Viola

Andromeda

The stars were more beautiful that night than I had ever thought they could be. It was my habit, at that time, to light a lantern in my room, then to refuse its light for that of the constellations. My father had taught me their names when I was small. My favorite was always Andromeda, daughter of Cassiopeia, sacrifice to Cetus. He told it like Andromeda was chained on an island just off the horizon, just out of eyesight. Sometimes I still looked for Cetus the sea monster out in the Mediterranean. After all, who am I to say he does not exist?

That night I stared at Andromeda, chained against the rock. It had always disappointed but delighted me when Perseus had saved her. Andromeda was certainly worthy of breaking away from Cetus herself, but wasn't it brilliant that Perseus arrived, just for her? I certainly thought so. As a little girl I had dreamed of being swept away by some evil being only to find a brave suitor in the journey.

Toulon was a bustling port, and even at the middle of the night I could assume lights were on all around the city. But my father, bless his foresight, had purchased a house for my mother, sisters, and I to live in during the summer. It was dark here, but not dark enough that I couldn't see the ship gliding across the sea.

It was odd for a ship to be so near to shore, and even odder for it to be making nearly no sound. Suddenly, it took anchor and several men in rowboats emerged. It was like watching a spider give birth; at first there was one, then many.

Their path took them to where I could not see them, so instead I observed the ship. There were no lights and it made no sound. French Navy boats were not unfamiliar to the Toulon port, but this ship made even less sound than those. No one was moving on board.

Unnerved, I turned my gaze back towards the sky. I pointed out Cassiopeia the vain queen, and the big bear and little bear. Draco the dragon, Cygnus the swan. It soothed me, pointing out my childhood friends. I had few of those, especially those whom I still considered to be my friends.

I had never considered Cassiopeia to be my friend. In fact, as a small child I had often blocked her from the sky, much to the amusement of my father. I remembered telling him that though some women are more beautiful than sea nymphs, boasting about it doesn't make them any more beautiful. He told me that was why she was in the sky: punishment. I told him there was nothing more beautiful than a star, getting the opportunity to stitch together the darkest blanket with small pricks of blinding thread, so if Cassiopeia was really not all that pretty then Poseidon wouldn't have placed her in the sky. Mon ange, he would say, do not join the constellations before you are ready.

The stars really were gorgeous. Something about tonight had to be the reason why. Something must happen on this night, something so powerful the gods set up a backdrop for their perfect play to begin.

I observed the stars for a long time; so long I nearly forgot about the ship and its spider-children. Nearly. A single row boat crossing the sea caught my eye. It had returned with much more cargo than it had left with. That meant one thing: pirates. I stood up quickly. If word could reach the port swiftly enough then they could be turned into the authorities. In my haste I knocked the lantern off my window-ledge and into the street. In the brief moment before the flame extinguished it lit a single visage. A visage with a hat.

There were pirates at Toulon and one right outside our door. My mouth opened. I meant to call, to scream, to make some alerting noise but no sound came out. Then no sound would come out, for something was in the way. A crack ran through my body, but it sounded muffled and distant. My mouth opened, again to call for someone, but I could make no noise. Goodbye Andromeda, I said, Farewell Cassiopeia.

I do not remember what happened next.