Wysteria

Chapter 1

(Not edited)

Projection /prejekshen/- the mental process by which people attribute to others what is in their own minds.
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Sheer red curtains billow in the soft breeze, dancing to a song unheard. Sunlight streams in a bright glow of dust bunnies, cascading a dim shadow over the corners of the long hall. The deep red carpets and drapes were dusted, vacuumed and dusted again daily. The seven doorways in the hall were closed tightly, gold encrusted knobs still in the silence. The birds were chirping as usual, the flowers swaying in the wind as usual, and yet not.

Something felt off to Maribelle.

She entered the grand hall, as elegant as a queen. Her long blonde hair flowed down in bouncy waves, framing her face and neck gently. A soft purple silk gown hugs her body with a whisper of feminine grace. It is clear to all that Maribelle is gorgeous, a vision of the goddesses that once walked the earth reborn. And she took it all with a heart stopping smile.

"I'm worried, Emily."

"About what, dear?" The maid says, following behind the woman with a tea tray balanced skillfully. Not a single drop of of the herbal essence spilt from the lip of the lily ordained tea kettle, nor did a crumb of cake bounce to the floor. The maid's curly black hair stayed perfectly in place in a bun, tied back by a white handkerchief of her husband's.

"The air. The weather." Maribelle sighs, stopping by the floor to ceiling window carved out of the building. The soft red curtain brushes against her cheek in a caress. The maid sets the tea tray on a silver side table near the long couch opposite the window, and makes quick work of tying the curtains back.

Both ladies step up onto the small ledge before the window, held inside by a thin balcony bar. The two women gaze out over the fields, and the rows and rows of wild flowers and grain. Several groundskeepers in thin, long white uniforms roam the fields, tending to the crops. The sky, with minimal clouds and bounds of sun, sparkles. The maid turns to Maribelle in disbelief.

"What weather?" She mumbles, going back to pluck the tea tray up from it's spot on the table.

"I feel the storm coming." Maribelle mutters back, throwing her shoulders back and maintaining her posture. The light catches on the headpiece adorning the crown of her skull, blinding the maid for a brief moment. Used to it, she takes her place behind the regal woman, following closely as they come to the last door in the hall.

"The sky has been clear for days now. No sign of any storm, my queen." Emily, the maid replies.

"Time will tell," Is all Maribelle says, allowing Emily to pull the door open for her. The two swiftly enter the candlelit room, shutting the door to block out the excessive light. A giant bed sits in the middle of the room, big enough for a party of 10 and plus ones. A deep gray and white tiger's pelt carpet covers the expanse of the floor, leading in to a seating area. Two love seats surround a small black table, leaving the view open to the rest of the room. Across the way is a mini office, complete with two desks, three bookshelves, four filing cabinets and one large screen. Four other doors lead to His and Hers closets and bathrooms.

Maribelle crosses the room and sits gently on the bed. She takes great care in slipping off the headpiece and placing it into the waiting hands of Emily, who had already set up the tea on the bedside table. Emily, with freshly wiped hands, takes the headpiece into Maribelle's closet. Upon walking into the room, the size of a small bedroom, Emily takes the piece all the way to the back. Past the dresses, the shoes, the purses, the jewelry, the accessories the mirrors and even the single couch, sits one velvet pedestal, with a single light concentrated on it. There, Emily lays the Queen's crown.