Page 30 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. V #3

There was a mother and a father, naturally. They were King and Queen. They had children, too, of course. Naturally, they had children: two, of course. A boy and a girl. Our Prince and Princess.
Royal
was opal, its streaks of color dancing with your eye and the movement of light. White and reflec- tive chandeliers of opal hung from the ceiling, which boasted an ornate display of sculpted opal, shining fields of flowers and strong-growing trees and vines with beautiful and perfect leaves sprouting from them like the tiniest buds. The floor mirrored the ceiling above, a smooth pol- ished tile of opal, reflecting the chandelier’s many lights and skipping them across ivory and opal walls. Our Prince sat dwarfed on a white chaise across from the ivory fireplace, sucked his thumb and thought manly thoughts, his eyes following the pearlescent curvature of the room.
Their royalty and royalties were vast—our chil- dren grew in a kingdom-sized palace with rooms of jade, gold, opal, silver. Each room was decorat- ed solely in the gildings and solid architectures of its theme: bookshelves with intricate gold leafing and books with gold-edged pages, raised ceilings glinting silver with light thrown from silvered walls and shining silver sconces. The slightly-old- er Princess, almost an adolescent, most loved the room of turquoise; in it, the soles of her queenly shoes, all stiff and solid and polished, made the most satisfying tap-tap against the turquoise floor. The walls were coated in an aquamarine glaze. The Princess spun slow and heavy-footed in the room’s center, imagining sun through layered water, mermaid tails, burgundy hair that shim- mered and floated in the current.
The two children wanted. They wanted what they weren’t yet allotted, or were never to claim. Our Princess longed for her child-sized tiara—the most beautiful object in their home, she was sure, and rightfully hers. Her parents kept their bejew- eled headgear in glass cases on the opal room’s ivory mantle. Our Prince most wanted the pea- cocks—two albino peacocks caged in the room
Our Prince was dark-eyed and quiet and did little dancing. His pale skin was moonly beneath the almost-black of his hair, hitting just above ob- servant eyes and obscuring his eyebrows, which could be thick and unruly or nonexistent. The Prince was young, young enough to suck his royal thumb for comfort, a wet and warm bodily reas- surance when atmospheres felt less predictable and safe. Young enough to do so without scorn, but kingly enough to roam about his home un- watched and unburdened on free days, his socks rolled high to his knees and his pants free of wrinkles.
of opal, snowy and otherworldly, their feathered fans all shocking white and necks so long and proud and eyes that burned black.
The slightly-younger Prince preferred the room of opal. He sensed it was also the Queen’s favorite bejeweled room, though this knowledge did not influence his partiality. The room in its entirety
The Princess sat awake and wide-eyed in bed, her breath inaudible. She watched the door to her bedroom open and saw her kingly brother sil- houetted against the less-solid darkness of the hallway. He walked to her silently, placed his
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One night, the Prince bit his thumb as he slept with it pressed to the roof of his mouth. He woke to the steak-like meatiness of his limp thumb on his tongue, the taste of blood tangy against his cheeks. He licked the thumb clean and slipped out of bed, called by the quiet and dark of the house, its stillness and silence beguiling, a warm bath. He tiptoed to his sister’s room, feet noise- less on the bedroom wing’s plush carpeting.
kayla millER