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“Pretty Little Liars” recap (1.09): And evil takes a human form in Alison DiLaurentis

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell on Liars – except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept it up the streets (for it is in Rosewood that our scene lies), pinging against library windows, and fiercely agitating the foul ghost of Lady Alison as she materialized in the darkness.

The Ladies Hanna, Spencer and Aria sat huddled over SAT preparation books, quizzing one another about five-dollar vocabulary words and boys. “Rosewood High is to Spencer Hastings as Hogwarts is to …?” Lady Aria asked. Lady Spencer’s hand shot into the air in response, a perfect imitation of that hallowed name she gave as an answer: “Hermione Granger!” Breathlessly she awaited conformation of her accuracy, and Lady Aria did not withhold her praise. Gently, she patted Lady Spencer’s head, allowing her to nibble a Scooby Snack straight from her hand.

Dame Hastings, Lady Spencer’s mother, presented herself in the kitchen, making a most prodigious declaration: “Today, I will be playing the role of Claire Huxtable, with fifty percent less fierceness.”

You must know, gentle Reader, that the qualifying clause is what shall save Dame Hastings in the end. To juxtapose one’s self against Claire Huxtable without a proper understanding of her insurmountable awesomeness is to sign one’s own Avada Kedavra certificate.

Across town, a lithe figure took shelter against the brutal torrents of rain. Covered from noggin to Nike in mud, the Lady Emily scanned her chambers nervously in the night, expecting to be greeted by the sneer of Detective Severus Snape, no doubt; or by the ethereal apotheosis of her former lady love. Met with neither, the Lady Emily, took off the one pair of shoes she owned – for in Rosewood, the law prohibits anyone from owning multiple pairs of footwear – and disrobed completely, though the camera forgot to show that part.

Four friends had a secret; can they keep it? Swear, this one they’ll save! It’s a Wocket in their pocket, on this rainy testing day.

The consecrated halls of Rosewood High found themselves transformed into an appalling dump heap, overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of rubbish imaginable: public school kids, cloaked in burlap sacks, eating lunches out of paper sacks. Among them was Lady Spencer’s boyfriend, the peasant Alex. But lo, his condemnation to the proletariat did not keep him from getting handsy with the Lady in front of her fellow Ladies. Nor did Spencer’s proper upbringing summon forth any decorum.

Would they take the test this day, the wondered? Was it reasonable to expect them to properly conjugate verbs over the mad clap! of the thunder? Surely not! So also thought Detective Severus Snape, who chose the day of the most important test of these children’s young lives to launch a full-scale offensive against the ghost of Lady Alison. Boo Radley van Cullen had been spotted, you see!

Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron stood in the wings of Rosewood High, shaking their heads in disgust.

“I say,” Sir Nicholas called out as Detective Snape slithered by. “Is this what you call an ‘investigation’? I know children who are more competent than you. Why, I’ll join the Headless Hunt before you solve this murder mystery!”

Spurred on by their insults and his own nitwittedness, Detective Snape entered the library to jeer at the students gathered there. Lady Emily had only moments before lied to the other Ladies about her whereabouts the night previous: swim practice, a late supper, and then tucked into bed. But hark! When Detevtive Snape questioned the Lady Emily, she spoke an untruth, saying she spent the evening in the company of the other Ladies. Lady Aria trained her impossibly large eyes onto Detective Snape and confirmed her story.

But we know it to be false! There was mud on Lady Emily’s shoes!

“Lady Alison’s memorial has been destroyed!” shouted the Detective. Having been brought up in the Frobidden Forest by a pack of werewolves, he had never been taught to keep his voice down in the library. And so he carried on: “I shall not rest until I have imprudently accused everyone in this kingdom of murder!” He wrung his hands, he twirled his mustache.

Had Madam Pince been there she would have slapped his face.

In the fit of maniacal laughter that followed Detective Snape’s soliloquy, the muffled sound of a text message echoed from Lady Emily’s phone. Could it be? Indeed, it was: A message from “A.” What lengths a lesbian ex-girlfriend will travel to express her disappointment, even from beyond the grave! Lady Alison, too, had Great Expectations. Which, gentle Reader, it is safe to say Lady Emily did not meet.

Before the children, there were the parents: giant whores, the lot of them. (Except Dame Piper Halliwell, of course.) Sir Montgomery called up Dame Marin and spoke to her these words: “Hanna and Aria are both at school. Shall I come over for a little fax?”

“A little sex?” said Dame Marin, who was already drunk after exchanging all of Hanna’s hard-earned groceries for a case of Pinot. “Sure!”

“No. Fax.” said Sir Montgomery. “But let’s not rule out the sex part either.”

Dame Piper found herself in close quarters – scavenging for food – with the young Sir Gilbert Blythe. She thanked him for his contribution to her daughter’s schooling. Momentarily, she considered offering him a little fax. But she thought better of it.

The love lives of our heroines, it must be said, are, strictly speaking, a clusterfuck – as the personal intercourse in these consecrated halls must soon reveal.

Lady Spencer’s beau, the peasant Alex, was heretofore all Wocket, no pocket. But a chance meeting with Dame Hastings this rainy morn, sent the young man into a cocoon of secrecy, impenetrable even by Lady Spencer’s husky pleas – which, we must note, have laid waste to more than one lesbian viewer’s heart. She demanded his Wocket! Or his pocket! But the peasant Alex allotted her neither.

Lady Aria, meanwhile, was granted an audience with the sunscreen model, Noel Kahn, who invited her to a veritable buffet of sporting events before erroneously surmising that girls do not like hockey. Realizing his misstep, he recalled the words of Queen Sue Sylvester: “I realize my cultural ascendance only serves to illuminate your own banality.” He channeled his inner Finn Hudson and escorted Lady Aria to a dark classroom, where they could partake of song together.

They did, and it was good – but then, what light through yonder doorway broke! It was the east and Sir Gilbert Blythe was the sun! He shined; how he shined! Where had his travels taken him, Lady Aria demanded. To the land of New York City, where he longed for her every moment. He inhaled her scent; it remained the same. No pineapples. No coconuts. And he sighed in relief.

Lady Hanna’s young suitor, the Ugly Duckling Lucas, found himself under attack by Madam Mona, who advised him to visit the wizard to procure a penis. “Perhaps you could help me secure a used dildo from Ebay,” the Ugly Duckling quipped. “Certainly you’ve had the practice.” Lady Hanna enjoyed a giggle and explained to Mona that she’d purchased one of Hanna’s antiquated possessions in an online auction, to which Mona replied, “I find your new pauper status truly horrific.”

And then, gentle Readers, there was Emily. In the library, she obtained that weathered copy of Great Expectations, of which “A” had spoken so condescendingly in her text message. Inside: a highlighted passage, a letter, a memory. The letter: An admonishment to the Lady Alison; and oh, how it pained Lady Emily to see her words again! The highlighted passage: The key to the memory. Lady Alison sat in the library floor, musing about the cartoon names employed by Mr. Dickens. When Lady Emily sat down beside her, Lady Alison leaned in and caressed Emily’s hair, expressing everything she’d learned about Sapphic tendencies from American network television: “I would like to braid your hair.”

She used Mr. Dickens’ words to secure a kiss from Lady Emily. The sun shone on them sweetly, oblivious to the darkness forming in the cavern of Lady Alison’s soul.

Another memory! In the locker room where Emily’s ex-boyfriend, the werewolf Ben, tried to force himself up upon her – in that very same locker room where the vampire Boo Radley Van Cullen preserved her honor, in fact – the Lady Alison disrobed in front of her. Emily sneaked a quick, almost imperceptible perve at the Lady’s tits. Then the Lady asked Emily to fasten her bra, and so Emily did, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

And oh, the Lady Alison attacked! Stomping her tiny foot, she demanded some respect from Lady Emily! “Reading romantic passages from Victorian literature and kissing you doesn’t mean I like you, Lady Emily!” she shouted. “I was practicing for someone important!”

The wretched memory was then interrupted by the expulsion of light from within the library! Hark, who goes there? Hark, where’s my bag? Hark, where the fuck is my fucking love letter? Emily wondered.

You will be unsurprised to hear that it was Detective Snape who collected Lady Emily’s things. He gathered the other Ladies in the library, and there he began his accusations. The night prior, Lady Emily was not with her friends! The night prior, the Lady Emily was at the Lady Alison’s shrine! Audibly, the Ladies gasped at the revelation about the other Lady.

“There is mud on your shoes,” the Detective screeched, “In the throes of a tornado, which produces rain, which produces mud, you have mud on your shoes!”

Again, the Ladies gasped. Lady Aria reached for her salts.

“And what of this?” Detective Snape demanded. “This personal item in your personal belonging that I am searching without cause or a warrant. Could this be – why yes, it is! A love letter to the dead Lady Alison! When I combine these three pieces of evidence together, do you know what conclusion I reach? You, madam, are a lesbian!”

The Lady Emily looked at the other Ladies. “I loved her as more than a friend,” she said.

The Ladies’ hearts grew three sizes when they understood the truth of her actions.

“Right,” said Lady Hanna. “Give her back her shit or I am going to rip your head off your shoulders.”

But there was no need! Dame Hastings entered the library in that moment and explained to the Detective something called “the law.” He was morose because he’d been raised by werewolves, after all. No shouting in the library. No verbally abusing teenagers without an adult present. He still had so much to learn.

Lady Aria assured Lady Emily that Alison loved her. Perhaps not in the way she wanted, but it was love nonetheless.

And what of the SAT?

It was canceled that fateful day.

Lady Emily returned to the library after the rain and shelved Great Expectations.

Lady Spencer learned that the peasant Alex was trustworthy and that her mother had access to space-like medical technology.

Lady Aria agreed to courtship with the sunscreen model Noel Kahn.

And Hanna grew ever more smitten with the Ugly Duckling Lucas. He tried to tell her something as she walked away, but so excited was she about Emily coming out that she paid him no heed. The original Maya/Emily shipper had some work to do, LiveJournals and Tumblrs to create. But in her fangirl haste, gentle Reader, perhaps she should have taken a moment to glance at his Ugly Duckling shoes.

For they had mud on them.

Somewhere in the wake of the storm, the Risen Mitten appeared. It copied a video file. It addressed an envelope. “It is done,” the Risen Mitten communicated through the use of shadow puppets. And then it mailed off a copy of the Lady Alison’s sex tape.

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