To Sleep for a Thousand Years

I've been sleeping for a thousand years it seems. A shadow of myself, left to wait. And wait. Until all hope was faded, and I woke. Longing for the true sleep of death.

I am a fool.

My fluttering eyelids brought no response. My stirring hands prompted no hushed silence or ecstatic cries. I woke alone, the way I had always feared. Alone and trapped.

I thought the room was frozen, but it was my leaden soul. My eyes stayed dry. I had forgotten how to cry it seems. I waited for one of my women, or one of my ever loyal vassals to rush to my side and pull me from my marble bier. The flowers that had once adorned my cold resting place had grown up in a tangled vine. Swamped my sleeping form. Until upon awakening, I was trapped, my hands restrained with ivory blooms.

I wanted deep purple blooms to adorn my bier. And a dress of velvet to match. I envisioned myself as I lay, pale skin warmed by my dark robes, flowers flecking my rolling curls. My lady said no, it would be white. I would be a snow princess waiting to unlock the suffering world from a land of cold ice.

I said no, not white, I am no fair lady. Plus, it doesn't suit me.

Someone said black, to show my pain at the worlds suffering. My lady said white or I would lie bare, until my skin paled to the shade of the marble beneath me. White it was.

I flexed my fingers until the flowers rolled away from my arms. I tried to use my power to slide them off me, but what once was a deep well had run dry and I could find nothing.

To be alone, in this empty hall of waiting, filled me with dread.

I wasn't supposed to be alone when I awoke. There should have been ten of my trusted women veiled, and weeping if they could. Knights raising their swords and swearing vows of fealty to me. And by my head he should have stood. Returned at last to free us. Still a youth, to be trained, prepared for his task. Trained by me.

The candles that should have been lit every eve are no more than stubs of greying wax on the ground. They should have cast orbs of soft light on my sleeping form. Given me a serenity. My lady wanted candles all day long, and the room in darkness. But it would be too much cost, and the room would be stuffy and dampening, not free and patient. I didn't care to speak truly, I spent my last waking hours gathering my books and tools to be ready when I woke.

My lady spent the last days making sure my sleep would be magnificent. Awe inspiring. The nation would hear tales of my induced sleep, my sacrifice so that I was here when he came, and we could be unlocked.

Plans, so many plans. A stream was going to be directed so it ran through the hall, wound round the bier and cascaded down a waterfall into a gentle pool. I would sleep on a stage, the stone floor gentled with layers of sweet grass and white flowers. Steep steps would curl down to the grand doors, which would always be open, showing the mountains outside.

I would wake, see the snow painted mountains and know my time had come. Our time had come.

The flowers around my hands have loosened. I can flex my fingers, feel long unused skin uncurl. I shrug my shoulders and sit slowly. The vines scream as they tear away from me, but I no longer care. I must escape. I must get away from this place.

How did this happen? How did I wake so alone. I would cry at my abandonment, but I've forgotten how to cry.

I must find someone, find why I have been forgotten. My lady will be here somewhere, organizing the blooms for another party she is holding, another frivolous waste in this hour of need.

My dress flows down the steps behind me. Ivory silk. Over gown of heavy velvet, gathered at the waist, embroidered in silver silk. A veil of fine lace thrown back to show my face and hair. It took blind nuns three years to make, to complete the painstaking detail on it. It seems yellowed. Faded. I wondered what the point would be at such a gown. I would appreciate it more if I was awake to wear it. My lady insisted. For courage for the people.

I argued. She overruled me.

Some things never change. Like sisters. The elder sister will always command. The younger will follow, bitter, seething. Until that day when she realises her older, respected sister depends completely on her. Revelation.

It was a glorious day.

These steps are steeper than I remembered. I was supposed to serenely descend, escorted by the figures who waited so long for my awakening. I would be preceded by only one, the one who I had waited so long for. I was never supposed to stumble down them, half blind from grief.

The proud oaks that guarded the pool have faded and slept too. They have lost so much stature. I was supposed to lean gratefully on them, and place a trembling hand on their roots and whisper how glad I was to awake, finally.

But they are dead and rotting and I am afraid to go near them. I would cry at their death, but I have forgotten how to cry.

That was when I saw her. Lying so softly at the roots of the oak, hands thrown to her face. My betrayel died in my throat. She had slept as I slept and now I would wake her too. I ran to her side and rolled her over, crying out in my joy. When I saw her face I recoiled. I scrambled away across the floor, hating myself for my repulsion. Only then did I see the arrow in her throat.

Black feathers. Black arrow.

I looked around then and saw the hall with fresh eyes. The silence in the hall was not neglect, it was something else, something colder. I could almost see them. Black robed soldiers, boots silent on the soft grass, swords deafening as they drew them in one fluid movement.

They had found us, found our stronghold, as they always said they would.

The bodies in one pile, and the poor severed heads in another. I saw the ivory gowns of my ten women, and the ivory tunics of my vassal knights. They were all here, like they should have been. And, he was here too, swinging softly above the door. A scrawled sign hung around his bloated neck. 'The chosen one'.

He came then.

I walked away then. I couldn't look anymore. I climbed back up the steep curling stairs and nestled among the flowers in my bier.

My cheeks felt damp. And I wished I could sleep again.