Princess Anna
Temperature
He has arrived.
I heard servants whispering while they went down the hall by my room. The room with everything white and blue, like the sky, like the rain will come down and make me cold. Colder.
These days I have walked distances around this place, I have wiped away tiles of snow from my dressers, and have suffered a broken window without much solution. The servants avoid my room and have had me choose new windows but they are waiting to alter my environment and now I know the reason.
I caught the servants whispering in the kitchen, all the details are mine, but the structure he will maintain. Directions are his and the orders are his.
They will not touch my room, they fear it may become imperfect. Perfection had been reached? The cold wool colours and drapes that are not thick enough to keep the winter chill out. The smooth marble tables and chests that stand quietly in the corners. The deep mauve carpets that are my only comfort at times as I rest down to stare up and wonder.
What will happen now? Who has the boy become, that perfection is something not only to be gained, but also remain uncorrected without approval?
Today, I have hidden away for the morning, however the fluttered news had me roaming the halls with confronting intentions, but he has his ways as I have mine. I have not caught sight yet.
Two hours of lost introduction and one more hour of wandering in search for him had me retreat to my room. The servants were too quiet. Are they even still here, I wonder.
Red River had guests frequently, my dear friends visited me, we rode together in the orchards by the gardens, we made visits to their homes for painting and crafts, and we had long walks to the river where we would catch the red stones to whisper stories at supper.
Always the guest would be announced, introduced and visible for all to agree upon and enjoy with, but this, I have never seen this treatment before.
Although my silent home life smothered my heart, I built another one of smiles and deep talks with these guests, I made hope and home mobile. My cracked demeanor was at first the sharpest of snapped glass, the most striking weather of a new season and the most cruel glare of an untrained dog.
The guests would avoid me, their castles so calm, they did not understand this torrential downpour out of monsoon season. However, I made a place in myself to meet them as strangers should; peacefully with caution. I soon gained the excitement one has for fresh parchment with a mind full of ideas, the occupied mind of the scholar as they sit among their books and the rushing Red River's stamina as it polishes the red stones on and on.
It seemed to be enough, at long last a life, but Father had this as a plan to have me socialized once more. Soon after my friends and I had decidedly returned from a trip to Enawe, the land of the waterfalls and lush forests, he sent word to meet me.
Now here I lay, between the towering marble drawers, the cold mountain breeze and a wool encased bed, on a flowered carpet soft and serene. My brown curls, I distribute over my head as a crown. My red dress is splayed around me in tribute to my home and the ripples and folds swirling around whenever a new thought comes to me and the soft warmth of the candles light up the slight jewels at the tips.
He has arrived.
The jewels darken and I glance up to a face of shadow with his dark hair lit up at the ends while catching my candles' light.
My eyes sting and warm heat spreads over my cheeks. Like a child I am caught in my day dreams.
I was lost in my quiet loneliness again, only to miss the arrival of a guest.
I heard servants whispering while they went down the hall by my room. The room with everything white and blue, like the sky, like the rain will come down and make me cold. Colder.
These days I have walked distances around this place, I have wiped away tiles of snow from my dressers, and have suffered a broken window without much solution. The servants avoid my room and have had me choose new windows but they are waiting to alter my environment and now I know the reason.
I caught the servants whispering in the kitchen, all the details are mine, but the structure he will maintain. Directions are his and the orders are his.
They will not touch my room, they fear it may become imperfect. Perfection had been reached? The cold wool colours and drapes that are not thick enough to keep the winter chill out. The smooth marble tables and chests that stand quietly in the corners. The deep mauve carpets that are my only comfort at times as I rest down to stare up and wonder.
What will happen now? Who has the boy become, that perfection is something not only to be gained, but also remain uncorrected without approval?
Today, I have hidden away for the morning, however the fluttered news had me roaming the halls with confronting intentions, but he has his ways as I have mine. I have not caught sight yet.
Two hours of lost introduction and one more hour of wandering in search for him had me retreat to my room. The servants were too quiet. Are they even still here, I wonder.
Red River had guests frequently, my dear friends visited me, we rode together in the orchards by the gardens, we made visits to their homes for painting and crafts, and we had long walks to the river where we would catch the red stones to whisper stories at supper.
Always the guest would be announced, introduced and visible for all to agree upon and enjoy with, but this, I have never seen this treatment before.
Although my silent home life smothered my heart, I built another one of smiles and deep talks with these guests, I made hope and home mobile. My cracked demeanor was at first the sharpest of snapped glass, the most striking weather of a new season and the most cruel glare of an untrained dog.
The guests would avoid me, their castles so calm, they did not understand this torrential downpour out of monsoon season. However, I made a place in myself to meet them as strangers should; peacefully with caution. I soon gained the excitement one has for fresh parchment with a mind full of ideas, the occupied mind of the scholar as they sit among their books and the rushing Red River's stamina as it polishes the red stones on and on.
It seemed to be enough, at long last a life, but Father had this as a plan to have me socialized once more. Soon after my friends and I had decidedly returned from a trip to Enawe, the land of the waterfalls and lush forests, he sent word to meet me.
Now here I lay, between the towering marble drawers, the cold mountain breeze and a wool encased bed, on a flowered carpet soft and serene. My brown curls, I distribute over my head as a crown. My red dress is splayed around me in tribute to my home and the ripples and folds swirling around whenever a new thought comes to me and the soft warmth of the candles light up the slight jewels at the tips.
He has arrived.
The jewels darken and I glance up to a face of shadow with his dark hair lit up at the ends while catching my candles' light.
My eyes sting and warm heat spreads over my cheeks. Like a child I am caught in my day dreams.
I was lost in my quiet loneliness again, only to miss the arrival of a guest.