In and Out of Time

i had always loved you more

I'm awoken this morning by sounds of commotion downstairs and I groan. I toss my legs over the edge of the bed, slipping on shoes and a thin house robe to cover my nightgown-clad form. I rub my eyes as I descend the stairs, almost bumping into multiple people as I draw nearer to the sounds.

I hear people chattering, dishes lightly clanking, and running water. The smell of fresh bread reaches my nose and I sigh softly. My feet carry me over to the kitchen which is full and buzzing with life. Fran scurries about, pointing at various pots and pans, throwing out an array of soft commands.

"More salt—needs sugar—perfect!" I watch in amazement as they work in perfect harmony and somehow avoid bumping into one another. There's at least 10 people milling about, each trying their best to accomplish what seems to be an impossible task. Yet they also seem to know exactly what they're doing, working as a well-oiled machine.

I gently press my face against the wall, looking on from the shadows in amazement. I catch sight of an unattended platter of biscuits and I glance around before daring to enter. I manage to snatch one but as I look up, Fran is staring directly at me. I smile nervously, practically grimacing even though I know she won't really mind.

She simply shakes her head and chuckles, disappearing into the pantry. I smile to myself and take a bite, moaning at the way the flavors delicately spread on my tongue like melted butter. As I open my eyes, I feel a hand on my shoulder and see Fran with a little container. She places a few of the treats in and hands it to me, winking and placing a finger over her lips.

"What's all this for?" I ask softly as I look around the room again, noticing how frantic their movements appear now that I'm closer. "You didn't hear? Prince David found her! There's a celebratory dinner tonight in honor of their coming wedding" she tells me before a pot begins to boil over and she runs off to attend to it.

My eyes widen in shock and I smile a bit, happy that he found her and also amused. Just as I'm about to leave and figure out what I'll do for the rest of the day, particularly while they're having the dinner, my father's voice echos in the room. I stop at the sound of my name and turn to face him nervously, straightening my posture upon instinct.

"There will be a dinner tonight, in celebration of your brother's engagement, and you are required to attend. It's an intimate affair and I don't need any questions as to your whereabouts; so be on time—also..." his eyes graze over my form and I almost feel like some object he eyes in the window of a shop that doesn't meet his fancy, which causes me to shudder.

"Find something suitable. I will not have you in the presence of such important guests in... rags" he scoffs before turning around, as if my gaze was too much of a burden to bear. I sigh and return to my room, placing the container of sweets down and falling to the bed. What makes these people so 'important'?

He barely cares for his own daughter and yet treats these people as gods. I don't even know who they are for Christ's sake. I'm not sure what the girl's name is! They tell me nothing but expect me to follow their every command like some animal. No, actually, even animals receive better treatment than I. There's no point in protesting, however, it's clear I don't have a choice.

later that day

I'm fixing my hair in preparation for the dinner, smoothing out the skirt of my dress and checking everything one more time. I must look pristine—perfect—practically a statue. I hate how women are expected to look more like still-life paintings than actual human beings. Even paintings are imperfect, mistaken brushstrokes often making way for the most genius discoveries.

Women are art. And like all lovers of art know: it is not something that is meant to be 'beautiful'. It's supposed to make you feel something; to think—reflect. I hope to see a day where we are appreciated for all we are. Not simply beautiful beings for the pleasure of men or to receive validation from them, as if that changes our worth at all.

I pray we are noticed for what we truly are; forces of nature. We hold the power to create life but not only that—to foster life and prosperity in others. I think that is why I love women so much. There's an indescribable pull towards the greatness and beauty that exists within each and every one of them.

I shake my head as I get a bit off track, hearing my name being called. I exit my room hastily, making my way down the stairs in a hurry. "Finally" my father sighs and I just subtly roll my eyes; I can never win with him. I either haven't taken enough time to make myself presentable or I take too much time and still look 'inadequate'.

I believe my father was the first man to show me that I can never please them and have no desire to. He takes my arm reluctantly and ushers me into the dining hall where the guests have just been seated. "I would like to introduce you to my lovely daughter, Marion" I don a fake smile and glance around the room but the facade quickly falls as my eyes land on her.

She seems to be in equal shock as we lock eyes and I feel the color drain from my face. "Oh... we've met" Madonna states and I don't have to see my father's face to know he fights the urge to frown. "I hope it was pleasant... she can be a bit of a rascallion" he jokes and I hear in his voice that it almost pains him to not say anything worse.

Madonna simply smiles as we take our seat but I don't reciprocate it. All I feel is fear. She knows the truth now, more importantly, that I lied to her. The dinner carries on after the introductions and although no one else seems to notice the thick tension in the air, I can feel it suffocating me.

She doesn't mention it or even glance my way the whole night; though I can see she fights the urge. I barely speak, afraid my voice will suddenly tremble or crack and the veil of complacency will fall. So I just listen to everyone, laughing every now and then at various jokes that I don't find humorous in the slightest.

I keep looking to her, begging for some sort of sign. It's impossible to tell how she's feeling which only further frustrates me. The dinner ends and I stand off to the side as they bid each other farewell. Just before the door closes, the redhead glances back and it becomes clear to me that even though she didn't directly look at me, she was always watching.

Her eyes meet mine and I see nothing resembling the woman I met in the garden. Her eyes are cold, so much so that I physically shiver under her icy gaze. I'm soon set free as her head turns and the door closes. It may simply be a piece of wood, but it feels like it sets us worlds apart and tears brim in my eyes as I run up the stairs, wondering how I could be so stupid as to think happiness was so easy to attain.