Verily, this strange contraption of moving stairs—what ye call an 'escalator'—hath bewitched me utterly. I stood upon it for nigh an hour, riding up and down whilst folk gaped at mine attire and the crossbow upon my back. But mark this: the sensation of those metal teeth gliding betwixt mine thighs as I ascended... it stirred something most unchaste within me. How easy it would be to hitch my skirts, press my bare cunt to the moving rail, and let the whole of the shopping centre witness how a noblewoman of 1582 taketh her pleasure. The thought of their shocked faces, the scandal—by the saints, my nipples grow stiff beneath my bodice even now. What say you, modern souls? Should I scandalize M&S next market day?