Veltises (9)

She had not expected the humidity. A thin fog lingered over the balcony, ruining the view she had waited for throughout her noctivagant musings. It was a testament to her existence, the way the sun crept over the mountains, slowly illuminating the wondrous shore, hills, and valleys, in tones of pink and orange, glistening in the due drops that cover every inch of the beautiful world below, lying just beyond a veil of mist, and leaving her with little more than a blurred glow of curiosity. It angered her tremendously, that of all the visions she had earnestly sought, that which made itself visible to her were the twinkling of lingering stars, who dare to endure the inchoate dawn, the chirping of birds, and protrude into the morning but for a moment longer, during which moment it became apparent to her that such stars had turned a deaf ear to the wishes of young ladies, royalty, and otherwise.

It would only be a moment before groping servants would come rushing in, intruding upon her anger, ignoring her desires, burying them in dresses, jewels, oils, paints, and powders, hiding everything about her that remained to be human, and forever striving to destroy any potential for resurrecting herself in the future. She could hear them calling to her from the stairwell outside her door, and it angered further that they had come with the explicit intent of erasing her identity, and decorating her like a doll to be played with, and yet they knocked before entering, as though such were polite or courteous, but courteous to whom, the girl she was, or the one they intend to create? It seemed a bit like offering someone a comfortable pair of shoes to ware, while having their legs broken.

The servants, she thought, no better than slubberdegullion, were very much like the fog. They gathered in and surrounded her, preventing her from viewing to the outside world, stripping her of all knowing and leaving her to fantasy, gently binding her wrist in golden shackles, covering her eyes with majestic diamond lenses that, while beautiful, blurred and distorted her perception of the world beyond. All the while they bow and avert their gaze, and she considered that the attendants’ behavior could pass perhaps, for respect, or shame, quite equally, as they treat her as lowly sloven in need of repair. The dress was to tight, the shoes were too small, her hair was bound to tightly, and the paints and oils made her eyes burn. In a fit of passion and anger, and yet peaceful resolve, she snapped the stones from her ears and neck, and the rings from her fingers, while stepping out of her shoes.

She leapt from the balcony, finery trailing behind her, casting away the sparkling rubies and diamonds, their flashing light as if punctuating the chorus of shrieking servants. She tore at the dress, ripping fabric until she exposed her head and breast, if only to see the world during the fall. Mist chilled her flesh as she tore away the layers of finery, the gold and silver, trading them for the wind in her nose, the tears in her eyes, and the beauty of the sky glistening on the stone covered shore rushing up to greet her. And as she lie, burst upon the shores stone, the finest lace, the rarest stones, and all the worlds worthless finery rained about her, and sparkled, in the light of the morning star.

• D. M. Hutchins 2nd