Culture Shock (LGBT)

Walks Like Rihanna

"Have you seen that girl, have you seen her

She's the freakiest thing, you gotta need her

You do whatever it takes to get her by your side, woah

It's not the way she smiles, with her little laugh

It's not the way she looks in a photograph

But all the boys they crowd around

She can't sing, she can't dance but who cares

She walks like Rihanna

She can't sing, she can't dance but who cares

She walks like Rihanna"

Snow White's POV

"No, I do not. And, Lady Catherine, are you positive Satan has not infiltrated your body and you are in need of an exorcism?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure."

"So, now that you have explained the who, why are you here?"

But before she could explain, melodious peals echoed throughout Ravenwood Estate's mighty halls signaling the stroke of midnight and the end of the evening. "I must apologize, my lady, but the hour is late and time is short. I must be retiring to my chamber. Are we to speak again on the morrow?"

"Of course, dear Snow," the lady confirmed as she stood, gently smoothing the creases from her skirts. "Time is indeed short. I shall be waiting for your word."

Just as I was turning to leave, her hand shot out and claimed my arm in a vice-like grip. "And Snow, call me Black Cat." But before I could come up with a dignified answer to that, Lady Catherine Black of Sydney, Australia had already disappeared the exact same way she entered my life, in a flash of gold. Little did I know that back then that the strange woman from the future would change me in ways I could never have imagined...

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The seconds tick quietly away as the early morning hours stretch out out before me like the blue-velvet sky. The frigid January wind could be heard howling through the eves of the West Gate. Silken flakes have been raining Earthward from the heavens since Yuletide some three weeks ago, blanketing the Carpathian Mountains in sparkling white. Icicles like quartz columns glistening by silver starlight. Crimson heat permeating the air from the near-dead hearth embers. But this was just the beginning of another long and sleepless night.

As I sat underneath the star-spangled sky staring up at the dazzling diamonds of the dark, I pondered once again the significance of yesteryear. Where have the days gone when another man's rage did not threaten the survival of our youth? When the rivers ran clear and not red with the blood of our fellow men?

The resentment and jealousy of centuries had come to a head not long ago in the form of what the English call the Holy Wars. In reality they just want what they can't have. What made the Christian way the only way that could matter? What made the Jews and Muslims inferior to our way of thinking? Why must people from all over the Modern World be forced into slavery for the sake of another man's greed?

But, sadly, most agreed to fight in this great massacre as a reprieve for the sins of their ancestors. Why must the son atone for the mistakes of the father? Who is the king or Pope to decide what will and will not grant redemption? How can man judge the divine?

And soon it shall become my battle as well. My father will be leaving soon after his wedding to join in the fray and I must go as well after my coronation, which, as it is, will be in less than two year's time on the eve of my eighteenth name day.

But, aside form our ever-frightening present, a certain golden-haired lady consumed my thoughts. With her insisting to be from the future, most would call the guard to have her committed or worse, burned at the stake for witchcraft. But for reasons that eluded me, I was beginning to believe her.

She was certainly different than anyone I had ever met or even more fanciful than a tale the roving troubadours could weave. Maybe it was because a priest once told me that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. At least she was right about one thing; time was indeed running out.

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My bondservant, Theodore, came early this morn per my request. HIs skilled hands, worn rough from the fabric he so adored, quickly selected an icy blue ensemble for the day to "match His Highness' eyes" as he put it. I was then dressed in the many tailored layers of clothing and attended to by his numerous assistants as the sun slowly crested the horizon, signaling to all the start of a new day.

After they were finished making me presentable, I managed to make my way to the dining hall relatively unseen. It was a rare blessing indeed and I savored my miniscule freedom while it lasted. Passing dignitaries dress spectacularly in the most fashionable attire did little more than nod in my general direction.

Over all the last few hours had been quite liberating; without the throngs of people fighting for my attention it was almost pleasant. But even with the constant vigilance, I know I have it better than most. Of course I do, I am a member of one of the most powerful monarchies in eastern Europe. I know I take all of the splendor involved for granted but frankly all of it means absolutely nothing to me.

While others are basking in their wealth and flaunting their possessions for all of today's society to admire, I envy them not. As the Crown Prince, I should be among their number but I cannot bring myself to care. The nobles call me eccentric and my father has all but disowned me but I won't claim to be anyone or anything that I am not. If they wish to argue with the order of succession then I would gladly step down for couldn't the lowliest of peasants rule more efficiently than I?

I broke my fast without even tasting the scrumptious meal and decided to make my way out to the garden for an early morning stroll. Bundled in a mink-lined winter cloak, I exited the warmth of the Great Hall and began the long and frigid trek. As expected the rose conservatory was breath-taking. Brought to us from far away places such as the Orient, the greenhouse was a godsend to a tundra as our homeland. With such a rival as the hanging gardens of Babylon it really was the least we could do to compete.

Even in the clutches of a blizzard, which are precisely the conditions of the year, these exotic blooms do not as much as wilt behind their confining glass. It is a wonder indeed to see their crimsons and vermilions when the remainder of our world is white. They lent their floral perfume to our often lacking air.

But as I slowly crept inside and dusted the powder from my cowl, it was quickly made apparent that the conservatory was not quite as vacant as it originally seemed. In the far corner, darkened by a dilapidated arbor, moans and the occasional grunt could be heard. But these were no sounds of pain, of that I was sure. As I glided noiselessly closer, more and more of the scene unfolded to my virgin eyes. Two sweat-slicked, unclothed bodies took shape in the light of the rising sun. And as it so happened, one was most definitely the golden-haired goddess from the night before, the mysterious Black Cat.