The Price Of Elegance

Maree sat looking out at the lovely view from her balcony. A sort of grim nostalgic calm permeated her silent musing...how quickly time seemed to have passed. The realization dawned with a jarring pang of nostalgia - for with the thought came the reminder of the slowing down of her once mad dash into enjoying all the luxury that money had afforded her. She closes her eyes, inhaling the fragrance of the tea, and takes comfort in the gentle wind blowing from across the waters, welcoming her presence.

Maree had aged with a dignified elegance, an unencumbered life of luxury had seen her wanting for nothing...had afforded her the ease of comfort and true relaxation. The day was beautiful, radiant and perfect, as if the sun rose in the morning just to admire her.

She wore a form fitting white ensemble draped around her still slim figure, a picture perfect canvas that caught the light with which an artist's eye would smile with appreciation. The fabric clung gently, the dress flowing in soft waves, picture perfect.. Around her neck, a string of pearls rested with quiet dignity, matching earrings swayed with the breeze, chiming faintly like distant bells.

She was not alone, though maybe a bit lonely...Midnight and Snow, her two faithful cats, kept her company. Yet, she wonders if she had missed out on the pitter pat of little feet, and youthful voices yelling out her name.

The balcony wrapped around her like a loyal companion - its wrought iron railings curling like vines, its stone floor warmed by the sun. The porcelain teacup hovered in her hand, steam rising in delicate spirals. She sipped slowly, eyes half-lidded, tasting not just the tea but the hush of the morning.

On the table before her, plates of biscuits sat in perfect arrangement: lemon-glazed rounds, almond crescents, and one peculiar biscuit shaped like a unicorn. None had been touched. They were offerings, perhaps, to the moment itself.

Beyond the balcony, the world unfolded in layers of serenity. A lake shimmered in the distance, its surface so still it seemed to hold its breath. Purple-green hills rose behind it, soft and undulating, like the backs of sleeping beasts. The sky above was pale and generous, casting everything in a light that made even silence feel golden.

This place was her sanctuary, framing a view so picturesque it seemed painted by a wistful god: a lake, still as glass, reflecting the sky’s pale blue sighs; golden hills rolling in the distance like sleeping giants poised to awaken. A breeze wandered through, carrying the scent of lavender and old stories.

She sipped her tea with reverence, as if each drop held the memory of a dream she once frolicked through. The porcelain cup, rimmed with gold, clinked softly as she set it down.

No one knew where she came from. Some said she was the spirit of a vanished queen, others whispered she was a dream that escaped its dreamer. But every morning, she appeared - elegant, eternal...watching the hills as if waiting for something to rise from them. A rider? A memory? A long lost promise?

And sometimes, if you looked closely, the lake would ripple without wind, and the hills would rumble softly - yet only she could hear.

Maree

She had always been beautiful. Not the kind that begged for attention, but the kind that made rooms hush when she entered. Born into wealth, Maree had never needed to chase anything. Life arrived at her doorstep dressed in silk - education, travel, lovers, art, all curated like a gallery she wandered through at leisure.

Responsibility had been a stranger she never invited in. She danced through decades with champagne in hand, her laughter echoing in villas and opera houses, her name engraved into the guest lists of places where chandeliers outnumbered clocks.

Now, in her sixties, she sat alone on her balcony, wrapped in white. The pearls still gleamed. The tea was still fragrant. The biscuits were still arranged with care. Her cats, long-haired creatures, curled at her feet like living brooches.

The lake shimmered eerily in the distance. The hills, green and generous, leaned toward her like old friends. It was all exquisite.....

And yet...

There was a silence that no string quartet could fill. A stillness that no silk could soften. A loneliness that ached.

Maree sipped her tea slowly, watching the steam rise like ghosts of conversations never had. She wondered - not bitterly, but with the soft ache of hindsight - if she had traded connection for curation. Had she chosen elegance so completely that it had now become a kind of aloneness dressed in lace?

Midnight, black as ebony...purred. The breeze lifted a strand of her silver hair. Somewhere in the hills, a bird called out, unanswered.

And Maree, poised and perfect, sat in the center of it all - like a painting that had forgotten it was once a woman.

A memory

She lifted the teacup again, though it had long gone cold. The porcelain was warm only from her touch now, not the sun. Snow stirred at her feet, stretching one paw upwards, as if reaching toward the untouched plate of biscuits. Maree leaned down to caress the cat, offering a biscuit with her bowl of milk.

And then, like a breeze slipping through a closed window, the memory arrived.

Unicorns...biscuits.

Biscuits shaped like unicorns - delicate, ridiculous, enchanting. Brought to her by a lover whose name she hadn’t spoken aloud in years. He had laughed as he presented them, eyes bright with mischief, saying, “For the most mystical woman I know.” She had rolled her eyes, but kept every crumb.

They had danced once, barefoot in a marble hall. They had argued about poetry and kissed in the middle of it. He had wanted permanence. She had wanted freedom. Or so she told herself.

He had talked of starting a charitable foundation, she had only half listened. Her life too busy, too filled with living to stop and think of the lives less fortunate than hers.

Now, the memory sat beside her like a ghost in pearls. Now she understood what life was all about.

Perhaps if…

She let the thought trail off, unfinished. What use were maybes now? They were soft things, like fog ...beautiful, but impossible to hold. She had chosen elegance, and it had chosen her back. The pearls still gleamed. The biscuits were still arranged. The lake still shimmered.

She cast the memory aside - not cruelly, but like placing a letter back in its envelope. Midnight and Snow purred. The hills remained silent.

And Maree, poised and perfect, sipped her tea as the morning continued without apology.

Maree did not move. She did not need to. Her presence was enough to make the scene complete...an embodiment of grace, surrounded by beauty that seemed to bloom in response to her stillness.

Still, she wished the phone would ring...and a long forgotten voice would say hello.

.........

The Lover (Now)

He keeps a box tucked in the back of a drawer. Inside - a crumbling napkin with a unicorn sketch, a dried sprig of lavender, and a note she once wrote that simply said, “Even the moon envies your silence.” He doesn’t read it often. But he doesn’t throw it away either.

He lives in a city now, one of those places where the sky is always slightly askew and the coffee tastes like missed opportunities.. He’s tried to love others. He has loved others. But none of them ever asked him to argue about poetry mid-kiss. None of them ever wore pearls like armor made from laughter.

He remembers Maree as a mirror - one that showed him who he was when he was most alive. She was elegance with edges. She was steel with a heartbeat.

He wonders, sometimes, if she ever thinks of him. Not with longing, but with that quiet ache reserved for things that could have been. He imagines her sipping tea, casting maybes aside like petals. He respects that. He always did admire her ability to choose the moment over the foreseeable.

But still - when he passes a bakery and sees the unicorn-shaped cookie, he buys it. Every time. He never eats it. He just places it on his windowsill, lets it crumble slowly, like the past.

He wished he could tell her how well his Foundation was doing...He could use a partner.

"Daveed". He heard Maree's voice as plain as day. His head jerked around, searching...he walked to the door, opened it and peered here and there. There was no one in sight. How uncanny...he thought, shivering - as if an unseen entity had passed through his very soul .

Daveed turned to look down at his cellphone, staring at it for a long time...hoping against hope, that she had not changed her number.

He picked it up and dialled.