The Balcony
Today, the world beyond her balcony is a vibrant forest flooded with sunlight and birdsong. It is a stark contrast to the cold wasteland of yesterday. In that world there was nothing but white and grey and pale blue reaching as far as the eye could see. There, the frost bit her nose and cheeks. It gnawed on any exposed flesh it could find and burrowed bone deep until she was numb with cold. She did not linger for long.
The world below her now cannot be more different. A verdant canopy stretches on for miles – all the way to the bluey-green haze of the horizon. The treetops sway in the breeze, great boughs bending towards one another to spread their constant whisperings. Their trunks are cloaked in rich moss and delicate ivy. Bright birds with golden feathers flit between their branches and hop amongst their roots.
She gathers her skirts and loops them over the crook of her elbow, then mounts the balcony’s marble top. A breeze whips about her legs and raises goosebumps on her arms. When she steps off, the wind steadies underfoot and lowers her down gently until her bare feet touch the soft ground. She curls her toes into the grass and the dirt. Light from two suns warms her face and shoulders.
A narrow trail of beaten grass leads into the forest, left by the regular passing of the deer who rule this world. Always have deer been wiser than the mortals of most worlds, and so she lets her skirts fall from her arm and follows their path, allowing the long hem to drift behind in the dew.
The undergrowth is thick along the trail, but here and there, mushrooms litter the forest floor and huddle together between the roots of trees. Their inky blues and bright reds are welcome splashes of colour in the otherwise endless hues of green and brown. Little doors adorn their pale stems. If she had more time, she might have paused to tap upon a door or two and ask for the gift of wisdom from whoever dwelt within.
The world flickers around her as she walks – memories of all the thousand other worlds she has walked that pass in flashes of colour and sound. There is sand between her toes and waves lap against a long-forgotten shore to soak her feet. She dusts snow from her shoulders. A whale breaches the surface of the canopy overhead. It dives slowly, its heavy body parting trees like a deer parts grass, and vanishes into the depths of the mulch beneath her feet. She hears the echo of its song in the whispers of the trees.
Always the forest remains the dominant world. It rules her today but come tomorrow it will be gone.
The trees begin to grow sparser. The trail leads into a small clearing, a carpet of wildflowers and a swathe of lush grass unbroken except for a large rock at the very centre. A gleaming sword protrudes from its mossy surface. The glint of the exposed blade is almost blinding.
She pauses in the shadow of a tree, not quite willing to step out into the sunlight just yet. Though the glade is devoid of life, she still sees the shadow of an antlered being stretching towards her from the boulder. She watches, fingers touched to the golden choker about her neck, as the creature reaches out a hand and pulls the shadow of the sword from its dark rock. The weapon itself has not moved, but she understands.
The day’s challenge is simple. Draw the sword from solid rock, and she will be free. An age has passed since the curse keeping her soul tethered to the balcony was first spoken, and she has long forgotten why she sacrificed herself to this fate, but she has not forgotten how it felt to lead her own life.
The shadowy figure fades into sunlight and the chain around her neck suddenly feels tighter than before. It is time.
She crosses the meadow and climbs up the rock, ignoring the green stains the moss leaves on her palms and her gown. She wraps both hands around the hilt. The gold threading of the grip is cold against her skin.
Failure is an old friend and a bitter foe she has no desire to meet again. She tightens her grip, plants her feet upon the rock, and takes a deep breath.
The attempt is made. Once. Twice. The sword remains, as expected, within the rock. Held firm. She tries again and again even as the sweat is pours from her brow. The two suns cross paths with one another and begin their slow descent. Only when their brilliant light begins to fade does she release the blade and slip from the rock with palms red raw.
The golden chain bites into her neck. The tears will not come; her fatigue is too deep to allow for weeping. Both forest and sword will soon be gone. Already the trees around her have lost their shape, their once-solid trunks now blurring together. The grass beneath her head turns to stone and she closes her eyes so that she does not have to see the balcony re-appearing around her like she never left.
It will not be long before she loses the last pieces of herself to her curse.