Puppet I Am

To him who mastered her soul.
It was dangling in the emptiness by long thin white cords,
her every movement at the mercy of his graceful long fingers floating in the air,
slowly but precisely,
a virtuous playing his godly symphony through her body.
And when the curtains close,
he would untangle her,
touch her
and with those same fingers gently trace the lines on her face acquired after many years of dancing to his masterpiece.
He would whisper when she got so old,
and she would smile and whisper back that those lines are all that remain of her freedom.
Because even the mightiest emperor could not rule the tricks of time.