Pandora's Box

Chapter 6: Part I

Pandora sat at her vanity, alone and hardly aware of the world outside of her bedchamber, staring blankly into the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess of scarlet knots draping past her shoulders, and the stain of unwashed tears lined her cheeks beneath her heavy eyes. The pitiless reflection offered little in the way of comfort, staring back flatly as though it had better, happier places to be.

Sheets of warm rain had battered the kingdom for three days following Drake's death. When the sun finally plucked up its courage and peeked through the sullen twists of storm clouds, pale light dappled the land. Pandora had spent the gut wrenching hours by her father's side, leaving only long enough for the clerics to see to the preservation of Drake's body.

A numbness, cold and empty, had settled over Pandora. The growing void in her chest swallowed more of Drake's memory with each passing hour. His gravelly laugh. Eyes that brimmed of pride when Pandora had won her fencing title. The foolish time they had attempted baking a cake for Adella's birthday celebration. The arrogance of youth had convinced her that those memories had been indelibly etched into her mind. Now, a gray screen had fallen over those moments.

The familiar, even voice of her body servant followed a knock at Pandora's door. "Princess? Princess Pandora? It's nearly time. Do you need help dressing?"

Pandora said nothing and moved less. There was only the mirror and its frigid reflection of the world behind her. Everything had changed in the last three days; an entire world tossed into the air and dropped upon its head, pieces scattered about the wind like a child tossing a handful of leaves. Her father was gone. Lying cold in a box of white oak.

Taken...

The knock came again, this time followed by the sound of door's latch being opened. Pandora snapped from her trance. Her throat felt full of sand and her voice still came raspy from three days of crying. And screaming fits.

"I am fine. Remain outside as commanded."

There was a pause, and Pandora thought she heard the faint sound of whispers being exchanged.

"As you wish, princess. It's just... well. Your mother has asked that we look in on you, seeings the resting ceremony is but a few hours away." The voice sounded unsure, but carried a note of genuine concern through the door. "If you need help fixing up..."

Pandora's throat now burned like she had swallowed broken glass. "I said I am fine." She heard footsteps scurry away from the door. She stood from her vanity and surveyed the wreckage of her suite. Most of the furniture had been obliterated or lay still smoldering. Tattered brocade draperies covered the room in rippled shadow and torn pages danced on the breezes as they came. The floor was carpeted in the colorful shreds of her wardrobe.

Fixing things would take more than the assistance of some peasant body servant.

Pandora all but dragged her exhausted limbs before the only piece of furniture yet standing in the calamity-stricken room: an ornate armoire. The gilded edges of the antique glinted in an errant ray of sunshine. The princess raised an arm to shield against the glare's sudden intrusion. She pulled the heavy doors open with a heave and sought her only surviving garment.

A sweeping black frock whose back was a lattice work of indigo silk.

The princess with the broken heart cinched a delicate blackened veil in place, obscuring her face beneath the eyes. When she snapped her fingers a blast of wind surged from the floor, dressing her hair into a intricate bundle of crimson waves that fell to her bare shoulders. Pandora stared at her reflection in the vanity, all too aware of the mountain of false smiles and phony expressions of sympathy awaiting.

She suddenly wished she was anywhere else in Creation.