Crescent Fall
Today is the day. The damnable day. Were I crowned only a month and a half sooner, I could have forestalled this vile mockery of my late mother. For years now my errant father has been taking increasingly frequent trips up to the lunar palace but never did I expect the ox to find himself a bride. Not one of royal lineage, mind you, but a palace handmaiden. Even now as I commit these words to mental record, I find myself holding down bile. I have not met this mysterious maiden who seems to have bewitched my undeserving paternal steward, but I know well that she is young. Far younger than he, a solar cycle behind even myself or so I've heard. Long have I asked myself what he could be thinking, how oblivious he could be to the fact that any young maiden would leap at the opportunity to marry into our royal line, but I have since learnt not to place so much faith into the last of my kin. He does not want to think, I'd wager. Does not want to see what stands in front of him. To his credit, I'll concede, the man has been alone far too long.
I've had the pyramid to myself this long morning, giving ample time to reflect on how this new addition to our happy family will affect the proceeding year. Surely my dolesome dear daddy does not expect me to relinquish my throne to this off-world commoner. Should it come to that my pity for him and his reign will vanish completely. I'll have his head divorced from his neck before his farcical marriage is made legitimate... as for his would-be widow, she could earn her keep as my well trained maid, everything returned to its rightful place. I take the scenic route through the sun garden back to my chambers and disrobe with aid of servant. The picture in the mirror is one of elegance, status, a body shaped by 9.80 m/s² and combat practise for Martian invasion that would never come. The Red Colonies were a failure and while their militia once stood strong, it was equally volatile and that might turned inwards. I stare at my naked form and admire the gifts I have been given. As my maidservant adorns me with golden bands and wispy veil and bronze blusher, I think about bloodying the sands at my doorstep like the red soil of that distant graveyard, 140 million miles away.
My body is wrapped in bone white cloth inscribed with the words of a long forgotten ancestry, a customary garb meant to be seen by those welcomed into our land. Such traditions are wasted on this moonbred parasite, but I daresay that I'll relish in the rift between myself and the lunar frump. While this moon child will without a doubt be taller than anybody else to walk these halls due to their unique environment, I will loom over her. She will be made to bow wherever she may wander in this great pyramid, the low ceilings will be sure of that.
I trace the shape of two shadows creeping over the combed sand through the ornate window in my chambers, a pair of royal guards identifiable by their expensive burgundy shrouds and retracted silver hilts. Following closely behind is an oafish man bereft of his eyebrows and sporting a withered goatee, his arm aloft to accompany his maiden bride. The opportunist has obscured herself in a platinum cocoon of clothing, as though she and I are equal not a slither of her skin is shown to the common folk who keep watch and play protector to our spoilt little lives. Unlike my own concealment, hers even leaves the form of her body to great speculation, the only obvious factor being her immense height. Even under the harsh gravity of this world for one such as herself, I can see plainly that she does not hunch. Each print left in the sand unveiled by that overflowing, lustrous mantle is perfectly uniform, before it is swept away by the comb of the rear guard. If I am to greet them before that garish cloak of hers no longer threatens to blind all of those that should catch its glare, I need make my way downstairs immediately.
"My daughter forgets herself on occasion, dear... I pray the two of you get along as mother and daughter should, but if you fear her blade at your back in the long hours of night I can have her relocated to your former lady's palace as ambassador of Earth, or ah... whatever convenient excuse should arise." The man I would call father were I looking to degrade myself speaks on about me as though I cannot hear, while knowing full well that my ear catches his threats. He should know that I am not to be intimidated, he wields power like a neutered animal, empty words are all he has left to keep the knives at bay. "You wouldn't be the first mother she's killed."
My hand moves to the dagger that hugs the outer thigh beneath cloth coverings, clutching it in a sort of murderous prayer. Such venom from a man who dared not look me in the eye last time we were under the same roof. I still myself from the rise he almost gets from using the word mother to describe this lucky whore, it would seem that his grudge against a helpless new born has softened none, and now he has become emboldened. I want to laugh at the juvenile gambit of his, or take mocking pity at the attempt in any case, does he really think that he can hold power over me with a political marriage that threatens the legitimacy of my coronation? Does he really not think I have it in me to end his miserable life? I silenced one parent coming into this world, kicking and screaming as the viscera left its stain. It should come even easier to me at 26.
I compose myself and then motion to make my presence known, as performative a gesture that is by this point. "Come now, I can hardly hope to make a positive first impression of the new
lady of the house
with you whispering words of imagined treachery into her poor ear. Ignore my father, smitten with him as I'm sure you are. It is he who forgets himself in the autumn of his days, ah, may you remind me
your
age?" Despite my insistence on elegance and formality, I could not bring myself to state my name and courtesy, perhaps I still lack a measure of maturity in these matters of polite adversity.
As the recipient of my dour inquiry steps into the shade to relieve us all that reflective assault, I watch as two slender hands remove themselves from their folded position at her sternum and trail up to her cowl. Long nails painted in the colours of the cosmos disappear into the deep hood and remove it swiftly, revealing a slender face as pale as the moon itself. The woman's lips are curled in such a way to suggest unbothered amusement at our familial dispute, which admittedly catches me wholly off guard. Though I recover quickly, her eyes seem to catch my expression through the thin slip of veil between our gazes. Shrewd for a house pet...
"We do not use the same calendar system on the surface of Selene, but in yours I would be 25 years young. I do hope you manage to remember it in the future, but should you want reminding you need but ask again. My presence here does not trouble you, does it? I mean no threat to your reign, in fact I would very much be honoured to play a part in... shepherding it? I am still learning your turns of phrase."
This daughter of Sin may have a noticeably extraterrestrial twinge to her accent, but I believe she chooses her words with the utmost care. Shepherd me, was it? Am I her good little sheep in this delusional woman's daydream? I suspect my father doesn't care a whit so long as his whistle is wet. If anything, he'll be more than happy to entertain any childish fantasies in which he holds dominion over my life in any meaningful way. I made sure he knew who the staff here works for when I prepared for them that pitiful escort from their shuttle to the door, three royal guards was three more than they're worth.
"You look tense, silva, and that outfit... I'm impressed you can breathe." The woman from the moon steps forward with a distinct clack on our well polished marble entryway, is the giant wearing heels? Any taller and she'd be halfway home, my best guess would be approaching 7ft which only makes me wonder what their men are like.
"Look daddy I've impressed her." I reply without thinking, my tone drier than the surrounding desert. "May I be excused now? I have a hemisphere to govern. It cannot oversee itself and evidently neither can its king. Do have fun with your new toy, but keep the political roleplay in the bedroom from here on." With my piece spoken, albeit more directly than I had planned to, I turn on my heels to let the man respond to my back if he decides to speak at all. To nobody's surprise, his lips stay dry.
To mine, her lips do not.
"May I accompany you, silva? I have yet to tour your lovely home but I confess that your duties interest me greatly, your father has painted such a storied picture of his little monarch in training. A first hand account would colour that canvas beautifully." Those perfectly curved lips of her do not betray any intent other than that which they admit to freely, a coating of black as dark as space with a twinkle of star white in between. She wishes to assess my true colours? Very well then, I muster every hating bone in my body into perfect submission as I ignore the infantilising words of a woman a year my junior. I know that my father has never spoken once about my 'training', nor would he paint any picture of me that didn't portray me as stillborn. I'm no stranger to fighting words, the best way to disarm your opponent is a show of indifference.