Gild

A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

It’s the arrogance of men, to think so little of women. And it’ll be their downfall too.

Men making deals on the behalf of women never seems to go very well for the women.

You can have all the gold in the world and yet lack everything of real worth.

But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap.

I wish I could string up the sun and keep it tied in the sky, but wishes are for stars, and I hardly get to see any of those anyway.

Does it really matter if your cage is solid gold when you aren't allowed to leave it? A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

I’m ridiculously fun. You kind of have to be when the only person you hang out with is you. I wouldn’t want to bore myself.

To the ones who try, but can’t see the stars. Keep looking up.

You are worth more than all the gold in this castle. But I still own you, and I will spend you any way I see fit.

Mouth dribbles red life, breath like choked water. Blue-tinged lips to match his eyes as they rain. My heart shatters itself against my ribs. He looks at me, my teardrops landing on his. I sob. He shudders. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I cry. Lying for him, as he did for me. And with his last breath, he nods.

You can pretend a lot of things in life. You can pretend so well that you even start to believe your own deceit. We’re all actors; we’re all on pedestals with a spotlight shining on us, playing whatever part we need to in order to make it through the day—in order to help ourselves sleep at night.

Why am I so cursed to endure the greed of men?

I cried beneath my parents’ kisses, but they told me to go. To be brave. That they would see me soon. One order, one urge, one lie.

One should never decide something as serious as bangs when they have a bottle of wine in their stomachs.

Despite what I look like, I’m not a coin to be spent.

But a simple friendship. Just two people who enjoy talking to each other, who can share stories and meet in laughter, conspiring only for one another’s amusement.

When I chose to hide away, I was barely more than a girl. Vulnerable. Battered. Scattered. Utterly sick of what the world had to offer. So I hid in a cage, and I was content to do so. After the things I endured, I wanted it. I accepted the bars, embraced them, even - not to keep me in, but to keep others out.

I never misplaced my innocence. It wasn’t my own doing from a forgetful lack of care. It was taken from me, one cruel exploit at a time.

And I’m terrified that one wrong step will have me tipping right over the edge, headfirst into a fall that I can’t recover from.

But memory and time aren't friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap. They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other.

Are you a princess?” an older girl asks, but I smile and shake my head. “No. Are you?” The children all scoff together, trading looks. “You think princesses live in the shanties like street urchins?” I lower my hood and give her a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe hidden princesses do.

And that, that secret sob I let drain into my pillow, is an ugly truth. But it’s not one I’m ready to face yet.

The soft, hovering snowfall is gone, and in its place is a punishing surge, frozen rain sluicing down like spikes.

I’m an oddity, a commodity, a rumor. I’m the king’s favored. His prized saddle. The one he gold-touched and keeps in a cage at the top of his castle, my body bearing the mark of his ownership and favoritism. The gilded pet. I’m the darling of King Midas, ruler of Highbell and the Sixth Kingdom of Orea. People flock to see me just as much as they come to look upon his gleaming castle worth more than all the riches in the entire realm. I’m the gold-plated prisoner. But what a pretty prison it is.

My innocence was lost—that’s how some people would put it. But not me. I never misplaced my innocence. It wasn’t my own doing from a forgetful lack of care. It was taken from me, one cruel exploit at a time. I remember each piece of it as it broke away from me, until I was raw and bare, exposed to the harsh elements of the world with a chip gouged deep in my shoulder and a bitter taste always at the back of my tongue.

I keep waiting for rescue to come, for a dawn to bloom, for a star to hatch, for a hope to surface. But it doesn’t.