EARLY MORNING, ON ONE OF THE MANY BALCONIES, IN THE DAYS AFTER THE MASQUERADE, CATHERINE QUESTIONS SANTICARNO'S DESCENT INTO PURGATORY / OPEN
she should've stayed in bed, that much is true. half-dressed, used to the absence of warmth, catherine finds herself resting her sadness and body on the very edge of an ornate balustrade, as her brown, tired eyes, still heavy with sleep, seek the comfort that only daybreak can bring. here's the thing about women and the sun; one always needs the other. but here and now, enveloped in something red, the princess' lodestar loses all its charm, forcing her to widen her eyes.
she sighs and laughs, as if to empty herself from all the expectations that didn't reach the point of fruition. disappointment then, has her by the scruff of her neck, followed closely by the folly of all that's transpired in the days that stretch between them like a silken thread ready to snap. "is this all there is to it?" to life? or to the sun?
