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Soliloquies Shrouded in the Dark

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I.
Cyprine—The Enchantress

“My sweet Viluy , thine eyes doth glimmer in the delicate moonlight.”
“And thou art the most delicate leaf of all the trees’ leaves, my dear Cyprine .”
“My, my,” I giggled, “I hath a gift for thee; however, thou shall have to be patient until the end of the night.”
“I hate it when thou makest me wait. Impatience is a virtue of mine,” my star-crossed lover avowed.
“Alas, Nurse Ariel hath called me; I shall not make her wait. Upon my re-arrival, I would love to see thee enjoying my guised ball.”
Tittering at my choice of words, Viluy planted her voluptuously soft lips upon my cheek. “Come hither,” she whispered, though we were already breast to breast, “I believe it is to be called a Masquerade; nonetheless, I shall be patient for thy re-arrival, and I shall indeed enjoy myself in the meantime.”

I sauntered away from the frozen lake, where the ball took place, heading for my tower where Nurse Ariel awaited my advent. She was placing the finishing touches on my gown and mask. As I snuck into my room, my jowl fell in astonishment. Lying upon my silken mattress was the most beautiful ball gown my eyes had ever been addressed by. A cold tear slipped out of the corner of my eye—a joyous tear. Nurse Ariel assured me that I would aggrandize the most attention at the dance with this dress. Not wasting anytime, she quickly fastened me into the iridescent corset; its frosty reflections gave it the appearance of a multitude of hues. Lastly, I fitted my veiled mask onto my fragile face, pure elegance. And now my appearance was inevitable. Glass slippers awaited me at the door and by slipping into them my posture transformed. Corsica Lake—the frozen bay where the ball was held—embraced me heavenly. The necks swiveled to marvel my pulchritude, even in guise.
All attention had been stricken onto me, but the limelight was not yet mine. I found my father who offered me his hand for the first dance. Waltz, two, three, four. Waltz, six, seven, eight. Spinning me gently, my father’s coarse grip had my shoes engraving the iced lake top ever so eloquently. Revolutions under the twinkling moon gave rise to a twilit sky of whimsy. The king’s aura reminded me of another and I yearned for her. Among the guised faces, I could not make hers out. Just then, my father questioned me of her. I knew my parents were aware of my liaison with Viluy and I was often scared that they blatantly disapproved. Alas, my father beheld my heart and thus my trust, so I spoke of her. Avoiding equivocation, I spoke of my lover with vehemence and candor. Clearly my father, stricken with a bolt of emotion, approved of my raw feelings. With a grand jeté , he tossed me away, into the crowd, for me to convey…a message to my sweet.

But finding her was impossible. The masks were numerous and faces were disguised as another. Until I was stricken with an idea, I stood amidst my peers captivated by their knowledge of the masquerade. Unbelievably gorgeous the sight had been and then the lightning struck. I expanded my wingspan and became the swan whose feathers are meant to be marveled. As I accreted the crowd’s attention once more, the clock struck the hour motioning me to peel my veiled face revealing my identity. Simultaneous gasps ripped from of their mouths encouraging me to enthrall my guests further. Toute seule , I danced in formation of the ugly duckling courting the one whose eyes “doth glimmer in the delicate moonlight.”

II.
Viluy—The Lover

I veered away from the crowd. Although I told Cyprine I would enjoy myself, I lied. There was no way that I could truly enjoy myself at this ball without her. I rested on the periphery of the lakefront sipping the tea provided as refreshments. And refreshing it was, warming the smooth interior of my body. Suddenly a group gathered at the centre of the frozen lake top and the clock struck the hour. In the wind, I saw a sparrow only that’s not what it actually was. The icy top began to rattle with a solo timbre. I looked back up at the sparrow which was no longer in the air, but rather in the frosted herbs surrounding the lake—a veiled mask and then I knew.

Fighting my way through the crowd was futile. How was I to reach my beloved princess? I glanced above at the moon and found a peculiar sight. A moonbeam shone down at the centre, bestowing Cyprine in the limelight. I merely needed to see her. Fortunately as she began her solemn charade the crowd slightly dispersed, giving me a view of my star-crossed lover. Her colours were marvelous. The delicate gossamer that draped her shoulders fit her so perfectly. She was courting me for she demonstrated the sensual swan I loved so. Serene was her touch, even from such a distance, and her voice lulled me into captivation: Cyprine the alluring enchantress.
Feathers were carried by the frosty zephyrs as Cyprine revolved in a circular orbit. The crowd’s eyes shimmered magically due to her sheer perfection. Even more attractive were the calligraphic designs she wove into the iced lake with her glass heels topped with a hint of lace. Specifically, she appealed to me with her rendition of the swan’s song. A cold tear fell out the corner of my eye—an amorous tear.


III.
Ptilol—The Prince

She caught my attention the moment she stepped down from her tower. O, sweet Cyprine of Corsica, I wish you would have chosen me in lieu of that Sapphic Duchess. It fills my heart with sympathy that a woman provides you with more than I ever could. I still yearn for you and I doubt that this will ever change; you have left an impression on me. The time I spent thinking of Cyprine was unaccounted for. Abruptly, I found myself amassed within a group of folks gathered at the centre of the lake. The hour was stricken by the clock and I shifted my attention to the multi-colored mistress with the translucent shoes. She removed her mask and my heart raced—Cyprine!
Oh, was she stunning. Her amber locks framed her fragile face and stopped just short of her back cleavage. The axis of her shoulder blade provided a tantalizing view. Flawless skin was apparent though, to my dismay, much was covered. As she turned, I captured periodic glimpses of her amethyst pupils. Those seductive purple eyes, those were what I yearned for. Then my eyes drop slightly lower as she spun. Aphrodite’s lips weren’t even comparable to chère Cyprine’s. And then lower. Her décolleté struck me. The clavicle protruded perfectly; I anticipated running my fingers across her neckline. And her cleavage was modest, leaving something to be desired. She was a demure lady, and I would not belie her.
Almost furiously, her heels clacked against the ice. The dance appeared to be filled with passion and vigor and it continually aroused me. Sexual thoughts flew about within my head. Cyprine may never know how much I yearn for her touch, her voice, her affection. I shall forever live in an envious shadow. A shadow cast by the Princess’s lover: Lady Viluy. And a few colds tears dripped from my face—tears that will never compensate for this penumbra I’m forced to reconcile under.

IV.
The Finale

The night was still young; however, it was younger than everyone thought it would ever be. Cyprine dynamically courted her lover, and the message was received. Viluy regarded the corseted princess’s harmonious dance and Ptilol as well. The wind was rampant: Icy zephyrs zipped through the atmosphere. Cyprine’s performance mandated the attention of all the guests as the wind went unnoticed. Alas, a foreshadowing breeze zipped through cutting two guests ever so slightly: Lady Viluy and Prince Ptilol.
Approaching an end to her ballad, Cyprine spun and spun and spun. Her speed was quite astounding. Delicately, she struck the ice with her glass heel, halted, and posed. The night was silent, but too soon the silence was shattered by the crowd’s simultaneous clapping. Viluy and Ptilol were tense as Cyprine gave a curtsey. The silence wasn’t the only shattered criterion; the lake top shared the honor. The ice directly under Cyprine cracked quickly and the crowd ran to safety, Ptilol among them. Viluy, from her distal position yelled her lover’s name, but Cyprine would not move and insisted that Viluy not do so either. Instead, she offered a frail soliloquy to her peers.
“My, my,” Cyprine expressed almost indifferently, “I hath never contemplated such a fate for myself. I hadst been stricken by love and I suppose that its conjugate would not lie far away. Viluy,” she yelled to her star-crossed lover, now bent over in rampant sobs, “I love thee and shall do so forever; I hadst a gift for thee, but I suppose thou shall have to be a little more patient for now I am stricken with death.”
And a cold tear ran down the face of Cyprine. As it hit the profusely shattered ice below her, she fell into the freezing temperatures of Corsica Lake, where henceforth, she shall remain a part of her kingdom.





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