The Painted Cliff

   

    A wicked rain thrashed her face atop a soaring cliff. Diane could not tell if it was dark, or the jet grey clouds drifting far above that gave that illusion. Ahead of her, an endless sea taunted her begging for the chance to swallow her up. She struggled to turn and, as she looked down at why, realized she stood in a sticky mud. She gave a good yank and as she did so her right foot was freed. With exaggerated animations she landed on her knees, inches from the edge, her slipping hands sending mud down the long abyss. Involuntarily, she caught a glance down the snaking rock wall.
    There was a bottom after all and it seemed to shout at her with a howling rage. Waves crashed against rock, attempting to be freed of its blue prison only to drag Diane back into it. She could feel her knees wobble and her vision darken under the pressure of its voice. Her weight shifted forward as the wave's desire pulled her closer. But, before she could take the long tumble down, she felt another's presence behind her, taking her mind off the fierce winds and sharp rain. Someone to help. Surely, anyone who saw her would do something. She turned to reach out. Her knees slipped, her hands felt only open air. She was gone.

    "Diane. Diane! Diane! You've spent half the day in that room of yours already, we must leave!" A pressing voice called out to the Princess who lay tossing in her restless sleep.
    She stirred as the voice became familiar to her, yet she kept her eyes squeezed shut in protest as they stung with exhaustion. It could not be midday already; must be another of her mother's exaggerations. Nonetheless, she knew by her age there was no avoidance or absolution, she must wake. Just a moment longer. Nothing more. She settled in. Best not to rush into sleep after such a dream anyhow.
    "Oh for gods sake Diane, I know you can hear me! I wasn't born yesterday!"
    Three sleepy yawns later, and her mothers urgency persuaded her to ease awake. She was to meet her future husband that very afternoon. Letting out a long groan, she stood, and began tip toeing through the scattered clothes around her floor, in search of something comfortable.
    Throwing on a crumpled velvet dress, she glanced out her window, far out to the vast woods filled with juniper and pine, a glimpse of the harsh sea behind it. Closer, the towering walls of her fathers city cast a shadow on its inhabitants. The city itself, filled with sprawling dirt roads, chimney smoke, and the bustle of busy townsfolk, was in its full swing. Directly below, her families stone castle baked in the midday sun. Perhaps her mothers rush was justified after all. She leant against her window sill, absorbing the view a moment longer anyhow. She was in no rush to be given away.
    "Diane! I can hear you moving up there! I know you're up! Come for breakfast! We need to leave, Its Wednesday!"
    "Wednesday" she repeated.
    Diane lived for Wednesdays. It was the one day of the week she could spend with Joseph. She knew the time, and she knew the place. She knew the smell he would carry with him, the book that would be glued to his side, the crisp red apple he'd have in his hand. Most importantly the stupid grin he would have on his face, that she knew belonged to her. With attentive ears she would absorb every detail of his most recent adventures, while he unmindfully twirled her hair into a mess. They would make a fire, and she could complain of all the horrid things she was made to do, without feeling burdensome. They could end up talking for hours clinging to each others words. Or else they may lay silent on the lush grass, gazing into the twinkling lights of the sky. She only had to make it through that afternoon.

    "Finally! I thought you'd never wake. What are you wearing? Oh, never mind that, It's such an exciting day today, isn't it?" her mother took bites of potato small enough she would keep her polite manners. Diane slumped into the dining chair, screeching it along the cobblestone floor. Only then did her father look up from his heaping stack of letters.
    "Morning." He addressed curtly. Back to his letters.
    Her mother finished her plate and gave Diane a look so bright it blinded her with dread. "So I had an idea last night. I would like to move you down to the main floor."
    "Move me? Like my room? Why?" a sudden flutter pounding in her chest that made its way to her fingertips.
    "Well you are getting older, what with your marriage coming up. And I figure you could use a bigger space. This way you'll be closer to everything down here. You can have your lessons in your room. Plus, during winter you'd be much warmer with your own hearth. You'll even have enough room to start up painting again!"
    "Painting?" Diane gave a small laugh. "I haven't painted in years."
    "Well yes, I know. But it will be good for you. Something to calm your nerves."
    "No, it won't."
    Her mother paid no attention, "Anyways, The servants will be ready when we return tonight."
    "I don't want to move. Please, just send them away."
    "You have no choice. You aren't a child anymore, it's time you realize some things are simply out of your control." her mothers eyes squeezed tight as she placed her silver utensils carefully across her plate. "You will present yourself how we have taught you. There will be no back talk, sarcastic language, silly jokes, or rude faces. And no tapping on things rudely either."
    The mysterious tapping from under the table ceased.        
    "And pay attention to when he speaks- I don't want you drifting off."
    Just as it seemed her mother covered her mental check list she added: "And answer his questions. None of that 'I don't know' rubbish you give us."
    "Anything else?" Diane said, with an aggressive stab at her own plate.
    Her mothers head tilted up, attempting a decision, then turned to her father, "Anything to add dear? Dear?"
    Throughout the entire conversation her father had been happily eating his bacon.
    "What? No I think everything is covered." He took his eyes off his mail, and up at her mother who had locked him with a fierce stare.
    "Just try and keep a level head, Diane. There really isn't any pressure on you. It's practically a done deal."
    Although his words were very obviously meant to encourage her, Diane could not help herself from holding onto the last few: a done deal. Her marriage was practically a done deal, before they had even met? Her entire life had been laid out before her: marriage, children, queendom. So she may do what? Train her daughters in the same fashion. Send them away to be used by some King. Their entire lives boiled down to that single decision. No. She could not do it.
    She longed to roam the woods. To live a simple life: one quiet, away from the incessant flutter of the city and courts. One with marriage yes, but a marriage filled with true love. And children, of course, but to raise them to be themselves, whoever that might be. She would find these things with Joseph. His was a life of freedom and adventure, and hers would be too. She would find happiness in that freedom. It was Joseph she would marry.
    Her mothers voice pulled her from thoughts of rebellious decisions and finished the conversation with some bad news: "Be ready to leave within the hour, we are headed all the way out to the coast. I would like to be early to ensure the tents are set up- correctly."
    Diane and her father both gave a look of protest, but both wisely shut themselves down.