LITTLE GRIM

14 THE RED WEDDING (pt. 2)

ACT TWENTY SIX       HOLY SAVAGE

Helios, the child of a king, who for his sins would be hung affront the glassy eyes of his own gilded family, is the definition of beauty.

By his very definition he is beauty: it is the only way he may be described. Yet, he is a slave. He is raised in naïveté and suppressed by a heartless master: the celestial gods, who each day make him choke on the poisonous fabrications of truth pushed with spoonfuls down his throat and keep him caged from the world beyond the vast walls of his secluded palace. A thread of deception glimmers around his unmarked throat; coiling around his neck like a pair of hands, he has no escape, and only remains the loveliest walking on the earth for the grandiose wealth he possessed, his puppeteer's strings manipulated by his own greed.

But, in order to understand the present, one must know the past.

His father, the King, tells him when he is a child that he was born in the middle of the day, a twinkling star on the velvety horizon, crawling around the cosmos, carried about heaven on the back of a lamb. The baby's hair had been light as the night he rose from, and his eyes, sharp, rimmed by long lashes, matched it. Then, already, he had been an extraordinary creature, with a penchant for wreaking havoc in favor of fun: of shrieking and screeching wails balanced by sweet smiles and endearing giggles. He was the first to wake and the first to sleep, the first to shed silver tears and the first to let loose saccharine laughter. As it is to be expected of children, his curiosity, too, was all-consuming and obtuse, leading him to business that wasn't his, and the nannies tried not to grow impatient with the toddler as they returned him to his bedroom.

Today, beautiful Helios does not (yet) know of the significance of the wisened tree in the courtyard of the sumptuous palace, crowned with plush, green leaves, but do take notice of my words; for here, where the covetous young man walks slowly through the sweltering heat of a summers night, nestled between the blossoms of springtime and winters fruit. This is where our story truly begins to unfold. Do pay close attention, to even the most minuscule of details—like the blush on her cheeks, splotches of rose under constellations of freckles on the high of her cheekbone—because soon, all will intwine and entangle itself like the complex roots of the tree Helios plucks fruit from, eyes large and greedy.

The nights here indeed will come to be of torrential downpours and honey skies, rumbling dark mists and soft bare skin, vulnerable feelings and delicate lies—but I am getting ahead of myself, aren't I?

Allow me to retrace my footsteps, to hours before, where we find ourselves back to our precious Pearl, whom sits around one of the lavishly set tables, with eye for intricate, golden detail and lace embroidery. The Bronze Wedding. The nobles of the kingdom are all she is surrounded by. Behind her, they sit gathered with few opulent faces as the cynosure of all eyes, and snippets of gossip drift to her ears.

"...did you hear about Lionel's youngest? Foolish girl, she turned down a most advantageous proposal—and she is well beyond the age of bloom!"

"What does she think to do now? She can't possibly offer a proposal to anyone; she—nor her parents—can afford to set her up in her own household..."

One courts or is courted. A youngster of fifteen or sixteen is courted, generally by a well-established adult. Although Pearl, herself, has always frowned in quiet dismay upon the fact that men and women of years beyond twenty-five seek for the attention of children, it is simply the way of things among the nobility: to provide their children of a sufficient inheritance (and to pay the price for their privilege, some state), those of blue blood must make an ultimate sacrifice. Perhaps in such a manner, Pearl is beyond content she was not born with the stars in her veins and the promise of a thousand victories in her eyes; while nobility grants one gowns, shoes, scarves, hose and garters, bejeweled trinkets and all things the heart desires, no thing of so many is an equal to the freedom Pearl will soon know. Oh, she resents even the idea of becoming the property of a man she knows nothing of. And beyond that, to wed a stranger, her premature longings for a man to truly love—with kisses and friendly arms around her that would feel just like heaven; a man who would die the little death in her arms, when he emptied himself into her, doubting punishment of the gods—are too grand.