Laidia's Child

As a little one, she didn't beleive she saw the world as complicated. Everthing then, was one. From the way of the gossamer butterflies, that graced the villa gardens, or the manner in which the sun spread its rays like heavenlight across the marble archways, casting luminesence in just the right places. Then...it was magic. But now...it was logic.2

Womanhood had robbed her of the ability to see paranoma, the power to look beyond the boundries of life.4

She now saw the fireflies spelling in her garden as "blinking bugs", rather than the tiny sprites they used to be.6

Every little detail had to be crucified, every aspect analzled.8

Four years ago, she would have refused her engagement, but now, her only choice was to accept it.10

She was thirteen, beauty still blossoming inside her, but soon, she would be a bloom, fragile, and delicate, a true woman.12

The reason she would be getting married so young, was of her father's choice. It was, so that as she grew older, and the slim lines of virginity curved her body and smoothed her allure into something of grace, something that young men would die for, something to put up on a pedastal, she would, as said, already be betrothed, and therefore safe from their wooing ways.14

Four years ago, she would have seen this as tragic, to have her childhood stripped away like a beggar to his clothes. But today, that didn't matter.16

She smoothed out her silken dress, tucking a white flower into her hair.18

Brown tresses fell in one last rebellious attempt to keep her innocence, but she did so in vain. On the night of her wedding, she would lose it all. Gone would be, the toothy smile, the wild, sun-kissed, golden-brown of her hair, flecked with warmth like pies fresh from stone ovens, set up on the window ceil to cool. Gone would be the frolick, the splashing mud puddles, the getting grass-stains on her frock, the basking in the amnesty that mother earth had blessed her children, as she painted again and again the watercolors of the dusk and dawn. Gone would be mischeif. Gone would be faith. She would walk down the isle as a grown woman, her hair pulled back in an unforgiving bun. And from there, all she could look forward to was a husband, and children of her own. 20