Mature Decedre

Bolt From the Blue

Song: Greek Tragedy playlist by Elira

I wanted to watch the sunrise one last time before I died tonight.

Waking while the sky was still a painting of dark hues and airbrushed colors of Aurora was a difficult task. But I managed. Just as Aunt Meg always said since I was little, I was made to endure.

Slipping the thin blanket off, I shivered as the morning air pierced through my nightgown. The wrinkled dress hung off my shoulder, exposing my collarbone. I relished the feeling of Zephyr's breath against my fair skin while I still could.

Once I left this room I was drowned in fabric from head to toe to ensure that no "accidents" were to happen. That was the simple manner of my life for eighteen years, trapped in this gilded cage of King Titus's palace.

I was covered and looked at. But never talked to or acknowledged, for the people feared that my curse would one day become a spoken one as well.

Their fears were definitely unfounded, ludicrous even. It was only my Midas Touch that could turn whatever living thing I brushed against to gold. Not my words.

The will of the gods was powerful but certainly not that powerful.

Then again, I guessed their fears weren't entirely unsubstantiated. There was once a time when the Midas Touch turned everything to gold. People included.

Desdemona the Twenty Second was the first to realize we could actually control our power if we tried. The will to turn things into gold on command became a learned skill passed down to each Golden Warrior of Midas.

The one thing we could never control, however, was the killing it induced when we touched other living things. That was forever unavoidable.

I personally hadn't had human contact since I was a baby when I killed my wet nurse while suckling at her breast.

Aunt Meg said the isolation truly began around that time.

My blood red feline eyes didn't exactly help me make friends either. I looked like the monster they all imagined me to be. Therefore I was unworthy of their love and affection.

To some this might have seemed cruel. But not to me. Their need to create a wide berth whenever I passed them was a necessary caution.

I brought disorder to their lives. The only remedy to their constant suffering was my death and I was more than willing to give them that relief.

After I died there would be nine months of peace for the people to enjoy before I returned amongst their ranks. Reborn once more to the doomed citizens of Phrygia.

It was for that reason why I could never hate them. They were just as trapped as I was.

For once you were born on the island of Phrygia, you could never leave it.

The morning chill made my feet arch as I walked across the floor. I was an ant amongst the high, thick walls rumored to have been built by the cyclops themselves. My dainty fingers brushed over the ancient art filling the beige canvas. There were depictions of King Midas, the first wielder of my "gift" and the first king of Phrygia. Then there were illustrations of me throughout my many lives as men and women of all shapes and sizes.

For almost all of them I was Greek. But in recent years more foreigners were stumbling onto our hidden island. Once their children were cursed with the Midas Touch and forced to stay, I ended up taking the shape of some interesting looking people.

When I was Desdemon the Twenty Third, my last life, I was a dark man from a land known as Senegal. Desdemona the Fifty Fourth was born from parents descended from somewhere called Polynesia. I liked her portrait the best with her wild black hair and long curls. There were a few other Desdemon's and Desdemona's hailing from Thailand, Romania, and Ecuador.

According to the mural and Aunt Meg's tales, I was the only one from the lands of Korea and India. She always said that that made me different. A gem amongst other glittering jewels in a timeline so old it spanned centuries.

When I was little I thought she was yanking my leg. Now that I was older I realized the truth.

She was the only citizen of Phrygia that fell for my spell, as the others often said behind her back. Aunt Meg, who was raised to hate my kind, had the great misfortune of coming to care for me.

To the great displeasure of the king, she loved me and I loved her.

I often thought how funny it was, how these things often turned out in ways one would never have imagined.

Closing my eyes, I stood beside one of the tall pillars framing my room. There were no windows, just open space, and I liked it that way. From where the palace sat upon the highest mountain, I had the perfect view of the whole island. I could observe them the way they were always observing me.

I watched as dawn arrived, setting the ancient mud dwellings of Phrygia aflame with light. The air, crisp and clear, was filled with the chorus of birdsong. A sweet melody I grew to love as we often sang to each other when no one was around.

Golden fingers of sunlight crawled upon the waking island. It seeped into my huge room, making the gold statues I lived with shine brightly. I closed my eyes to cement the beauty of my last sunrise to memory. A peaceful calm washed over me, taking me to the state of serenity I'd only ever known of from reading poetry.

I was ready to die.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I sighed, saddened that my last sunrise was interrupted by one of my attending maids of which I had three. Ariadne, Aikaterini, and Irene.

They were as kind to me as they were terrified.

"Desdemona."

I froze. The hand resting upon the pillar reacted to my sudden surprise. I slipped up. The solid mass instantly transformed into newly formed gold. Its smooth surface slipped against my fingers like silk as I turned with baited breath.

I didn't recognize the voice.

"Holy Hades..."

There was a blue woman with four arms, a necklace of human heads, and a skirt of human arms standing in the middle of my room.

She smiled. "Hello, Desdemona."

I screamed bloody murder as I raced towards the javelin I kept beneath my bed. It gleamed gold under my Midas Touch. She raised her hands, pleading with me silently but I reacted as the fear claimed me for its own.

My aim hit its mark, piercing her through the chest. I quickly threw on my brown gloves and wrapped myself in a thick shawl as I fled the room. All I could do was scream for help while I left footprints of indented gold on the palace floor.

King Titus would not be happy about this.

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QOTD: What do you think about Desdemona's character and the way she's lived her life thus far? Are you surprised about how kind Desdemona speaks of this "Aunt Meg?" Any thoughts on who the monster at the end of the story was?