The Tower

Zoe Constantinidis

They danced through death, and they danced through smoke. They locked themselves in ruby towers, feasting while the outside world fell to large pits of plague. They were God’s favorite. Why else would they live such glorious lives if not for His dotage? Illness was a punishment brought upon those who let their faces smear with dirt as they looked upon The Lord’s beautiful visage. Whose bodies went thin from their negligence of taking part in God’s great gift of nourishment. God loved the wealthy, and the wealthy loved that they were loved.

Marie sat on a marble bench wrapped in a silk dressing gown and stared longingly out the window of her family's golden tower as she bobbed to the gentle tug of the maid brushing her hair. 

“You have no idea how lucky you are to live among us. Just look where you are compared to your family, may they rest in peace. But really, I think the plague killed just enough to make this view absolutely mesmerizing.” 

Outside the tower was a forest of lush greenery. Trees grew in abundance, their branches reaching. The air was alive with birdsong, creeks gurgled in peaceful streams down rolling hills, flowers grew and dotted the ground with vibrant color. In the distance, a herd of horses neighed their joy as they ran through wild fields. Nature had healed itself, and in doing so ousted humanity.

Marie talked on as the maid brushed her hair, never daring to look outside.

“God was very kind to you for putting us in your life. You get to be around constant beauty, and in your station, it must be so wonderful.” Marie paused and turned towards her maid who had finished with her hair and now stood limply, hairbrush in hand. Marie’s face suddenly lit up. “How I would love to have your life, to look upon God’s work.” Marie paused again and took a long sigh. “Diamonds shine less to me now and silk might as well be common rags. But to see such glory from your eyes, now that would be wonderful.” Marie said, her eyes glossed over as if in a dream.

The maid stood in silence.

Marie walked across diamond floors to her armoire. She swung open the doors and grazed her hand through plumes of fabric. 

“Now which one do you think would be best for breakfast? I quite like the red, but perhaps it is too much for the morning.” Marie took it out and held it against her body, the red silk pooled on the floor like blood. Marie, deciding it did not match her complexion, shoved it back in exchange for another, this one a purple taffeta with emeralds sewn to the collar. 

The maid stood quietly behind her just out of sight of the mirror's reflection so as not to distort her lady’s view. Marie let out a huff and dropped her dresses on the floor.

 “Well, I suppose it does not matter if Mother brings up that wicked illness again. She knows how sick it makes me to hear of such ugly things.” Marie’s shoulders tensed and her breathing became shallow. “Why waste time worrying over something that makes the world more beautiful!” Marie stopped abruptly and took many deep breaths. 

The maid walked in silence to the rumpled fabric on the ground, picked up the purple dress, and handed it to Marie. Marie looked at it for a moment took one final breath and grabbed the dress. 

“You are right, this would be perfectly appropriate for breakfast.” She said and then started undressing. 

The maid silently helped her lady dress, laid her lady’s hair in a simple braid down her back, and put ten small emerald hairpins at the crown of her lady’s head. Marie looked at herself in her mirror and smiled.

“You always remind me of my beauty.” She said and started for her door. “I do wonder what the chef has made for breakfast, I am so incredibly hungry this morning. Do you think he made tarts, or rather a raspberry pie, I love raspberry pie….” Marie rambled on as she left her room and started down the marble staircase to her family’s dining room. 

The maid waited in the room as she listened to the young noblewoman chatter down the stairs. The maid had never seen raspberries, nor had she ever tasted pie. Her breakfasts were bread. Bread with butter, bread with salt, sometimes she had bread with butter and salt. Those were good days.

In the corner of her eye, the maid saw a red glimmer. Turning her head, she saw a ruby dagger on the nightstand. Its hilt was ivory with gold detailing, a serrated blade finishing its deadly appearance. The maid knew that dagger. It had been a present from the Lord on her lady's eighteenth birthday. She had delighted in its brutal beauty. 

The maid took notice of the dagger and left the room to follow her lady to breakfast.