a patchwork quilt of maybes and almosts ✓

dark hands (stories from the palais)

here's another story from the palais, but a bit darker than usual (this one's for you, Bruhimkelly lol)... i hope you guys like it! thank you so much to everyone who has read this far, y'all mean so much to me!! <3 in addition, please take a look at my new book of short poems and prose if you get a chance!! i've also published the first chapter of my next story/novel (it's sort of a lighthearted summer romance kind of thing), so please check it out if you're interested :)

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gloves

like the

night

smooth

to the

touch

not

leather

not

silk

not

cotton

not

satin

something

else

as if

they were

made

of the fabric

of the sky

woven

into a pair

of gloves

shaped

perfectly

like hands

dainty

and small

little

gems

stitched

on the inside

they poke

her skin

as she

sits

with those

gloves

on her

hands

in her

lap

when

she claps

for the

opera

they glimmer

shining

shimmering

in the light

iridescent

as the scale

of a mermaid

or the

waves

of the sea

in her dreams

of her home

by the coast

but the

brightness

is dulled

to her

because

there is

nobody

in the seat

beside her

he is gone

again

off to

war

or court

or somewhere

that she cannot

be

and she cannot

hope to

survive

here

without him

but she must

for the good of her

king

for the good of her

country

for herself

and for the other

the one who

gave her

these gloves

because she

reminded him

of the night sky

she fidgets

with the

fingertips

he would tell her

to keep still

the gems

hadn't poked

so hard

before

she supposed

his absence

made everything

more painful

those dark

gloves

on her little

hands

remind her

of the blood

spilled

over her

that's what her

king

would tell her

"you remind me

of those gloves

for they are

as dark

as the blood

on your hands"

she preferred

the night sky

analogy

but perhaps

the king's simile

would be more

true

for there were

layers

upon

layers

of blood

coating

her fingers

and her

hands

were

dark

as the bottom

of a well