#mortimergothfh

Mortimer Goth has steered Freedom Hollow through rough winters, crime, and more than one heated town meeting, all while maintaining the stiff upper lip expected of a man in his position. Practical, proper, and prone to dramatic sighs, the Mayor is as devoted to the town as he is to his family — though keeping both in line is a full-time endeavor.

Not long before his daughter Cassandra’s ill-fated wedding, his wife Bella was kidnapped and the mayor extorted for exorbitant amounts of money. The entire town rallied to find her to no avail, leaving Mortimer torn between duty to Freedom Hollow and worry for his family, yet Bella still remains missing. 

Still, Mortimer watches over Alexander carefully, hoping his son’s curiosity leads to useful ventures and not more trouble. While he may frown at scandal and shake his head when the Doc rides by, Mortimer Goth remains a steady presence: the man who keeps Freedom Hollow running. 

Unlike his older sister, Alexander prefers the company of books, gears, and whatever contraptions he can fashion in the quiet corners of the house. Some say he’s destined for invention, while others whisper he’s just as likely to get lost in one of his experiments and forget the world outside.

The beginning of winter brings longer evenings and shorter days. Inside the schoolhouse, Mortimer Goth sits at the teacher’s desk beneath the glow of an oil lamp, carefully reviewing ledgers and town records.

Across from him, Dirk Dreamer works diligently as town clerk, sleeves rolled as he copies figures into neat columns and organizes correspondence that must be sent before the roads worsen with winter weather. The room grows darker slowly around them as the sun sinks behind the trees.

“You’ve taken to this work remarkably well,” Mortimer says after a moment. “Better than many men twice your age.” Dirk straightens subtly at the praise.

“I try to keep things in order, sir.”

“And you do.” Mortimer closes the ledger before him with finality. “Freedom Hollow will need capable men in the years ahead.” For a moment the only sound is the faint crackle of the stove, then Mortimer rises and extends his hand. The handshake is firm and steady; a gesture not simply of employment, but of trust earned.

Dirk gathers his coat and steps back out into the winter evening, the cold air sharp against his face after the warmth of the schoolhouse. Rather than heading straight home, he finds himself drifting toward the billiard hall instead. The place is warm, hazy with lamplight and smoke, carrying the familiar sounds of billiard balls cracking against one another and low conversation drifting through the room.

And there, near the back table, stands someone he does not recognize; Freedom Hollow is not large enough for a face like hers to go unnoticed for long. She is dressed almost entirely in black, her dark clothing sharp against pale skin. Small round shaded spectacles rest neatly upon her nose, giving her an air both severe and strangely captivating. She notices him looking almost immediately.

“You’re staring,” she says dryly.

“It’s difficult not to,” Dirk admits. 

“Allegra Gorey,” she says at last, offering her hand with surprising confidence. “I arrived three days ago and already half the town seems convinced I’m either a widow, a spirit, or dangerously educated.” Dirk takes her hand, unable to stop a chuckle.

“So which is it?”