You hear footsteps approaching
From Create Your Own Story
| Line 27: | Line 27: | ||
| - | An hour later, you sit demurely, hands folded and legs neatly crossed, in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom while another servant girl brushes your hair, chattering away happily. It's a cold New Year's Day in Kuttenberg, the important Bohemian city where you've lived your entire life. Though the temperature is frosty, the sun | + | An hour later, you sit demurely, hands folded and legs neatly crossed, in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom while another servant girl brushes your hair, chattering away happily. It's a cold New Year's Day in Kuttenberg, the important Bohemian city where you've lived your entire life. Though the temperature is frosty, the sun has risen on a perfectly clear, crisp morning. You feel the warmth of the morning sun as it plays upon your lustrous honey blonde hair and your pretty, delicate features. |
Once your heart would have been filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of the beautiful day ahead, full of learning, laughter, love and prayer. Now everything that once made you so happy is tinged with the sadness of knowing that it must end soon. | Once your heart would have been filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of the beautiful day ahead, full of learning, laughter, love and prayer. Now everything that once made you so happy is tinged with the sadness of knowing that it must end soon. | ||
Revision as of 08:30, 27 December 2015
You hear the approaching footsteps of your servant and friend, Marta, and quickly dive back under the covers just before she eases the door open and skips lightly into the room. Humming an airy tune, she gently shakes your shoulders.
"Princess," she whispers, "remember, the Archbishop comes today. We must get ready."
Not wanting to worry your friend, you yawn and roll over slowly as if you've really just awoken. You sit up, stretch and smile through your disheveled hair at your friend, who beams back. You don't have to force a smile, either; you're always glad to see Marta. The two of you played together as children, she has woken you almost every morning since you were ten and she thirteen, and you love her like one of your own family.
"I remember, Marta. You've only been reminding me at every opportunity for the past month."
"I know! And I'm not sorry. We haven't had an important visitor since Prince Turnipbreath and his father arrived in the middle of the night just so they could eat our food. You need to be excited with me!"
She sits down on the edge of your bed and fondly runs her fingers through your hair.
"Marta! Please, be kind!" You begin to reproach her, but you can't help but laughing as she launches into a series of accurate imitations of the prince's sulky facial expressions.
You wiggle over a little and wrap her in a warm embrace, burying your face in her sandy-blonde hair. You're affectionate by nature, but the uncertain future makes you treasure each one of these moments. Marta laughs and kisses the top of your head.
You look up at the taller girl and smile.
"Just think: when you're married you'll have to look at those faces all day, and it won't be me making them," Marta teases.
You laugh at Marta's joke, but inside you feel a lump rising in your throat. You know that it wouldn't be right of you to complain: you will be wed to a prince, after all, while Marta will never be more than a servant. She fulfills her duties with a smile, but you see how rough her hands are in comparison to your own: she will always bear a much greater burden than you, will never have your opportunities. Compared to the hardship your dear friend suffers every day without complaint, your anxieties are nothing but a trifle that you would never burden her with. It's with some effort that you keep your expression steady.
"Well, they'll always remind me of you. Let's say our prayers, and then we'll prepare for the day."
An hour later, you sit demurely, hands folded and legs neatly crossed, in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom while another servant girl brushes your hair, chattering away happily. It's a cold New Year's Day in Kuttenberg, the important Bohemian city where you've lived your entire life. Though the temperature is frosty, the sun has risen on a perfectly clear, crisp morning. You feel the warmth of the morning sun as it plays upon your lustrous honey blonde hair and your pretty, delicate features.
Once your heart would have been filled with joy and excitement at the prospect of the beautiful day ahead, full of learning, laughter, love and prayer. Now everything that once made you so happy is tinged with the sadness of knowing that it must end soon.
"There you are, princess!"
You smile warmly and thank the servant, who takes her leave. Marta is busy in another part of the castle.
You:
