She was clothed in a sparkling ember-colored dress that pooled around her feet. When she turned, when she spoke, all eyes followed her. She was beautiful beyond anyone’s imaginings. Her eyes, framed by long dark lashes, seemed to faze straight into your soul. Her lips, the color of red wine, never marred a word. Her hands, decorated by silver rings, need not have been decorated. Yet the rings did not seem tacky on her. They only enhanced her beauty. She was an impossible fantasy who obviously disregarded the laws of possible and impossible. This was my first time seeing her, and I was already in love. With my clouded state of mind, I sat down along with everyone else when she told us to. Rose when she told us to. Cried when she denied us, rejoiced when she changed her mind. We were under her spell and would die if she told us to. Her power she only knew too well. Whatever she wanted, she got. Whatever she hated was forgot. We became her slaves, we lived to serve her, to only catch that glimpse of her at least once daily. Our reason to live became her, our reason to die was within her. Disobey and know that you were dead too soon. We spoke her name in a hushed whisper. Isadora. Isadora.

From whence did this beauty come from? It was a mystery to us. All we knew, all we would ever know was Isadora, my Isadora. Day after day we labored for her. Built a large fortress, wove tapestries of such glory that they were only fit for Isadora. The dresses and gowns we made were spun of pure silk and gold. The labor was hard but we were convinced it was worth it. No one ever felt the need to rebel. We were all honored to be her chosen ones. Oh, Isadora, darling Isadora. She was our goddess, our shining light. Our health never failed. Isadora made sure of that. We were sheltered from the outside world, told that nothing else existed outside Isadora’s majestic walls. And we were happy as could be, we never expected more than what we had. None of us remembered how we got there. But grateful we were to be there. Nothing else matter to us but Isadora. To say that Isadora was anything but a goddess was a sin. Or should’ve been a sin in our minds.