The Nightingale and His Golden Cage

How bleak gold can be

When I wake up I try to pretend I am asleep most times. But most of the time times it also doesn't work. The staff knows me far too well, they see that my eyes flutter, but still a lad can hope..... So, I don't move a muscle till one of my lovely care-takers will scold me out of my bed with the same array of sentences every day like, "You won't be ready when they arrive" or "a prince can't be lazy" perhaps this one, "a prince doesn't have the time to linger" or my absolute favourite "maybe you shouldn't have stayed up so late!" Yes, miss Margot is a darling, that's for certain. I open my eyes and briefly look at the beautiful royal blue canopy before standing up. I take a deep breath and look up at the absurd painting of apollo's chariot and wonder of he dreads the day too. (Perhaps he is a morning person). Lady Margot asks the same question she always does, since I way about seven years old: "So marius, are you ready to behave?" I can't help but chuckle about it every morning. Today I smile and put my hand on her shoulder her you once youthfull face has made place for the drawings of the time, telling us the was more fond of frowning than smiling. I look down at her and smile lightly as I say quietly "certainly, just like every morning before' I say. The familiar frown of work makes place for a second of joy. But only a second, we cannot afford more!

I take deep breath and remind myself I have no reason to feel sullen. My caretakers escort me to the light blue cabinet on the right side and we descend the elegant winding staircase made of dark wood and gold. Strangely this is the simplest staircase in the palace even when this one looks like an utter artwork somebody spent months making. The bathroom is one of the few rooms that doesn't include at least one mirror. If you hate yourself palais l'étoile would be an utter hellscape. The endless mirrors create optical illusion of infinite rooms like it is described in the books about versailles. But it also reminds you what you look like, who you are and perhaps why you wish to be. The fragile porcelain of the bath is filled with scolding hot water, the is way I have preferred it since I was young. I always seem to think it is too cold, everywhere. "The guests will arrive shortly, so don't take too long today" lady Margot says while the staff slowly leaves. 'Thank you miss Margot' I say while disappearing behind an old beautiful artistic folding screen, in a light pink colour with a lot of gold details.  "Marius?" Margot says. "Hm?" I say while looking over the screen like a squirrel over a branch. "Don't get your hair wet, you'll catch a cold." She says in a motherly tone. Which makes me wonder why in all those years of knowing her I've never asked if she has children. I smile but I can't help but feel selfish for not wondering more about her, asking more about her life. She must have a life outside of this, right?

I step into the beautifully decorated bathtub. The warm water tingling as it elegantly swallows my existence and encapsulates my to body in warmth. I take a deep breath and softly start to hum because although I am crave privacy at least once a day. I am deathly afraid of being alone with my thoughts, being alone with those questions, those realisation, those fears. Of loneliness, repetition, confusion and simple boredom. I rhythmytically hit the edge of the bath with my fingers and feel a soft smile painted on my face.

I do not notice that time passes till somebody knocks on the door interrupting my musical denial. I immediately stand up and raise my voice (trying my level best to sound convincing) "Almost done" I almost slip because of the wet floors and try to keep myself up on a golden clothing rack, deciding last minute that ruining that wouldn't be worth it: resulting in a rather chaotic but graceful fall. I hear a deep chuckle and immediately look up. It's not Margot (who would hove scolded me instead of laughing) it is mister Vantacure, the man who has pracically raised me. I beam, "Good morning! who are my visitors today?" I say ask excitedly. "Calm down, calm down, speed my dear Marius, not haste." I laugh as I disappear behind the folding screen and put on my underclothes. "You don't have many visitor today Marius. Cecil will arrive this morning, and he is so fond of you that he won't mind waiting. Than we have the old and the young baroness' of Rotersar, I must warn you, the old baroness is rather...... colourful if we could say that. And in the evening if you are lucky your cousin might drop by." He says. "Marvelous!" I exclaim, which is in equal parts a lie and an equal parts the truth. Cecil is always good maybe he can play some new songs today, so I can learn them. Aristocracy is absolutely dreadful. Especially colourful ones. And Francois (his first name is Herbert but it is self-explainable why he doesn't use it) , my cousin, is great company.

"I still need to arrange some things" Mister Vantacure says as Miss Margot enters the room. "Vanta?" I says, a name I am allowed to use in private. He turns around. "Did I receive an letters?" I ask, hopeful that he finally sent the promised letter. Mister vantacure looks down and I already know the answer. "I'm afraid not your highness." He answers. I don't show my disappoitment and simply mod and follow Margot up the stairs. I feel detached and unreal as margot leaves me with the to two young servants. I always feel more detached from the normal world with the younger staff members, it feels like I am not real to them. While the two young girls dress me. they gossip about the new cooks, or the way Mister Vantacure has too high expectation. I stare blankly at the mirror and wonder if the crack running through my face imagination or sleep deprevation. Well, the way these young women brush my hair I'd almost believe I am a porcelain doll, one on each side, pulling my hair in all sort of directions. If they are as criade with their other work I understand why mister Vantacure doesn't like the way they do do things. They tie my hair in a loose low ponytail and step back.

I look in the mirror and smile, smiling is important Francois always says, even if if he does not smile a lot himself. My light blue coat is beautifully decorated with the same elegant baroque elegant that surround the mirrors in front of me, the white blouse I am wearing is smooth as the silk breezes on my skin. I look up, there is another painting of apollo on the ceiling. This time he is mourning his lover hyacinthus, I do not know why this myth has been chosen but this particular ceiling painting might be my favourite. I must confess that t this is only this cabinet that truly is serves a purpose as I put on my clothes here.(a cabinet is a fancy hallway).

 I smile and assure myself I am happy, I am not lonely, I am not dreading the day. "Well, here we go" I whisper as comes another servant comes in to get me, simply to accompany me through the carmine red dining hall, I try not to see myself in the mirrors or look at the absurd radiant beauty, of the art symbolising food, made with money people could buy food from. We walk through the dark blue cabinet, with a marble statue of Artemis and another of Selene, I quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the beautiful painted nightsky, the nightsky I hardly ever get to see in real life. We quickly walk through the gallery room and arrive in the beautiful white walled music room. Apart from the crystal chandelier and golden and old expensive instruments this room is the most modest I'd say. I feel a smile dawning on my face as I sit down behind the piano and lift the delicate heavy fallboard. The servant opens the golden curtains and surprising me and my eyes with the bright light as the golden rays pour into the room and light up all gold details. I flutter my eyelashes a few times and smile. He might be right, smiling is important.