October, 2004
All these
things you asked of me, the things I did for myself and for you are things that
I would have never have done for anyone else. I owed you, all of you, for
finding me in Indigo Tears, my piano tutor. And there is one thing you must
understand, mentor, I did not learn all of these things you taught me because I
was subservient to you, but because I knew so little about the world and you had
so much to teach me. Those parents used me as a pawn in a Shadows war, the kind
Gwydion that accepted us when it was all over. But with you I felt the freedom
beyond my House flaw, the freedom to do anything, everything that my imagination
could dream. The dream was that of beauty and art. That freedom was the only
thing that mattered.
It's night now,
dark. Under the glow from the lamp on the vanity table my hair is gleaming, a
few fine strands curl down over
my cheeks and throat, lifted
and stirred by my breath. I am proud of the beauty I am.
I am not the trapped Rapunzel in the stories. I am the siren, the Delilah; I
have ensnared and captured
adoration. Out from the window I see the sky sparkle under a scattering of stars
and the curve of a crescent moon. There's a young man sleeping in the bed, lost
to Dreams. Whatever he may have
thought, he is mine now.
And when I ask him
if he trusts me, he murmurs and nods. I feel him trembling in my embrace. And I
am excited too, profoundly so, by this new journey that he will take into the
unknown. And perhaps, for the first time he will feel a little bit of fear. And
I might feel a little bit of love. I know what will happen next. His lips brush
mine and I hear his voice. He adores me.
The breeze from the
breeze from the open window ruffles my hair and slides up my arms, breaking the
surface of my skin into goose bumps, mixing with the scent of dying roses and
Glamour, rank and sweet as we embrace and I Rhapsodize him... I whisper his
name. That is the only other sound I make as he slumps limply back onto the bed.
This is the lesson of his love and desire. And more than anything else in the
world I wanted him to learn it. I listen as he settles beside me in fitful
sleep, listen to the mad rhythm of his breathing, I listen to that last sound,
his crying. It is a cry that is
ten times more unendurable than pain.
And I
wonder if I will ever do it again.
