SlaveToWhim !65yjlPfcxY 2009/10/03 (Sat) 12:08 No. 96691 ▼ File 125457171178.jpg - (694.48KB, 788x1280 , 1243621575471.jpg)
The pale light of the moon shines down, dulling the normally vibrant colors adorning the bamboo forest. You might not think a bamboo forest would be particularly vibrant or colorful if you'd never been there, but if you think about it no forest really sticks to the one type of plant life. Sure, there's lots of green, but small stalks accompany the bamboo, adding their shades to the mix. Some even have flowers, the occasional hint of purple, white, or red all the more apparent for their contrast. Looking lower, small mushrooms litter the ground in the shadier spots and insects crawl along with their rough yet reflective shells, a tiny chrome rainbow forming when the sun hits them just right.
And, of course, the outside walls of the mansion quite literally built for a princess. The perfectly smooth surfaces and the stunningly intricate murals that no mortal being could fully admire seem to stretch on infinitely, a wonder of craftsmanship. As looming and silent as it is now, even the air around the place seems to vibrate with energy in the waking hours – not an entirely impossible feat in this sort of place, you must remember. The sheer number of living beings inside this labyrinth of hallways is nearly as incredible as its existence itself, and all of them have a job to do during the day though if you didn't know it you certainly wouldn't be able to tell. Nothing ever changes even when it changes, and no, that doesn't make much sense. Few but the new additions are bothered by it.
In the innermost chamber, lit only by dim candles placed in paper lanterns, sits the person responsible for the house. Around her, the floor is littered with sheets covered in poetry written only in the most pristine calligraphy, numbers and words arranged in odd grids, and artwork that would bring a grown man to tears. Many are crumpled and battered, some are torn slightly, and a few are simply covered in unintelligible scribbles written with so much ink that they seep through to the floor underneath them, but not a speck of dust or grime rests on a single one. Her five kimono are each more detailed and expensive than the last, lifetime masterpieces of only the greatest craftsmen, but to her they serve only as an inconvenience. Their sleek fabrics are no longer a luxury to her, as they multiply the already-uncomfortable warmth of the summer night and weigh down her every motion. The outermost is nearly half-covered with the beautiful monster that is her hair, long and thick as it is. From her almost inhumanly pale skin to her shoulders so obscured as to not even exist to her dainty, smooth feet and all the way to the floor, dragging and spiraling behind her in its resting place, not a single wayward strand ruins the perfect image that she's created for herself.
Perfect. She had come to hate that word – or rather, she thought she did, as they never really allowed her to hate things as a child. Hatred was a new and interesting privilege to her, and she couldn't quite be sure that she was doing it right, so to speak. Merely being awake at this hour is a thrill, and thinking about it is enough to bring her eyelids back from the brink of sleep. Not that there was any point in staying awake at this point, of course. Having already exhausted everything she knew to do to pass time by herself, all that's left to her is the small comfort of a window view of the main courtyard, the naturally-formed and unnaturally exploited rock formation that had been turned from a mossy snaking hunk of stone to a majestic dragon spouting water from its mouth, and the full moon in all its glory.
From the comfort of her bed she stares long and hard to the night sky, which seems to slowly fade to an even darker black, and is eventually replaced with fleeting images and illusions that see her through to the morning.
---
Sunlight filters in through the east-facing window, and the first rays of the morning pierce her eyelids without warning or welcome as any jagged, poison-coated dagger would. Her sleep-deprived body refuses to move despite her commands, the ever-increasing light of the still-rising sun, and the thumps and yells filling the air that are inherent in living here. She gets as far as rolling on her side once before her eyes droop shut again, but in doing so she catches sight of her room. The floor is clear, and smells vaguely of citrus, and the table that she had spent the night over carries two large stacks of paper and a neatly placed calligraphy set.
Somewhere between a smile and a sigh, the princess drifts off once again. Tomorrow beckons – or no, no, today. Not that they're any different at this point; it'll just be the same as always for the rest of eternity.
---
Another clear night, the first since before. In celebration, she decides on a whim to stay awake again – and why not? No one stopped her from sleeping the last time, and in fact they may have been grateful to have the task of serving her delayed. All the rabbits that would normally wash her, dress her, feed her, brush her hair, and entertain her had an extra six hours to themselves! Yes...Staying awake is a gift, not some act of rebellion.
Rebellion. The word rings clear in her mind, a taboo that she had already inadvertently broken once.
She'd never say it out loud, of course. Even thinking it sends a shiver down her spine, but when it occurs to her a thin smile spreads on her face. She fights it for a moment reflexively, another lesson she had drilled into her, but as thoughts rebound and reverberate in her mind they gain as much strength as her smile. There's no one left to hide it from, right? There's no reason not to smile. Why, there's no reason not to do much of anything. For that matter, there's no reason to do anything if she doesn't want to, she's a princess! The prospect is dangerous and exciting, eliciting a soft and rushed giggle which she covers with a sleeve despite herself. Just to seal the point to herself, she stands – quickly, and...And on one foot! The way she spins is reminiscent of a child having only just gotten a grip on moving, still ecstatic over every feat of balance that no longer fails them, and her laugh is unrelenting and deep.
Her blood rushes as she sheds her clothing, one piece after another until all that remains is a paltry single kimono. Dressed almost like a commoner, her gaze falls on the window. It's just large enough to fit a body through, though it's a bit high for one person. A person and a table, though, prove to be more than enough. Through the bumps and clatters, she drags her new platform to the window (Though she hesitates for a moment, as the noise went against her theory. If a perfectly smooth table is dragged across a perfectly smooth floor, there shouldn't be any noise!) and with a heart that seems to be attempting to leap out of her throat with all its spirit she climbs through and lands hard outside.
For the first time, she observes the mural on the outside of her wall. It takes much of the night, and her will gives way as the darkness gives way to the sun. Again, her sleep is uninterrupted.
---
The pale light of the full moon shines down, dulling the normally vibrant colors adorning the path that lay before the princess. Nightly excursions have made both her will and her legs strong, and the more familiar she became with the mansion the more her path had spread out to the vast forest. It didn't take long before the single kimono became less of an alien thrill and more of a comfort, reminding her of freedom rather than poverty. Even now, her heart is calm as she observes for the first time the life that she had been denied. The sounds of crickets remind her of the mansion during the day, a cacophony of life unique to the outside. Even the smell of earth is foreign, but through it all seeps...
Chicken? Something delicious, in any case, and something that sends her stomach into a rumbling fit. With a change in sleep schedule comes a change in eating schedule, after all, and it had been some time since she had been fed. Hopefully, she almost skips in the direction of the smell until a quaint stall comes into view. Flaps of fabric half-cover the cart on wheels, obscuring the lighting from inside but not the sizzling sound and especially not that tantalizing smell. Raising a small arm to clear the flap in front of her, she ducks into the cart with no small amount of trepidation. Two commoners are eating at the table, tearing away at chunks of meat with their bare hands and teeth. Their mouths are surrounded by a brown sauce, and their fingers are dirtied, but they talk and laugh with each other as though it were completely normal. Have they no shame?! Disgusting.
"Hold on a second, I'll be right with you." And the shopkeep, an enigma of age and gender. What the princess had thought to be an old man, tall and dressed in a ragged white shirt underneath wide-cut red pants covered in...some kind of paper – for all her education, she couldn't pin their meaning or purpose – with long, flowing grey hair, calls out with such a young and feminine voice. Truly, commoners are a sight to behold.
"That won't be necessary. I was just on my way out."
"Oh, come on! You haven't even bou-YOU." The enigma turns from its work while speaking, hands still dirty with mysterious juices and charred flesh, but the moment it lays eyes on the princess its friendly demeanor turns to a terrifying rage. All of its muscles contract, creating a hideous face that seems to burn as hotly as the grill behind it. The two commoners quickly rush from their seats, leaving their meals to rot as they...fly. Fly? Well. Commoners can fly. That's new. Unfortunately, the princess is without time to consider this new information to any depth as a hand quickly finds its way around her throat. So aggressive, this one!
"I have been waiting. I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for so, so long just to get this chance. Do you even know who I am? What you've done to me?" Its voice quivers, hovering among emotions with such rapidity that its intent is not entirely clear. Quick, low and raspy one moment, yelling the next, and even letting out the occasional laugh, it ends in a whisper so close to the princess's face that she can feel its breath resting on her skin.
"You are a commoner, and I have graced you with my presence. Why do you respond with such hostility?" Its response never comes, or perhaps she simply never hears it over the crackling of her flesh. It had started with a heat that she had dismissed as excitement, welling up from her blood. Now, however, the pressure from within her is unbearable, pain searing through every vein in her body leaves her praying for an outlet that comes in the form of a hole.
Despite the size of the fissure in her skin, very little blood pours from her. Instead, a high whistle accompanies her growing injuries, and steam jets from the wounds. Her near-white skin grows a darker and darker brown, until it curls in on itself, a black husk that could only once be called a body. Her clothes have long since burnt away and her fiery hair works closer and closer to her as her sad attempts at screams only pull in more heat, fanning the flames that occupy the space her lungs once did. The enigma's grip lets loose, and charred, brittle bones shatter one by one as they hit the floor. All that remains are ashes, which still carry a dull ember.
---
"Are you awake yet, princess?"
Again, her body refuses her orders. No muscle contracts at her will, but her eyes slowly open seemingly of their own will to bear hazed and blurry witness to the room that once served as her prison. When she tries to speak, all that comes out is a cough and a splash of blood no larger than the back of a child's hand.
"I'll take that as a yes. Welcome back to the world of the living." Her vision gradually sharpens, though from the voice and the distinct red and blue dress she had already known the identity of the person standing before her as her trusted consort and pharmacist.
"We brought you a present for your return, milady. With all the time you spend at your work table, a centerpiece seemed appropriate. It's really quite beautiful, I do hope you like it." As the imposing figure steps aside, the first and most distinctive thing that the princess sees is the red. Such a vivid red. And so lively! Above the table, hanging from its neck and kicking the air futilely, is her murderer. Its gasps and chokes are the perfect seasoning for the sight of its hands reaching up and prying at the thick rope that suspends it, and the red shade of its face either from the slow onset of death or simple rage brings forth a giggle from the princess. For minutes, the two watch in silence as it struggles against its fate, occasionally giving up only to breathe a raspy and desperate breath and continue its kicks. Its eyes never leave hers, and its struggle is as undying as her smile. After a long and hard fight, its motions subside and its eyes roll back into its head, no longer even white through all the burst veins.
"Eirin." The show having finally ended, the princess turns her gaze to her partner.
"Yes?"
"Though I did quite enjoy that, I think I would have preferred the sensation of ending her life myself. This effort only gets half points, I'm afraid."
"My apologies, princess. I'll be sure to let you at her when she revives."
"Revives? She's another...?"
"Oh, yes. Very much so. Shall we set her back where we found her?"
"Please, do." Without another word, the ropes snap and the lifeless corpse falls into Eirin's waiting arms. As the princess is left alone, she calls out one last time.
"Oh, and one more thing?"
"Yes?"
"Would you teach me to fly?"
"Certainly." As simple as that, huh.
Laying in bed, she recovers slowly from her ordeal. The process is long and painful, but the thought of having found a new plaything brings a grin to her face. The thoughts of the fun the two of them would have tomorrow lull her to sleep. Surely, it will be a good day.
Just like the rest of eternity.