It was the part of the old manor that I haven't really gone to (or maybe, it's just that I don't go there much often). Big long fluffy-looking yet dust-glittered curtains blanket over the large ebony windows; blocking the light from the outside and making the room lacking of the sun's generous light at the slightest. Back in my room, the same ebony windows used to be my escape too whenever the clouds would cry or Aunt Eliza won't let me out to play in the châteaux grounds (either I've done something that made her mad or she's just being plain wicked). I could hear the lulling sweet music playing from somewhere, somewhere surely outside of this room. Perhaps it's the Lady Bridgette, taking her afternoon round of piano lessons. I once asked Aunt Eliza if could take piano lessons too you know, but she said that I don't really need them. She pointed out that my fingers were too stiff, not graceful and lacked refinement to ever make good music. I knew in myself that I could make good music, (even better than the music Lady Bridgette is playing right now). I was just being honest, but still, the classical music Lady Bridgette's playing makes the ambience of the room even more gloomy and black and white.
So as I was standing in the room, being eaten by the darkness that was lurking, there she was, sitting on the cold hard concrete floor and leaning on the apple-green wall. She had long blonde sinuous hair with curls on the tip and fine bangs on the forehead to match. Round sapphire-like gems were engraved on her for sight and they never blinked or even changed focus all the time I was there. Her faded-scarlet lips were immaculately pouted. It seems to me that she is supposed to kiss someone (or something, like a frog, hoping that it would turn into a prince charming anytime soon). Pink tints stained and circled her cheeks like she was blushing all the time I was there yet it looked so natural to me. She had a virgin white dress on with puffed sleeves almost (but not) reaching her elbows. A blue satin sash was tied around her waist exposing her haute couture-worthy figure and forming a big bow of ribbon on her back.
She looked really sad to me with that crack on her left cheek. And I almost forgot that she was just a Victorian doll that time made into a rag. You could tell with just a mere look at her that she used to be so beautiful in her youth (back when she was newly purchased).
And I couldn't help but wonder if I would have the same twist of fate as hers someday, wasted and worthless. Somehow, I could see myself in her, like she's meant to be a reflection of me (or I'm meant to be a reflection of hers, perhaps?) Aunt Eliza just pulls me down. All I want is to wear lovely dresses and play good classical music from the piano for everyone (especially for that prince charming that I'm still waiting to turn up from the swamp and transform from being a frog.) From there on, there would be no more dreaming beside the pane of the ebony windows. And maybe, we would both ride his white horse and escape from the châteaux to finally live our h a p p i l y e v e r a f t e r at a castle far away. (OR MAYBE NOT)
Author's Note: For the frog-transforming-into-a-prince-thing, i was referencing to the fairytale entitled The Frog Prince. Its a story of a princess who kissed an ugly, disgusting frog who was actually a cursed prince destined to be human againif evera princess who loves him kisses him....