"Dust"

The power of a woman’s intuition can stretch dimensions beyond the mind’s eye, farther than the stream that runs deep into the forest from the courtyard in the lower quarter, than the castle’s shadow over the little village that rests so humbly outside of our gates, than the journey of the scorching beams from the sun to the aged terrain that rests on our glorious nation of France. 

The gray, stone walls have become colder and more barren, just as the light in its spirit has dimmed so surely. The days when we entertained the royals of our neighboring brotherly nations and the dignitaries of our own have long since passed, and what was once a joyous temple of nobility, respect, and honor has become a corroded mass of empty rooms, icy wind drafts, and a familiar mildew.

And so, if the power of a woman’s intuition can extend itself far beyond the realm of comprehension and our humanly constrained grasp, I have failed my own instincts, for I would not be in such a circumstance had I listened to that simple, melodic voice in my head which guides me through these most unreliable stages in life -- the one that tells me to sweep away the consistently accumulating dust in the banquet hall every hour, the one that informs me of the dangers in trusting the dishonest minds who poison the purity, beauty, and goodness in this world,

 and the one that warned me of the witch.

A witch’s influence can seep through generations, the pores of someone’s soul, and the  choices made by her target. Whether such choices are in the same vein as the intent of her victim is not quite the issue, it is dependent on that poisonous magic she infuses through her prey, and the color of the witch’s hope for you, good or bad.

The witch’s hope for me strayed so savagely from my own, as it did from all of the other beings bound to this dismal reality. She was unable to attain the affections of our Prince, and his refusal of her advances was, disastrously, his downfall, and ultimately that of our own. 

So she cursed the Prince, and transformed him into a hideous beast. She told him that true love would break the spell if and only if he returned the love professed to him by an honest admirer. Such an occurrence would restore his handsome looks, yet, according to her, such an occurrence was unlikely, and that no one but her could love him in this atrocious form, for he was too monstrous to adore. So, now, it was up to him to return her love, if he would choose to have her. 

Yet he refused. 

I knew what would become of him and I knew of his fate for such a refusal, and now it is too late to abandon my responsibilities, my obligations. I am confined to these duties until I am granted worthy of a relocation - of a rebirth. But such is the case for all who reside here, including the Prince.

It was a time ago that he gave me this position, for reasons that I am still unsure. He was not always so beastly, and the monster within would only make its appearance when we expected guests if the butler forgot to light the banquet candles, if the china wasn’t polished, or if I failed to sweep the constant build up of dust these stone floors so devilishly attracted. 

But he always forgave me, and he always excused my youthful indifference, for he knew this was why I ignored my destined chores. And he knew what I was capable of when I exerted my full focus toward such tasks, and ones that so few in this world were capable of! But did I love him for it, just as he loved me.

Now, I can barely look out the window to the desolate courtyard, where we would once play, laugh, and bathe in one another’s gaze until the sunset hit the horizon of that never-ending forest. These times are only bound to a memory now! As well as the feeling he gave me, that one of wholeness, that one of completion, of my soul’s uncomplicated, innocent eternity! This, too, is adrift with all of the other graces turned backwards by the witch’s curse!

But did he love me! Even when a great distance apart, I would fall asleep, as I still do, imagining his embrace cradling me, protecting me, from the vicious spirits that protrude our dreams to give us a nightmare so unforgettable, so evil, that we fear the realm of our unforeseeable slumber. But with his spirt around me, with his love that he so selflessly bestowed on me, as he still does, my fear became less and less. 

I became brave because of it. Maybe too brave, but with the gains of maturity, one learns how to reign in such a confidence by dissolving the vanity, pretensions, and flurries of pride which may arise when esteemed by such an appraised embodiment of nobility. One learns that a moment of haughty, unabashed naïveté is not worth the immobility it affixes to one’s spirit. Whether one’s soul is a force of mathematical genius, an ambassador of purity - inclined to sweep away the soft grains of negativity or insecurity which threaten the virtues of the Prince, his people, and often these dusty castle floors - or even a radiant light of unlimited creative dexterity, an immodest regard for one’s own innate, God given capacity is a formula for its paralysis. 

So I thank the Prince everyday for the foundation of strength he has built for me. I thank him in my thoughts, in my mind, and in my dreams which are the only keepsake of our memories now. And he always dreams of me! I can feel his deep reverence for my soul, the anticipation which wanders through his imagination for the fruits of my beating, productive heart, and his penetrable advances discovering the flowing thoughts that journey through my perplexing, labyrinthine, and sometimes stormy hot-head -- a haven that has remained so enduringly impassable to anyone else!

The witch did not know any of that!! Nor did she care. She wanted a love from someone because she wanted the glory, honor, and fame of such a love! She wanted a love from someone at the expense of the magnificent destiny positioned ahead for myself, the Prince, and his castle. She did not know of the times the Prince and I would lay together in the courtyard, of the time he promised me that he would remain my friend and I, his muse, for an eternity longer than the everlasting presence of the stars in the night’s sky. And she certainly did not know of the time the Prince whispered a beautiful secret in my ear after he gently brushed my hair back with his even-hand, promising a happiness only heard of in silly, child-hood stories.

I remember the first time the witch arrived at the gates, and I could smell evil, spite, and manipulation on her! None of us would be in this deplorable circumstance had I listened to my own, inner-voice then! For it was me who allowed her through the front gates, and it was me who introduced her to the Prince, and it was me who carelessly invited her into the estate for a glimpse of its signature hospitality! 

So I chose to listen to that inner-voice again.

The Prince had told the witch he would remain a beast as long as I remained in my cursed appearance. He requested that she change me back, and begged for my freedom, above the others and himself. And she refused, as he refused her. 

And in that moment of realization, when I listened to that inner-voice that kept me so foolishly oblivious and unaware when I ignored it, I thought of the Prince and all of our lingering moments together, all of the laughter we shared, and all of the joy that pranced from my spirit so amusingly to his. And I thought of his patience.

My love was more than just a selfish, juvenile respect for a Prince who endorsed the calling of my heart, it grew into a revelation of a spirit’s complement. A revelation the Prince was so patient for, because he loved me so.

All I needed to do in order to reverse the damage was listen to that voice after disregarding its humble directions for so long. He would not change without me. He chose to remain a beast, as I would remain, what felt like, a wooden, idle and unused cleaning device bound to servitude for this doomed castle. 

And then his soul heard mine.

And I removed myself from the fire pit's ledge in the East Wing, from becoming one of its contents to devour like firewood,

For him.

And the curse was broken.

 And I swept the witch, her curse, and my childish ignorance away just as I sweep the forgotten dust that hides within each unknowing crevice of this castle. For it is simply dust, a material that is so easily cleared, which veils the beauty and the truth of any entity stemming from a universal goodness, stemming from a truest love.

The power of my intuition is too strong to be beaten by such wretched extensions of darkness. And I would not let a witch’s curse turn me into a fool. I would not let it turn me into blinding dust.