Musings, Short Stories, and Poetry on Life

The Porcelain Princess

Short story!

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Perfect.

Was that the word? Slater wondered. Swanlike.

Flawless.

Pale, unblemished skin. Silky black locks, flowing down her back like a waterfall. Slender white hands and tapering fingers, crossed lightly over her slim stomach. A small red rose mouth, pursed in a quizzical smile.

Not perfect. Porcelain.

A doll, cold and emotionless, painted and primed by her makers, to attract the most worthy keeper. One whose pockets jingled with the merry song of gold and silver.

Slater turned his eyes to the group of princes. They gazed at the princess in awe, at her cold, bright demeanor. Magpies, he thought. Blinded by shining beauty, yet unable to see the hard, cold surface that lay beneath. One of them beckoned lazily to Slater, raising the glass, heavily ringed fingers wrapped around the stem. The rubies caught the light and sparkled, like dewdrops of blood red rain dangling in the air. He crossed forward and poured the wine into the goblet. The prince turned away and Slater melted back into the background.

The princess rose, red lips parted slightly as she spoke to the queen beside her. She was dismissed with a nod. Perhaps it was a momentary slouch of her shoulders, a lapse in her frozen smile, but Slater felt uneasy. He watched her leave the hall and, after a fleeting moment, placed his jug down on the table. He skirted past the group of princes and followed her out.

 Her train trailed across the ground like a red river of silk, creating a rustling sound. It reminded Slater of those halcyon days long ago, before the siege, when he had spent his days laying the forest, listening to the rustle of leaves, the sound of the chattering brook. For a moment, a flash of golden hair seemed to glisten in the corner of his eye. Then it was gone.

 The princess paused and opened a pair of doors. When Slater got there, he saw her standing on a balcony, her face turned to the darkness. The moons silvery light faded away, like a silver coin slipping into a pocket of clouds. Far below, the rushing, rolling sound of the sea on rocks broke the silence of the night.

“I must disgust you.” Her voice was low and monotonous. What more could be expected from a china figurine?

“Pardon?” Slater said politely.

“You must think to yourself,” she continued. “What a boring, molded creature I am. All beauty, no substance.”

Looks can be deceiving. Silence can hide pain, not haughtiness. Beauty is a façade behind which broken souls may hide. Words are the greatest gift a person can have. He judged, jumped to conclusions. He could not see her.

Slater remained silent. The princess sighed.

“I have grown tired of it. Conformity and royalty are not a gift. They are a burden. You see the princess as a smiling, joyous perfect creature. But she’s really spent her days behind walls, being pinched and prodded and often beaten to perfection.” She placed a hand on the railing. “I want to be free, like a bird. I love books. I love magic, and alchemy and art. But a knowledgeable lady is a danger to society. She is volatile, unyielding, willing to explore.”

“Is that bad?” Slater said softly.

The girl laughed, the sound sad and soft. “Those who seek knowledge in this land are men. For them, knowledge is power. If a girl, a soft creature like me, bred for sewing and singing, gained that power…” She straightened. “She could change the world. I’m tired of waking up each day and doing the same, stuffy things. Wake up, go to lessons, parade in front of rich, greedy bachelors, spend my days being critiqued for my flaws.” Her voice grew stronger, the pitch rising and falling with the breath of the wind. “Adventure and danger. That’s what I want. Wild rides in blizzards, hunting trips through the mountains. I want piles upon piles of glorious books, books of magic and science and numbers. I want midnight trysts in flower filled gardens, passionate, romantic kisses under the downpour of rain.” Her voice faded. “I want to be free. Is that so bad?”