me."

I finished the thought in my own head: they're doing it for themselves.

"If you will be hunting in my daughter's stead. You will need a weapon," she sheathed the sword and extended the scabbard to me, "The Laughing Blade. You will make good use of it." She frowned as it was handed off, only reluctantly releasing it into my grip. "It will be returned," another prediction.

"Now that you are awake, isn't all of this moot? With your backing Elskia's claim is—"

"I do not involve myself in succession or hold title, by compact. Besides, I have slept a long while. My collection requires attention. Come, you will need the timeless coffer."

We returned to her rooms directly, the Baroness moving rather more urgently, taking those long lingering breaths a little too often.

I resolved to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. I would grab the coffer, give a silent bow, and walk cleanly out sight before breaking into a run. Wouldn't do to start running too early, might trigger a prey instinct. I was only half joking.

The Baroness was very still. I began to sidle my way to the coffer where I'd left it.

"You remind me so much of the Baron when he was young," her voice started taut, but by the end of her words there was a definite growl, "I thought I could manage. But it has been so long." She was walking towards the thickest nest of translucent tubing, "I do so hate to lose something from my collection."

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I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew very clearly what I felt about it. I hurried over to the coffer, taking quick glances at the Baroness. She had arrived at the tubing, and apparently decided to disrobe. A part of me wondered whether perhaps whatever followed could really be all that bad, and then the rest of me shouted that part down with prejudice.

As I watched the Baroness reached within the tangle and pulled. She lifted what looked like the ghostly outline of the head of a great creature. It seemed half-draconic, half-feline. Studded with fangs, but also enveloped in a faint haze of fine fur. It possessed proud, arrogant features, recognizable even in this shadowy imprint of life. The Baroness stroked the maw lovingly before opening the jaw and pulling it over herself like a gown. As I watched she seemed to fade, even while vibrant colour began to emerge from the—and now I understood—skin she had pulled onto herself. The cells became scales, fine fur erupted like spun gold along the spine and around its—her—head.

I grabbed for the coffer while I still had time, only then noticing the faint text the Baroness had written next to my scrawl of Elskia's name. Selkie.

I ran without looking back, confident that somewhere behind me a pair of predatory silver eyes were beginning to open.

In the moment of great stress I returned to my time honoured tradition of splitting my thoughts along multiple threads: running simultaneous high end simulations of cause and effect; accessing essential semantic memory for applicable knowledge; and navigating through variable terrain environments with efficient route planning. It went something like this.

"We kick dust in her face!" Cause-Simulation suggested.

"A trivial quantity of dust makes it to her eyes. Then she eats us." Effect-Simulation answered.

"Okay, then what if we throw the dust right in her face! 'Pocket sand!'" Cause-Simulation rallied.

"A slightly larger quantity of dust makes it to her eyes, triggering her third eyelid to blink and instantly clear it. Then she eats us." Effect-Simulation answered again.

"Reptilian physical traits, hoarding of wealth, extended periods of torpor, capacity for transformation; we are of course dealing with draccus selkius, the greater shifting dragon!" Semantic-Memory said.

"You can't just make up a Latin sounding name and act like it's a thing! That's not allowed! Besides she clearly lacks fore or hind limbs and wings. Not a traditional dragon," said Semantic-Memory-Two.

"And what do you know?" said Semantic-Memory, "We're in a feudal-European context. If you want me to believe this is an oriental dragon you'll have an argument on your hands sir!

"...Then swoosh! we draw the Laughing Blade and say 'this looks like a laughing matter' and then—" said Cause-Simulation.

"She eats us," interrupted Effect-Simulation, somewhat glumly.

"Right foot, left foot. Dodge obstacle. Slide under table. Grapple wall to initiate slingshot. Orient," said Navigation.

I was running full pelt through the corridors, trying to navigate myself back to the dumbwaiter, but the wall holes gave the Baroness extreme mobility through her suites. I found myself back tracking repeatedly as I entered a room only to see a blur of scales cut off an opposite exit, or got a brief glimpse of the Baroness' stunning silver gaze through a passageway. She was absolutely playing with me. Somewhere deep in my chest I felt a low rumble, a steady vibration that reverberated my bones. She was purring. I redoubled my pace.

"We vibrate our molecules and phase through the walls, making a straight shot for the dumbwaiter!" Cause-Simulation said.

"We can't do that, and even if we could we would just vibrate through the floor and escape that way!" Effect-Simulation said.

"...We vibrate through the—"

"If you finish that sentence, I will just let you try it. Go on. Finish it. See what happens. I bet it will work. There won't be you, flailing on the floor like an epileptic fish at a rave, that definitely won't happen."

"So we're agreed? She's a wyrm with Selkie characteristics," said Semantic-Memory-Two.

"Wurm." said Semantic-Memory.

"Right foot, left foot. Correct for slippage of dust. Catch falling statuette. Place on floor. Resume pace." said Navigation.

A coil of the Baroness' ample length was beginning to pen me into a corner when it brushed against the porcelain figure I'd placed on the ground and immediately jerked back. With a careful motion it curved around the delicate object and continued to move for me, but she was clearly hindered by her efforts to avoid inadvertently breaking it.

"...DO THAT AGAIN!" said everyone.

I snatched a delicate looking sculpture from its stand and made a standing leap over the Baroness' scaly length. My heart skipped a beat as I nearly slipped and fell atop my precious cargo—I didn't want to learn what the consequences of actually breaking something would be. Then I stabilized and I was off, placing the sculpture carefully behind me to pen the Baroness between the two pieces.

I watched while she felt out the pair of objects, and then struggled to bunch herself to painstakingly lift part of her coils over the sculpture and resume her pursuit.

I knew my strategy.

I careened through the rooms. I snatched priceless artifacts and created mid-room obstacles to gain breathing room; grabbed paintings off the wall and blocked her rapid-transit holes.

In response the Baroness sped up, scales blurring by as she committed to bringing her head directly to me. I knew that if she finally caught up my tricks wouldn't be able to keep her from just looming right over any obstacles and striking right at me.

The moment of inspiration came when I accidently placed a carving of a shepherdess more precariously than I thought, a coil bumped against it and it began to fall—in a twist of motion she worked the coil beneath it, cushioning it before it struck the ground. She was forced to pause that length of her body and slowly lower the carving to avoid any chance of harm.

I began to place objects more precariously, liable to fall at a moments touch. I made minefields of her treasures, and like a miasma I could almost feel the seething frustration sweep through the corridors.

With her so occupied I actually made progress, inching steadily closer to the dumbwaiter with every meter of her I occupied or restrained. And then, there it was. The sweet outline of my escape in sight, I ran, carefree and—why is this so easy?

I skidded to a halt. The dumbwaiter was only ten meters away, but I couldn't see anything of the corridor before it, and the purring had stopped. The Baroness wasn't stupid. What does a cat do when there's only one mouse-hole? Sit and wait with infinite patience.

I considered my options, and god help my reputation but I saw a possibility. First I stripped down to nothing but my underwear; then, after spending some time considering the experience of digestion, I removed those too. I was leaving nothing to chance.

I cracked open the timeless coffer and rummaged around, finally drawing out a bottle of scented oil. I poured it onto my body, the stench of lavender curling into my nostrils and establishing a small nation state. I rubbed myself down, coating everything, even while holding back the desire to gag. I was ready.

I slid my satchel and the laughing blade across the floor, they lifted a cloud of dust in their passing but otherwise sailed along until they thumped against the wall beneath the dumbwaiter. Me next. I had been careful not to let any oil get on the underside of my boots, I needed every bit of traction available to me.

I looked at the two square feet that was my target.

"You are a bar of fragrant soap, slippery in the hand. Be the soap. Be. The. Soap."

I exploded into motion, words of affirmation erupting from me as I ran in a dead sprint for the dumbwaiter!

"BE-THE-SOAP-BE-THE-SOAP-BE-THE-SOAP," I chanted.

I neared the corridor, my footfalls slapping against the cleared floor. Mere moments away I stomped my feet and let myself fall backwards. Heels. Butt. Back. Shoulders. I was the slicked up man. The slime-creature. I had entered Lavender Town and told friction we were on a break.

I slid into the corridor. Above me the Baroness was already passing overhead, mid-strike as she lunged for the sound of where any man would have been. But I was no man, I was soap. Her bulk began to descend upon me but the weight simply pushed me out and I popped free like a buttered noodle.

I slithered my way into the dumbwaiter, snatching my treasures as I went. I caught one last glimpse of a cat-dragon head doing that gagging thing as the smell hit, and then I released the dumbwaiter brakes and I descended into the darkness.

I emerged from my perfumed chamber like a tide of wildflowers.

"Hugh," he was looking at me in utter shock, "I'm going to need your clothes Hugh."

Without a word he began to undress with a resigned look, though I didn't feel any remorse. I had a reputation to maintain.

Escaped the Coils of the Baroness! +1 Advancement Point!

Nice.