The Table

The cold water breaks me from the dreamscape of a warm summer breeze and intricate bleeding sunrise. I gasp, my breath heaving me back into my reality: dark.

Wait.

A faint glow of a candle brushes against stone chamber walls.

My back is cold. No, it's bare, pressed against a hard surface. My hands grip something solid. I look. White porcelain.

Movement. A woman stands beside me, almost as quiet as the shadows.

Cold. And wet, again.

I gasp. The Woman throws another bucket of water on me. Relief comes as realization hits. She is bathing me.

The Woman wears a cloth around her mouth, leaving only her eyes exposed. They seem sad. She holds the bucket like a shackle. Was she sad for her or for me?

I touch my wrists. My shackles are gone now.

There is enough water that my arms float on the surface. The Woman places petals around me. Rose, lavender, and chamomile. The flowers smell nothing like Home. They are the smell of the Kingdom.

Gooseflesh covers my exposed skin as the Woman begins to scrub. My hair, my arms, my back. She scrubs away the sweat, dirt covering my skin and the soles of my feet. She scrubs until I am reborn. Now, I am a silky galaxy of freckles.

"Stand up."

I am startled by the Woman's voice. Nothing like the Mother at Home. The Woman's voice is similar to the sound of night settling on a busy day.

I stand in front of the Woman. Water drips from the tips of my hair, trailing down my spine, making me shiver.

She holds a candle in one hand and a small glass vial in the other.

Her eyes hold mine and my heart flutters. The Woman pours golden liquid from the vial over my shoulders. It covers my breasts, falling from my nipples onto the tops of my feet. The aroma is intoxicating. Peppermint and honey.

Now, it is time to be dressed. The Woman begins to dress me in fabrics I have never felt before. Clouds sewn together. Threaded daffodil bulbs. Knitted sunlight of a Sunday morning.

I feel holy.

The Woman then sits me in a chair in front of a vanity. I see myself for the first time.

No longer am I wild, like the ravens at Home. Instead, I look like I belong to the Kingdom. My skin glows.

The Woman places red pigment onto my lips. Cherries. I tasted them once. The juice stained my teeth. It feels dangerous to taste this sweet.

I feel the tug as the Woman brushes my hair. Mother never did this.

My hair looks luxurious. At once, I feel like a woman. The curls tickle my cheeks and I smile. I watch as the Woman places a crown gently on my head. It is made of Rosemary and sage. She runs her hand down the back of my hair.

"For you, queen," she sighs. I can hear both resignation and triumph in her voice. She places her hand upon my shoulder.

"It is time."

My heart is in my stomach. I have dreamed of this moment for years. I have watched Brothers and Sisters leave for the Kingdom, aching for my time.

It has finally arrived.

We live our whole life for this moment. It is what I was created for.

I follow the Woman out of the chamber, into a hallway. We walk until the Woman stops in front of a heavy wooden door. I don't know what is on the other side. All I know is that She will be there.

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.

The Woman turns to me as she removes the cloth from her face. A scar brands her cheek. The mark of the Less.

She looks tired and I suddenly feel overwhelmingly sad for her.

She bows as she begins to open the door and I take my first steps into the rest of my life.

I have entered into an elegant dining room. Open space, except for a mahogany table placed in the center. Candles trace the outline of the table, allowing it to be a beacon of light.

Footsteps.

I am breathless. There She is, emerging from the shadows.

She is ethereal.

"Come to me, child."

Her voice, a melody lost in a memory.

As I walk to her, the more detailed She becomes. The gown looks less like fabric and more like a masterpiece painted onto her skin. Tones of gold and silver, swirl over her arms and chest, down her legs, materializing her elegance. A locket hangs from her neck. A heart. One ruby glows in the center. Diamonds glisten from her hair, looking like fresh, fallen snow.

Here is my Queen.

She motions me to the table. I am confused. There are no chairs. Where does She want me to sit?

She motions again and this time I do not hesitate. I climb atop the table and lay upon my back. I feel the melted wax between my fingers.

The Queen runs a nail down my forearm and I close my eyes in pleasure. I feel Her lift my arm. I hear her inhale and feel the tickle of her nose.

Sudden, red hot pain. My eyes shoot open.

The Queen has my wrist pinned to the table. A long slice runs from the inside of my forearm down. Blood streams out of me.

I look to my Queen. She lifts a dagger, dripping of blood. My blood. She runs her tongue across the blade.

"Thank you for your sacrifice to your Queen."

The Queen snaps her neck down to my arm and begins to suck.

My throat begins to burn.

I am screaming.

She looks back at me with blood dripping down her chin. She begins to laugh.

Her laugh is the last thing I hear as I drift. A melody turning into a haunting reality.

Is this all we are meant for?