Queendom at Dusk

Prologue

In a lovely little village somewhere in the Northern hemisphere, a party goes on in the middle of the pitch black night. It is April and the sky is uninhabited. Out of the biggest shack of the village can be heard singing, cries of joy, percussion and violin, feet thumping on the ground in rhythm. The lanterns and fireflies light the whole area around the Green, filtering through the weeping willow branches and rebounding on the bronze Gong. The centre of the village becomes its own bubble, containing all the joy it can gather, gathering all the people that are happy enough to party until morning.

The feast is over and has made room for the celebrations. There is no other occasion to throw that big a party; except, of course, births. The young couple stay behind their table, still shy with their first kisses in public. They are watching their families celebrating in their stead.

The shack must be getting hot with all those bodies crammed in, producing sweat in unison and in close proximity. Some of the villagers are gathered outside, seeking freshness in the damp spring night. A woman goes out alone, hair unfixed, and wanders for a while on the partially lit Green.

She seems to be going nowhere, putting one foot in front of the other, eyes lost in the darkness. But her feet fumble on the pavement of the Green, and then onto the path, and to the grass as if they knew by heart every pebble and every hump. She makes her way to the lake. It will be deserted at this time of night.

She checks behind her. She would not want anyone to see her sneak away from the village. But no one would think of doing that — especially with a party going on. You take the relief you can have.

The woman takes off her hair tie and lets her blond hair take the faint spring wind. She slips away from her shoes as she steps on the stones surrounding the lake. She winces at the touch of the cutting edges. She takes a deep breath and walks all the way to the bank.

The water laps softly and she touches the surface. The sound it makes is just right. She sits down and dives her feet in the water.

She lifts her head and closes her eyes. She looks like her spirit is far away from here, on an adventure. But she is anchored here, sitting on this rock, feet in the lake. Her hands holding her body behind her. She has a faint smile, and listens to the silence. Some shouts can still be heard from afar, but mostly, only the wind in the leaves.

She opens her eyes again. She can barely see the horizon in this dark night - she can make out the pines far away, the lazy willows on her left. She looks at the sky, this formless immensity where one could easily get lost. But then it strikes her: a glowing speck of light above her head, static but shining. Like one single glitter adorning the deep blue. She has never seen that before. She had heard of it, at most. Stars, they called them. But they were just a legend, something you told kids to make them dream a little bit. Adults know they are things of the old world, that they haven't existed for hundreds of years.

And yet, here she stands, in front of one. She rubs her eyes and looks back, more intently, but still here it is. It does look like a star. It flickers faintly, but it keeps its place in the sky, just like this rock has become her own.