I made my way towards the hall for the traditional dance. I could feel the vibrations from the drums pounding. The words of the songs floating above the drum beats praising the moon goddess and begging her for a love match mate. “What house?” A bored dance coordinator asked at the stage door. “Alpha Osiris.” I said with a flat tone. The coordinator handed me two silver bell anklets The bells are worn to add to the drum rhythm as you dance. “Turn around so that I can pin this number to your back.”“Be careful of my gown please, it’s to be judged at the feast this evening.” “You will dance to the Full Moon dance in group three.”It has been so long since I danced to this song. The drum beats steadily build to a crescendo and the singers declare devotion to the moon goddess. Your hands and arms telling a story as you spin and stomp to emphasize the beat. We make our way to the hall to perform for the gathered crowd. The crowd is mainly the aristocracy gathered at tables drinking win
“Congratulations!” Number forty-four said. “I’m Joy. I’ve never seen you before, what troupe do you dance with?” She looked at me puzzled. “Ceres.” I stuck out my hand. “I belong to Alpha Osiris’ house. I rarely have the chance to leave the estate.” Being a slave is a strange thing to tell other people. I don’t belong to anyone. I’m not a thing to be possessed. I am though. Even if it shouldn’t be the case it is. So I say I belong to the house to make it seem less degrading. “You dance beautifully. I danced in group one so I was able to watch most of the performers. I already know them from dance class and private parties though.” She shrugged. “But you. YOU I don’t know,” she giggled. “Where did you learn to dance?”I thought back to watching the dancers of every fair and festival held in the pack perched on my fathers knee, or when I was older proudly sat beside him. A front row to all the most talented dancers, singers, and instrumentalists in the pack playing and dancing their h
The ten of us spread across the hall stage. Somehow I ended up being in the center. I always enjoyed the haunting nature of this song. It is both seductive and terrifying. I again feel an intense gaze burning into my skin. I feel completely exposed and on display even if my dress is exceptionally modest. The slow and steady beat of the drum begins to pound. “Go on,Go on and break my heart.Go on,Go on and break my heart. I am not worthy of your heart my king” the singer’ sorrowfully croon. Our bodies moving seductively to convince him otherwise. “Go on,Go on and break my heart. Go on,Go on and break my heart. Burn the funeral pyres. I cannot live without you” the singers continue to plead. Our arms extended above our heads like flames as we spin and pound our feet to create the jingle of the bracelets. The drums and the bells like a beating heart, pleading to be loved.“Go on,Go on and break my heart. Go on,Go on and break my heart. Reject me,Plunge your sword into
We quickly make our way to the wood craft tent. Barn owls have an angelic heart-shaped white face. The males are more ghostly with white bellies and white feathers streaking their wings falling from brown feathered epaulets. The females are more striking with white faces framed in a coppery red feather. Dappled brown and red body with a white belly splattered with copper red and brown feathers. The barn owl had more of a shriek than a hoot, raspy and cutting, swooping silently in the dead of night. Their white bodies gliding like spirits and ghouls, swallowing their prey whole. Some believe that these owls are demons that swallow your soul. Hearing the owl screeching is an omen of your death. I like to think of them as beautiful nighttime creatures. Graceful but strong. Elusive and solitary. “Ceres!” Dmitry exclaimed, running towards us. “Where have you been? I expected that you would have been here much earlier.” He asks while tightly embracing me, his little arms tightly claspin
The bells clanged to signal the start of the feast ceremony. Pack members begin to line the pathway leading to the pavilion where the feast is held. The clergy would proceed first carrying religious relics. This parade was different from the others because the full harvest moon relic was paraded. The relic was a large harvest moon with thousands of small orange and rainbow moonstones set in silver. It was created upon the realms foundation as tribute to the moon goddess. I had seen it many times before, but every single time I did it left me awestruck. “Let’s hurry and get a good vantage point to see the moon!” I said excitedly. “Again?” Groaned Mari. “We need to hurry to be up front so I can see too!” Dmitry demanded. I grab ahold of Dmitry and he grabs ahold of Mari, creating our own little daisy chain cutting through the crowd. I settle for a spot just behind the ropes on a bend so that we can see everyone. First the clergy, the Harvest Moon, the Alpha family, the school child
The man who has invaded my daydreams has just appeared. Riding a trotting horse, with a perfectly manicured mane. Each step precisely on beat with the drums. Trotting triumphantly up the pathway. I squint. “Why would a guard be riding on a horse in the parade?” I ask myself as much as I ask Dmitry and Mari. “What? No, that’s Prince Edward. I saw him when he stayed at the estate.” Mari responded confused by my mistake. “Prince?” I couldn’t even speak from my shock. His eyes snapped to me and met mine. His eyes are a piercing jade, cold and hard. His blue suit had the star constellations stitched into it with moons in all phases, sparkling silver. The blue so deep, I imagined only the deepest parts of the sea could be such a dark blue, devoid of light swallowed by darkness. I wanted to get lost in that darkness with him. “Uh yeah. You know the Crown Prince’s eldest son and declared heir. The King’s grandson.” Mari answered sarcastically. “He’s stunning right?” I stood there stunne
There is a buzz of excitement amongst the women backstage. It isn’t everyday that you get to see a handsome unmated young prince up close. A man that maids and slaves whispered about. That debutantes wanted to be mated to. That old social climbing mothers dreamed about for their daughters. His breathtaking beauty and cold demeanor. His dark aura. His power and dominance. “I hear he is quite skilled in swordsmanship and fighting. He wins all his matches.” A young model in a harvest moon orange colored gown. It seems unwise to beat up a Prince, I muse silently in response. “According to the Kingdom of the Moon Court Circular, it is a pastime the future king enjoys; second only to charity, his favorite activity. He will make an excellent king, so handsome.” Another model in a silver gown added. “I pray to the goddess!” She squealed clasping her hands in prayer. If charity is cutting ribbons and opening libraries. Or maybe charity is dining on fine meals at every fine house in
“Top Three will be announced. Those three are to go to the wing on stage left and the Prince will be announcing the order and giving the medals.” The old woman explained. “The medals will be given to the head of the house that submitted the dress, not the model; unless you are both the submitter and model.” She recited as if she had the rule book in front of her. “The three models to stay are,” she spoke clearly and sharply. You could feel the collective breath taken by the room in anticipation of the names being called. We all had our own reasons for being here, whether by choice or as a slave, but we all wanted to win.“House of Chairman Zhadnost, House of Beta Vtoroy, and House of Alpha Osiris.” She took a short breath. “The rest of you are free to go, thank you for the lovely submissions. Please go enjoy the feast.” She said attempting to minimize any disappointment. An uncomfortable smile settling on her face. I smile to hide my disappointment. I’m happy that my work is one of
I hear a soft rapping at my door. I tear myself from the sheets like a petulant child, stomping towards the doorway. The warmth of my bed calling to me. I don’t think I’m ready to be shoved into a bath and corseted into a gown. I feel as if I have not even shut my eyes, let alone gotten any rest. “I’m coming.” I say, in a decidedly grumpy voice. I put the most sincerest grumpy tired face expression that I can muster, and open the door. “What?” The hallway is empty. I cannot even hear distant footsteps of maids and servants performing their daily task list. A list that starts the moment their eyes open and does not end again until they close. The realization washes over me with shame. I think back to the endless hours, scrubbing dishes, scrubbing floors, standing over hot stoves. I looked to my arms to see all the faint scars I have accumulated over my years. Each one with their own story. The time I sliced my hand open or when I burnt myself on the edge of a pot because I wasn’t t
Your highness. I suppose it is better than being a slave, though your name is surrendered just the same. Instead of no one caring to know your name they are forbidden to speak it, it’s traded in for formal titles. This elevation does not bring freedom, rather luxurious chains, forced to follow antiquated traditions. It is not the same as being an actual slave though. To compare it as such is a denigration. A lie. One cannot be both slave and master, though it seems even masters have masters to bow to. The breakfast I consumed without having to perform any labor only underscores my place in the pecking order, now far above the one I used to enjoy. I struggle to enjoy my new position when Dmitry has been left behind. I should rest though. I am to be a bride today. The wedding is less about me and more about the future of the monarchy. The continuation of Malakai’s line through history. I am only the womb used to usher in this future greatness. The wedding itself is largely performat
“Breakfast is already in your chambers.” Phoebe reassures, her delicate hand still clasping mine. “Thank you, Priestess Phoebe. I appreciate your consideration.” We fall into a comfortable silence. The floors of the temple are cold on my naked feet, my soles made soft and delicate by the last month of wearing shoes. I am only steps away from being a Princess, living a fairytale and touring the Kingdom. I cannot help but feel tragedy lurking in the shadows. A beast so insidious, patiently waiting to strike at your most triumphant moment. The climb up the social ladder feels like a climb that ends with me jumping to my death. I breathe deeply and allow the sound of our swishing robes lull me into calmness. I am greeted by the smell of breakfast when the door to my room is opened. “Such a feast!” I squeal like an excited child. “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach.” Phoebe scolds. “Then join me, priestess. There is more than enough for us both.”“Thank you, m’lady.”The formalit
Ceres“Papa! Papa! I think I have something!” I squeak. My little body wiggling, unable to control the overwhelming excitement that has washed over me. My tiny childish hands reach for my father, precariously balancing in the small rowboat. “Shhh! Hush. You will scare away all the fish.” He says gently. His heavy hands lovingly placed on my shoulders, calming me instantly. “You have plenty of time to make waves in your life, you need not do it when we are trying to fish.” He gently scolds. “Yes, papa.”“Now, let’s check that line. Reel it in gently but steady, then flick to set the hook.” He demonstrates the process on his own rod. I begin to reel it in, quietly squealing with glee, pulling it in as my father had shown me many times before. Springtime on the lake, learning to live off the land. “You must be able to provide for yourself.” That is what my father would say when I would complain about waking before the sun. Early morning on the lake is what heaven must be like. The w
Theia The air is crisp, the dew covers the ground and little droplets stick to my fur like tiny little pearls. Running in this form is so freeing. I wish it could always be just like this. “Catch me if you can!” I call as I weave through the branches and mossy stones. I do not even see his form, a shadow in the darkness, when he pounces on me and we roll down a small embankment. “Gotcha!” He gleefully remarks. The heat from his body presses against mine and I do not struggle or squirm under him. I am content to be here in his snare. “I didn’t even see you!” “Did you say that you owe me a wish? Do I now have two?” “No! I made no promise of another wish granted. I do owe you one though, so choose wisely.” He looks deeply into my eyes. “Yes. I will have to be thoughtful in what I choose.” I could get lost in his golden orbs. The fire in his stare. His darkness to my light. “We should go. The sun is already threatening to break the horizon. Dawn is here, it is o
Theia “The sun will rise soon.” I murmur. I stretch my legs out lazily. “We can speak of magic some other time.”“Some other time.” Erebus parrots back. His voice slow and lazy, as if considering the next possible occasion. “You are not lying if we agree to keep what has happened between us.” I say, breaking the silence between us. “That is quite literally called lying by omission.” “No, it’s keeping something sacred between us.”“You can dress a sow in silk gown, but that will not make her a Queen. Just because you call it something else doesn’t make it something else.”“Two things can be true.” “Yes, I suppose. That doesn’t mean it sits right with me.”“Oracles are not the Goddess. There is no guarantee that my mark will even look as the book tells it.”“Your optimism knows no bounds.” He quips sarcastically. “We pledged ourselves to one another. This bond is above all others. Period.” I growl, his insistence on calling me out is getting under my skin. No one wants an honest a
CeresDarkness can swallow you whole. The void of nothingness. I cannot even see Theia or Asteria anymore. Their thoughts are shielded from me, yet I can feel the veil thinning. I can feel my resurgence, my resurrection into my physical form. It is coming, I can feel the electricity in the air. “Ceres!”A voice calls to me from the abyss of nothingness surrounding me. I do not recognize the call. It is not Asteria or Theia’s voice calling. No one else should be here. “Come my child, come to my voice.”I have read enough fairytales to be suspicious of mystery voices calling from the dark. Their honeyed calls disguise their horrific intentions. Harpies calling from the cliffs, lulling you to your death. Do such creatures lurk in this place, this in between space, where I have no control? I am just a battered ship being tossed around the sea, only to steer myself into a rocky grave, calling to me so sweetly from beyond my vision. I will not blindly go towards the faceless voice in the
Theia“There is no affection in power. Power consumes all and no price is too high to pay to keep it. Edward may believe that his Grandfather’s love for him is unconditional, but I am not so naive.” Erebus growls. “Any threat to the King’s power will be eliminated. Period.”The truth weighs heavy. Silence settles within the cave. “Will the Immaculate Mother reveal the truth to the King?” I ask after a long bout of silence. “You said it yourself. Information you do not know, but want; is valuable.”“I have not read the myths of this prophecy. The Oracle Chronicle of the First King. I believe that is what the Immaculate Mother called it. Have you or Edward studied this?” “Edward is aware of all the sacred texts of the Kingdom. He has spent his entire life preparing to be King.”“What will he do when he discovers that I am the defender of the faith? Destined to fight in a battle and be the savior of the Kingdom? Will he see that as treason and address accordingly?”“I would like to sa
Asteria “Your majesty, I beg your forgiveness and show of mercy!” The man splayed on the marble floor before us is dressed in tattered rags. His pants are cinched tightly with a belt made of woven fibers tattered with filth and age. His shirt is worn thin where the fabric rests upon his jagged bones, patches along the sleeves and shoulders create a haphazard mishmash of colors and textures with no discernible pattern. I stand a few steps above him, Prince Aares on a throne at the top of the stairs of the pedestal behind me. He must always be above, both figuratively and literally. I am simply a silent statuette, an observer of the tragic comedy before me, an ornament placed before the Prince, his child bride blooming in front of the court in realtime. My unflinching gaze witnessing the violence and cruelty. There was never any mercy to be found here. “Is it true that you hunted a stag in the woods?” Prince Aares questions. I already know the outcome of this. There is nothing sp