Looking Through Stained Glass

The Summons

I am summoned in the middle of night and know not why. I am told his mood is strange. I have but moments to prepare myself yet not test the goodwill of he who summons. Moonlight shines through the blossoming trees as I ride in the mare provided. Not finding my favorite combs, I hastily extend a hand to snatch blossoms. Hoping their beauty compensates. The same moonlight shows the hurried manner of my dress.

The bright moon of night
Shines on all that can help you
And all that can harm

I breathe deep the scent of local flora as I ride along. Perfect gardens seen off in the distance are soothing. The road I travel is not. I knew not the king had returned from his sojourn; let alone have chance to know the cause this distress. The lumps I feel are more than mere nervousness. The not gentle road jangle already frayed thoughts. My king who places a premium on the upholding of traditions entrusts me with its upkeep. A delicate balance accomplished too well. Hours spent side-by-side, yet he knows naught. My heart as improper as the lack of grace of a more appropriate attire. The night is as dark as my mood. My beloved moonlight bears not a cheer.

The trickle of fear
Thorns that can grow sharp within
As well as without

The increasing view of the palace up ahead. Its peaks rise in golden tones as though the setting sun cached its luminescence there for the night and comes now to collect upon rising. My king acknowledges my kneeling by kneeling himself. He kneels! To me! His rough, beefy hand a contrast to my pale delicate fingers. I am shocked by his most gentle of touch - our first physical contact. Ever. An embroidered gown placed in my arms, he bows. He bows! The gown is of a refinement only she who will become queen can wear. Characters of my name intricately stitched within its fine threads. My missing combs, now jewel encrusted, nervously placed on top. And like this new day it dawns on me. He knows. He reciprocates. Protocol cast aside at our second contact ever – our kiss.

Deep shades of gold sun
Extend like love’s warm fingers
Dawn, a brand new day

Gustav Klimt - The Kiss
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