Her marmalade skin and raspberry bones disguised the monster beneath.
Too big, too faithless, too gnarly, scattered and blind, was the ever mercurial mad hatter of she.
Though, beneath her fragile-faced bone was a concretion formed long ago. And even now it carries the burden of her daunting lusus naturae like a porcelain doll.
…. and she remembered, “No one but I can carry me.”
Yet, she felt the eye of an exiled king, a burning wanderer without his crown, and in it she saw his storm. A dust devil of dreams whirling to and fro, searching for his land of legend. The one foretold by the man he used to be.
Through his eye, she saw the world within his concertina, bare skin at the masquerade ball, a rider far beyond the wayworn trails, their two worlds dancing beneath a shared sky.
She watched him on his quest from her cave beneath a rock, taking still-frames to patch a collage of leathered truth. She stood back then and admired her work from afar, seeing a vision of esprit that melted into her lungs with breath of fire.
A map. A compass rose. An X to mark the spot of the king’s lost land.
The path was narrow; she must walk alone.
She knew not if the moat teemed vicious, knew not if the drawbridge was closed, knew not if the king had a map of his own, crown of stone, empty throne, whether he be guarded or stood in his armor alone.
But she was brave, her bones stronger for the monster that built them, the road brighter for la magie de la vie. And though so many thinks writhed athirst to be thought, and dances trembled hot to be learned,
She knew the way held but one abreast.
She knew she must walk alone.
Trifecta Week Forty-Four- blind:
3.) A: having no regard to rational discrimination, guidance, or restriction <blind choice> B:Lacking a directing or controlling consciousness <blindchance> C: Drunk