Page 101 of Of Monsters Of Kings

The princess continued. “My king had hoped I’d prove strongest, born from pain and suffering as I was, but the opposite became apparent, and that is when he started to lose interest, I fathom. You might have heard that Princess Take is the most ancient of us. She slumbered for fifty years.”

My thoughts soured. Princess Take’s ancientness was the reason King See could touch her and no other. I’d slept little more than a third of a year and couldn’t hope to compete with her fifty-year slumber. “I see.”

Quiet extended through the courtyard, and I wished to be alone.

“Midnight is here, and I sense our time is at an end,” the princess said. “I wish that you would consider the position of concubine, lady. I would like to spend more time conversing with you. If you are correct about compliments and positive perspective, then in your wonderful company, I might see myself differently again.”

There was a fierce urge to help her achieve that, and I felt sudden awe at Bring’s wisdom in sending his princess tonight. “I know not about concubine matters, princess, but I would like to see you again. Your conversation is delightful, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Good midnight to you.”

After watching her trail from the hotel, I marched back into the conservatory. I had a tangle to deal with, and how I perceived myself was the smallest knot. The time had come for me to see what I’d become, for better fate or worse.

I stopped in the dead middle of the conservatory and stared defiantly at the burgundy drape.

“I have prepared as best I can,” I informed the mirror that might hang beneath the drape. “My lessons are learned. What must be most important is how I view myself. From this moment, I undertake to become skilled in the conviction of loving myself. Then I shall practice the skill forevermore so others cannot wrestle the love away ever. I will remain in charge of my fate this way. Added to that, I will surround myself with those monsters who see the best in me and trim off any monster who seeks to always see the worse. Room should be left for growth, of course.”

I glared at the burgundy drape. “Have I prepared enough then? My heart aches, and I would see it stop. You’re the smallest tangle in the knot if that can be believed.”

Sweat broke out on my brow. I shifted from foot to foot.

“I will remove you now,” I informed the burgundy drape.

I didn’t do so.

I clenched my teeth. “You know, I’m very capable. My arms and legs can climb great cliffs. I find playful delight in that which makes humans faint in a heap. My true smile did bother me at first, but I always notice when my lips twist into a smile now, and I can’t remember noticing how my conventional smile felt at all.”

My annoyance faded, and a small shyness bloomed in my chest. “Mirror and drape, these are unique qualities that I like very much about myself. That I love about myself.”

The shy bloom spread, strengthening.

I tilted my chin.

Human life had taught me that conventional beauty centered around outward perfection. For if a person appeared perfect, then others perceived them as inwardly perfect too. Even back then, I’d shied from such a bland standard—I’d never met a person, human or monster, who didn’t possess joys and fears, nor dream and vice. But when buried under the mask of perfection, this richness of character was forgotten and lost.

How isolating to be assumed inwardly perfect. How obsessed a person might become with their outside as they forgot their stories—and as everyone surrounding them did the same. I could only feel sorry for such a person and vow not to continue making this mistake.

I’d long preferred cracked wallpaper and yellowed valance, and still did prefer oxidized copper and dusty glass. Monstrous life had given solid form to these human suspicions and instincts. I could safely say that uniquities were utterly magical and very interesting and had nothing to do with conventional standard.

“Why cling to the benchmark of an unblemished surface for myself when I delight in viewing the stories on a surface dented, scratched, and singed?” I whispered.

The feeling in me swelled in response, and I rather thought the bloom might be the starting of pride.

“If I veil those blemishes and uniquities, how will the right people find me? How will I cocoon myself in their support and love then?”

I smiled, then paused to absorb the delight in the pulling twist of my mouth. “I’m ready to look upon myself, mirror and drape. Excitement fills me at the prospect. I have swallowed my misgivings.”

Seemingly in answer, the thyme-covered panel underfoot chose that moment to swallow me whole.

Chapter Twenty-One

I’d made assumptions about immortality.

“Name,” a man demanded.

I opened my eyes and peered up at the blurred monster looming over me.

A few blinks and the blur disappeared, though the number of his arms did not.

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