who are now resting in their chambers, for tonight is not their night. I am just one of them who take turns in gracing your bed. I shut my eyes tightly, trying not to imagine you and Eva on the pristine white sheets as you made her scream like I overheard her say you did the first day I came here. I try not to see you and Claire make sweet music on your piano, reaching notes I can only make up in my head. All the stories I've heard, and marks I've seen, I am the only one with nothing to share, nothing to show. Except for that first day. The pain of that truth must have shown in my face as you suddenly grasped my hand and said, "Are you feeling ill, princess?" I opened my eyes and looked at the piano, away from you. "I am fine, prince. You have nothing to worry about."
"Why don't you sit for a while?" you asked and I nodded my head yes. You held me as we slowly made our way to your piano, my skin feeling electric where it touched yours. When we were finally there, I turned to face you and you put your arms around my waist and sat me on top of your favorite instrument. You then sat on the bench and played a few notes, something I haven't heard before. It sounded sweet and lovely while being a bit melancholy at the same time. You smiled up at me as you play, as sweet as the music you were playing. "That is lovely," I whisper, afraid to break the beauty of the melody, "who's is it, now?" I casually ask, for you always introduce me to different artists when we meet. You look me in the eye as the notes become faster, more urgent, still sweet yet obviously painful. "Mine," you simply say.
My breath caught in a gasp as you said those words. "Yours," I uttered softly. You rose from the bench and swiftly went to me, trapping me in your arms as you lay your head on my chest, my head on yours. "Princess, what do you wish for on your birthday?" The question echoed in my head. I already knew the answer but with it comes more questions. "I know that it is your eighteenth, your first with our family, with me. I know that you'll want something special." Yes, prince, something as special as you.
You pulled away from me and I looked at your face, wondering about what would happen if I voiced out my questions.
"Why don't you sit for a while?" you asked and I nodded my head yes. You held me as we slowly made our way to your piano, my skin feeling electric where it touched yours. When we were finally there, I turned to face you and you put your arms around my waist and sat me on top of your favorite instrument. You then sat on the bench and played a few notes, something I haven't heard before. It sounded sweet and lovely while being a bit melancholy at the same time. You smiled up at me as you play, as sweet as the music you were playing. "That is lovely," I whisper, afraid to break the beauty of the melody, "who's is it, now?" I casually ask, for you always introduce me to different artists when we meet. You look me in the eye as the notes become faster, more urgent, still sweet yet obviously painful. "Mine," you simply say.
My breath caught in a gasp as you said those words. "Yours," I uttered softly. You rose from the bench and swiftly went to me, trapping me in your arms as you lay your head on my chest, my head on yours. "Princess, what do you wish for on your birthday?" The question echoed in my head. I already knew the answer but with it comes more questions. "I know that it is your eighteenth, your first with our family, with me. I know that you'll want something special." Yes, prince, something as special as you.
You pulled away from me and I looked at your face, wondering about what would happen if I voiced out my questions.
