Dream. Dream until the stars fall from the sky. Dream of every wish you’ve ever made. It’s never coming true.
Her gown is made of the finest silk. Like fine gossamer clouds it floats around her, clinging and swaying with each step that she takes. White. Pure, just as she is, inside and out. Pure in every way that matters. It glimmers in the moonlight that streams through her window, soft beams like water flowing over her. The mirror she sits before sees an angel. Hair so blond it’s nearly white. Delicate features, fine as if moulded from china. As if cast in glass. Eyes blue, so blue and light they look grey in this light. An icy angel clad in fine clouds.
Servants move about quietly. She is ready, every hair in place and each piece of her set to perfection. Perfection. All that is ever required of her. Nothing more, nothing less, than being perfect to the world about her. Today she fulfilled that, today she floated down the stairs and into the garden. All around her sat everyone that mattered, everyone as perfect and pure as her. Through the rows of roses she floated, walking toward her fate. It smiled at her, pleased with her picture perfection.
She sits alone, hair down around her shoulders, reaching down her back like a cascade of spun silver. The mirror doesn’t matter, she knows what she will see. This statue of beauty, a paragon of purity. Her reflection. Her eyes rest on the image lying on the vanity before her. A captured image of her, but here she is not alone. Here she is before she grew into her perfection. Here she is, only thirteen, with her idols that she worships. Of the three, she is the last to be wed. The youngest, the fairest. On her shoulders rested the weight of their parent’s expectations. Never one to disappoint, she said yes.
With the click of the door behind her, she closes the drawer on the photograph, sealing the past within. She stands. Standing to face him. He whom she must now call husband. He, who had chosen her, loved her, for her perfection. The perfect bride. Sweet, innocent, pure. From the first time he saw her, across a crowded ballroom, his every action had brought them to this moment. Seeing her now, her seeing him, was a quiet moment that brought the day to a close and sealed their fate. Sealing them together.
The cool silk of her nightgown clings to her. Her heavy satin gown gone, replaced by this silk and lace temptation. In his eyes she sees approval, an expression she recognizes. He drinks in her perfection, her red lips, her breasts thinly veiled beneath the gown. He comes to her. She clings to him. In her perfection she would never say no. Would never deny him. As the moon dips from sight, taking it’s silver beams, spun dreams, away she lies silent. One strong arm wrapped about her waist.
“Dream, sweet.” He whispers and sleeps. She wonders what he means. If she is sweet, or are her dreams meant to be? And she hears a whisper from a voice that isn’t there.
Dream, Narcissa. Dream until the stars fall from the sky. Dream of every wish you’ve ever made. It’s never coming true
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