I sit here writing as the storm rages outside. The power has gone out, so I am left with only the light of the flames to see by. Flames that steadily burn down their wicks and lower the level of the wax that encases those same wicks. I have only as much time as the flames linger, for when they go out then true darkness shall envelop the universe and I shall be gone along with the others. I know it is futile to write this, in the last hours of the world, but it is the only confession I will have the chance to make, and if someone should find this, if someone should survive this cataclysm, then you will know why I must write this, and how it was my fault that this ending was brought about. Though I knew this love to be forbidden, I loved anyway, and deeply, and my friends suffered the consequences when I hesitated. Even now, I play the coward, hiding in this closet
I find that I am fascinated by the words that flow from the ink of this pen, as if I am reading a book that I have never seen before, as if I do not know what will happen next.
But I digress.
I shall start at the beginning, as all stories should, and perhaps whomever finds this will find it within themselves not to despise me too much...
I watched in the mirror as my mother brushed my long silvery-blonde locks and pulled them into the odangos that are customary for the women of our royal family. My mother herself wears her hair the same. I have always idolized the queen, my mother, and have always wanted to be just like her, but have continually found myself lacking. When she walks, she seems to glide, her every movement is elegant and graceful, whereas my movements are all-around clumsy, as if my skin doesn't fit. The one way I find myself to be adequate compared to her is in my looks, for we share the same delicate figures, the same facial features. The one difference between us physically is that she has an almost visible aura of experience and peace about her, while I am unsure of myself, wild and impulsive.
When she is finished, she strokes one of the ponytails and whispers how proud she is to have me as a daughter, that I am the moon princess. I find it difficult to believe that any mother would be proud of a klutz like myself, but I appreciate it nonetheless and smile at her. She leans down and kisses the top of my head before walking towards the door. She admonishes me not to be late for my own coming-of-age ball before she leaves my room entirely.
Be late for this night? I wouldn't dare think of it! But then, it wasn't always my fault that I'm late either. Some of the strangest things happened to me when I was on my way to things such as lessons...
I sit before the mirror a little while longer, simply telling myself that I will not make a fool of myself this night of all nights. I will be graceful, I will be witty, I will not embarrass myself in front of all the important people of the solar system.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up, slip into my heeled shoes, and walk out the door, nearly stumbling over the hem of my dress. My face burning, I gather up the front of the dress just enough that I can't trip over it, and try to make my way to the ballroom with a dignified air, trying not to quail for fear of a worse incident at the ball. At least, if there was one thing to be grateful for, it was that I could dance without error. The one place I feel as if I can be as graceful as my mother is on the dance floor, and my heartbeat quickens at the fantasy of being swept away by the music and a mysterious man who will fall in love with me and propose right there on the dance floor. My face flushes at the mere thought, and I try to hurry without tripping over myself. My feet tend to get in the way of each other when I'm not careful.
When I reach the doors, I pause to collect my composure before nodding to the announcer. He orders the great doors at the top of the staircase opened and enters before me, saying loudly, "All hail the princess Serenity!"
Everyone turns to look as I enter, and I can't help but feel a twinge of fear. This is the first time I've made an entrance without my mother, and the twinge turns into an almost crippling terror of walking down those stairs alone, watched for the slightest mistake by all the courtiers of the solar system. Some of them, I'm certain, are waiting for me to take a tumble down the long, ornately decorated staircase, and I am all too sure that I will oblige them.
Just as I am about to begin my descent, a man leaps from the balcony above and to the left side of the staircase, turning over in the air gracefully to land on one knee next to me, holding out a pure white rose for my acceptance. The guards stare dumbfounded for a moment, but when they move to seize the man, I halt them with a gesture and accept the rose. He stands up and offers me his arm, which I also very gratefully accept, and we descend together. He wears a tuxedo and top hat, but this much is all I have seen of him, and I dare not take a closer look at the moment, or I will surely fall . Besides, it can't look as though I know him not, so I shall have to wait for the right moment to examine him more closely.
One thing more I know, however, and that was that he smelled heavenly.
He escorted me to my mother, to whom I curtsied while he bowed deeply. My mother looks at me with an expression that I am positive mirrored mine–a look full of puzzlement. The stranger then turned and bowed over my hand, his lips lingering over my knuckles before he dropped to a knee and asked, "Might I have the honor of the first dance with you, my lady?" His voice was like velvet, soft and deep, making me want to melt into his arms right there, but somehow I smiled demurely and curtsied, murmuring my assent.
Mother must have motioned to the orchestra to begin playing, for a stately waltz filled the air, and in one fluid motion my mysterious stranger swept me into his arms and onto the dance floor. I looked up into the most gorgeous azure eyes I had ever seen as we danced, and I couldn't help but wonder, wasn't this just like my fantasy? I didn't even notice when other couples began to dance, my attention was solely focused on this tall and handsome stranger who had so gallantly saved me from embarrassing myself within the first minute of the party in my honor. He stared back into my eyes, a soft smile curving his perfect lips. When the waltz ended and he released me, I nearly fell. He brought the hand he held to his lips, his breath caressing it gently as he whispered, "I thank you, my princess, for allowing me this great honor. We will meet again, my love."
He whispered those last two words so softly, I couldn't help but wonder if she had imagined them. Then he bowed over my hand once more, touching his lips to my fingers, and swept away into the crowd as the dancers started up again to a new tune played by the orchestra. I stood there, unable to move for a moment before I thought to go after him, to find out his name at the very least, but he was gone, and there were people I had an obligation to dance with. It seemed as though the rest of the ball went by in a fog filled with a longing to see him again, to feel his lips on my fingers, him holding me close against his hard body as we swept across the dance floor.
Thankfully the ball was over soon enough, and I went quietly to my chambers, floating on air it seemed like, and I didn't stumble once. When I had undressed and put on my nightgown I sat once more in front of the mirror, reflecting on that dance and what he had said. I was so lost in the memory that I didn't notice when my mother came in to brush my hair before bed.
"Darling, who was that man?" she asked, snapping me out of my reverie.
"I don't know," I replied, furrowing my brow in thought.
My mother didn't say anything, she just frowned and began our nightly ritual of undoing my hair and brushing it before braiding it for the night.
Looking back, I know that my mother had her suspicions as to who my mysterious masked stranger was, but that night I went to sleep thinking only of the romance.