Tampered Beauty

Aberration

The sun has risen in all her Imperial Majesty. She overlooked her worldwide Kingdom with a warm, bright smile, assisting them out of their slumbers willingly. Her almighty Majesty slowly coaxed her people from beds without irritation or reluctance, like she did every morning. Moors were lit up, mountains, cliffs and hills equalling her beauty. She showcased her Kingdom's beauty in all it was, forcing her counterpart to observe their contours and highlights. Heat from the sun on this glistening, Springtime morning replaced embers from dying hearths and small lights from melting candles. She awoke her Kingdom for another day.

Obeying their mistress, birds sung their melodic song. They soared over the mountains and the heaths, the hills and the streams and the seas waking up to the gentle songs. Brother helped sisters, roosters cooing for their own mistresses and masters to awaken, the future mistresses and masters in the world starting to wail at the sight and the sound, weather they be in small, willowing cottages or imposing, large castles. Animal kind coaxed their owners from their beds, watching quietly, those sneaky enough to do so laving sinful beds with information for only the Almighty Empress' ears and hers only. 

The raven haired, Almighty Empress awoke quietly in her own right. Swallows singing and quiet voices outside her bed chambers being enough to stir her from her dreams. For a moment, one singular, grand moment, it was as if nothing had changed for the young girl. The last several years nothing but a nightmare. The young girl was still the indulged, beautiful and strong young 'Reinette' of the French court, waking up in the arms of her future King and Husband, whom she adored and was adored in return. The protective Dauphin who was already so, so dear to her.

Mary knew who lay behind her. Mary always knew.

And then, she was still that young, kind and sweet 'Dauphine' of the French Court, her country defended much like her heart. Scotland was momentarily contented under her mothers' regency, England at bay with support for Mary's rule growing day by day and France eagerly waiting for the announcement of an impending heir.  Although darkened by the ways of the French and the rules of the world, these few moments were craved most of all, where none of it mattered. Where it could just be him and her against the world.

But now, now it was all so different.

The night before had been something of a fairy tale. The ball room glistened in gold, flames from candles and great hearths giving the room an enchanting, seductive glow, as  all from Scottish Court gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion. Portraits of King's and Queen's of Scotland had smiled upon their court as she gathered in her glistening beauty. Men wore their finest coats and jackets, escorting into the room things of beauties, donned in their finest gowns and finest jewels.

But, as she entered, all could agree that the purest thing of beauty was without question the Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. She wore a massive sea of golden tulle skirts that glistened into the seductive light, a tight silk bodice encasing the enviable figure she wore. A foot of satin went over her skirts, trailing over the back to create a four foot long train. Satin pearl embellished court heels were covered by the golden material, silk bodice covered in intricate silver embroidery, in itself embellished with jewels of every colour and small pearls. Her arms were left bare, the left being covered by her raven sea of curls as they were held to one side, an impressive golden crown on her head. As the raven haired beauty usually was in big parties, she was draped in gold jewels, long chandelier earrings and a heavy necklace, bracelets of golden lace covering her hands and holding her middle fingers, every other stacked with rings.

Court had audibly gasped as the young beauty walked into the ball room, one handsome young man on either arm. Both had been donned in black velvet and gold satin, complimenting her so perfectly that it seemed almost surreal. The portrait of the, so disgustingly sweet and hole, trinity defied whatever the history books could say about them. Whatever they had or would say about them, past, present or future, had been defied by the sweet little portrait as she parted the sea of courtiers and walked over to the grand, golden thrones. 

The ladies of the court cooed over the sweet family trio, whilst the men covered their faces with the golden wine goblets, only brought out for the most special and important events. This event, however, this event was both neither and all.