The Queen

The Queen

You belong to me
My snow white queen
-- Evanescence

She's beautiful. Like a statue of white marble, but soft like the cherry blossoms blooming outside. She stands on a silver platform in a ray of sunlight. The light hits her white dress, and it seems to glow. Her skin, while pale, seems dark beside the radiance of her white gown and straight fine hair the color of pure snow. She watches me with pale grey eyes, framed by dark lashes.
She is not a natural creature.
I hold my hand out to her and she puts her long delicate fingers into my hand. The movement of her thin dress releases a light scent of blossoms and winter. She steps down from her pedestal, and for a moment I see a graceful foot pointing towards the dark stone floor. Then the pale fabric sweeps the floor again.
She stands before me, this impossible being. Those eyes look into my eyes, searching for meaning. I place my hands on either side of her face and she leans into me, her hands on my arms.
"Good morning, your Majesty." I take my hands away and walk to an alcove with a dark and moldy stone bust. On the head of this bust is a thin silver diadem with an opal set into it. She stands perfectly still, compliant. Obedient. Only her eyes move, watching me cross the room again with the diadem. I place it on her head, the opal falls between her eyes and she sighs. The oval stone is like a third eye, shifting colors like oil in the light.
She opens her eyes. There is pure, uninhibited adoration in those gray eyes. I smile at her and pull her face towards mine for a brief kiss, a mere brushing of her soft pliant mouth on mine. She pushes forward, but I break the kiss. She doesn't make a sound.
I take her hand and thread it through my arm. We walk out of the sun room, my shoes clicking on the stone floor and her bare feet silent. The interior is dark, but she remains a beacon of light, as though she had absorbed the sun and were bringing it into the dark, eternal night of the rest of the palace. Guards are stationed every twenty feet dressed in black livery so they appear to melt into the walls. They kneel as she passes.
At the end of the hallway, lies the palace proper. Couriers and ladies, lords and servants, all attired in different colors, fill the hall, in an attempt to alleviate the darkness. They don't see me. They only see her. The radiant creature by my side. As one body they draw apart to form a corridor through the crush of bodies and fall to the floor, with their arms outstretched and their head down on the stone floor. She stands at the head of the stairs, transfixed by the riot of color and the still breathing carpet of humanity at her feet.
I pull her forward delicately and she follows, stepping neatly between hands. In the wake, the hem of her gown slides over the arms of her subjects. Her head swivels back and forth looking at the crowd, trying to take in every body, as though she's never seen it before.
We reach the other side and enter the throne room. Advisors and administrators, in the royal black livery, swarm her vying for her attention. She tightens her hand of my arm as they shout out requests to deal with bandits terrorizing the forests; arrangements for the reception of a visiting queen from the south; petitions to hear and decisions to make. It's a cacophony of voices. She winces at the din, that smooth alabaster skin tightening and folding above her eyes.
She looks up at me. She's frightened. She's spent too long on her pedestal and the real world is a horror to her. I take her hand off my arm and release her into the crush of people. Then I cross my arms and retreat to stand by the door and I watch.
She calms down and walks serenely to the black stone throne, her terror forgotten, as though it had never been. She sits, resembling more than ever a small flame, holding back the oppressive black of Night Castle.
She never says a word, but gestures towards one petitioner and then another, listening carefully to their case and making her judgment with a nod or smooth shake of the head. Her face is calm and content despite the protestations of gratitude and wails of despair that arise from her decisions.
She continues throughout the day, well into night, without showing the slightest sign of fatigue or unhappiness. After what seems like an eternity of leaning against cold stone, I walk to the throne. She looks at me and I can tell she knows.
I step back, involuntarily. This shouldn't be. But I see it in her eyes. She's aware. Only hours have passed without my touch and it's enough. She understands.
My breath catches in my throat as hold my hand out. She looks at it with a look of unmistakable terror. Her perfect pale eyes fly up to meet mine. Pleading. She shakes her head sharply, holding both hands to her chest.
I hear murmurs behind me from the administrators. Why is the queen is resisting, they wonder. I wonder this as well. I hold my hand out, holding her stare. She continues to keep her hands back, shaking her head. She looks to the other people in the throne room.
"No," I say and her eyes snap back to me. I lean close, and whisper into her ear. "You belong to me."
She closes her eyes, and I see tears sparkling at the corner of her eye.
Slowly, I reach out and take her hand. Her body relaxes and her hand melts into mine. She looks up at me and I dare to breathe again.
"You're very tired, Majesty," I say.
Her eyelids droop closed and she nods, causing the tears in her eye to spill down her cheek. She pays it no attention.
"Please allow me to escort your Majesty to your apartments."
She nods again, turning her face up to me, perfect, except for the trail of a tear that dripped off her chin onto her shoulder, soaking into the white fabric.
I help her to her feet, put her arm through mine. We retrace our route, although the throne room is nearly empty, the courtiers and ladies remain. They abandon their revels to watch their beautiful queen. They again fall to their knees, ecstatic to feel her cool satin gown brush over their fingers.
I lead her back to the sun room. I take her to stand before the silver platform. I lay a hand on her cheek and she tilts her head into my hand, with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips. With the other hand, I remove the opal diadem. I leave her standing in the darkened room and replace the circlet on the dark bust.
She turns to look out the window. During the day, the view stretches far enough to see the waves of the western ocean crashing against the cliffs, but now in the dark, the glass is a mirror, reflecting the snow white queen back o herself.
She lifts a hand to touch the damp spot on her cheek. I pull the hand away from her face and turn her away from the reflection. She looks at me, questioning. I gesture to the pedestal and she obediently steps on the polished silver surface.
The white satin falls in cascades to the dark floor. One arm hangs at her side. The other hand rests on her breast, as though reaching for a necklace that wasn't there. Her head tilts slightly to the side, and her gaze is vacant, facing towards the heavy wooden doors.
She doesn't move. She doesn't blink. She is still. My work of art. My perfection. My queen. I see another tear fall down her face.
She makes me very nervous.