enlighten me* -- a mediocre little thing by erica

I just decided I really have a lot to say on certain matters, but I have nowhere in particular to store these outrageous rants. Hope you find this witty (:

So this example is from a thread called Mind, Body, Soul. It's set in the times of princes and royalty, and magic. The basic plot is that these beautiful girls were trapped as porcelain dolls by a dark witch (wow, that sounds lame) and are passed down through the royal family as heirlooms. My character is the Prince of Paris, who has the French Maiden. His family is throwing a Gala Masquerade and so at the moment, he's preparing for it in the lazy way a prince does. At eleven at night, the dolls are animated into the girls they used to be and that's when the plot really unfolds.
Silas West-Laurent = Prince of Paris
French Maiden = doll
Charlotte = main house maiden
Unnamed male visitor (first address) = Prince of Spain, come for the Gala
Woman holding him (who frightens Silas) = Dark Witch
Alright, read on (:

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The life of a prince – what a thrill.

There wasn’t a minute the boy wasn’t grateful that he was born into royalty, but sometimes he merely felt that he was dealt a lucky hand by fate. Something about that just wasn’t fulfilling – it was a feeling akin to playing a game you knew you’d only win in the end. Was there really any point in putting forth any effort at all? No matter what he did, unless it was suicide or martyrdom, would result in a spot on the throne, full inheritance of the castle he hadn’t even yet explored the whole of, and a beautiful queen at his side. Would he go through no trials or tribulations to get there?

Oh, pray, he’d never sacrifice the ease of his own life for one filled with the thrills of danger! May the gods not misinterpret his convoluted sense of thinking for the ungratefulness that could easily become a discrepancy to anyone else. As his eyes cast around his room – so elegantly decorated, he let himself redirect his thoughts to a more frequently thought wonder: was it his mother who decorated this room, or the ancestors before them? Although his mind always fell upon the subject when he was alone, he could never seem to remember when around his mother – but, then again, as gentle as she may have been with his curiosity, to ask about something he could have (should have) asked as a child would be entirely foolish.

The lovely sounds of Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and Second Movement filled his room, as he was a great fan of music, as it was. He would, most times, find himself seated still on his bed; boredom never caressed him when the sounds of his classical music were able to entrance him. Adjacent to his seat on the bedside table was a curious little doll of the most beautiful porcelain. He always made sure it sat upright and never fell to the floor, for he was told it was a great family heirloom and, silly as it may be, he was haunted by his childhood fancy of toys coming to life when they weren’t under great speculation. The last thing he would want if his dear, French maiden were animated would be for her to plot a deceitful task of murder against him.

He raised his hand to her little head, letting his fingers touch the synthetic fibres of what would be her hair, in unscented and thick curls. He could always marvel and appreciate the handicrafts that went into such a fine piece of art. The glassy eyes, although unnerving as they might have been to other people, were absolutely haunting – in the way of purity and elegance. He could only dream of being able to produce something so perfect – not a crack of a flaw tainted her porcelain – but, sadly, being born into royalty did not mean, at all, that he was talented in any useful way. Anything he could do, he was taught to do. At a young age, he was taught the art of dance (simple waltzes and trots, such was necessary for any heir, of course) and even given vocal lessons that defined the voice he had today. Aristocrats and teachers made their way in and out of his life, but he had a creeping feeling that if it weren’t for the power of his family, he would be positively useless. Were dance and song not to be the expressions of the soul in truest form? What a sin it was to reproduce one’s own gift to benefit a future king...

The tall clock in his room chimed with the hour and he was caught with a start. Getting up, he glanced at the face and hands, distinguishing for himself what time it was (to cancel out the sleepy timelessness of such a simple day it had been, lounging about his bedroom and trying to find amusement in the average castle activities) and then made his way to peer out of the bedroom window. The sun was already setting fast along the horizon, painting Versailles in a magnificent, beautiful twilight glow. Very soon, the lanterns would be turned on as it would become evening. Seven in the night, it was, and only an hour would there be until he would be seeing his guests.

However, from where he stood by the tall glass, the only surface separating him from the chill of the outdoors, he could see a carriage with a young woman and man descending. Surely, this was one of the princes to make his acquaintance tonight for his arrival was met by Charlotte, a familiar face Silas had come to know, and then another woman, who the young man couldn’t even begin to recognize. Though he may have seen her before, the anxiety and excitement (prove they not to be the same thing) was beginning to rise in him and he could not wait for the masquerade. The Prince of Paris had plenty of good company among the servants, albeit he always had a fancy for new faces. In his eyes, the more was always the merrier.

A feeling of discomfort suddenly dawned upon him as he realized he had spent the entire day waiting for this moment, cooped up in his room with naught else to do. In a bit of whimsy, his excitement allowed him to waltz his way over to the bedside table and even speak to the little doll. ”Ma cherie, il y a la grande soiree tres bientot,” he began, smiling more to himself than to the little figurine. The smile dropped as he allowed his fingers to brush over the porcelain face and arms. ”Malheureusement, je vais paraitre comme un fou si je vous accompagner tout la nuit,” His French was clear and sweet, despite the fact he was speaking to an object so inanimate. He often had dreams of himself falling in love with such a gorgeous maiden, and sometimes he liked to think that if the doll would ever become human, there would be no doubt that he would fall in love with her, for she heard often the ramblings and secret thoughts he had, as she sat there in his room. ”I hope you can pardon my ways at this time, cher,” Another smile tugged at his face and he turned to his closet to pick out the attire he would wear for the dinner, and of course to greet the guests as they arrived.

Dressing was so simple for men: formal occasions meant a dress shirt, a vest, tie and jacket, as well as trousers. Women, naturally, had to own numerous gowns and jewels, which he learned, so accustomed to his mother’s style. He gave himself a quick brush-up in the mirror before whisking himself out of the room, down the hall and down the great stairs. He greeted people with nods and smiles before stepping out into the chill evening, where the prince stood; one of the ladies he had seen from the window had already gone. He turned to the beautiful blonde girl with a warm smile. ”Merci pour tout de votre effort, Charlotte. Vous etes une merveille, comme toujours,” Silas then turned to the prince and bowed. ”Bonjour, I am Silas Julian West-Laurent; so glad to make your acquaintance,” Now that he was closer up, he could identify the woman who held the prince’s arm. She was beautiful and he did see her often, but never did they speak for something about her frightened him. Perhaps it was her eyes, so full of such knowledge of things he would not want to know; or maybe it was the coy way her lips turned up into a haughty smirk, like the cat’s tail sways before it pounces upon a prey.”Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” he bowed to her as well, though he fought to keep his hesitance off of his face. With a breath, he took a step back and gestured to them. ”Please, let us not remain out in this cold.”

TRANSLATIONS:
1) My dear, there is the grand gala tonight.
2) Unfortunately, I would appear a fool to accompany you all night.
3) Thank you for your effort, Charlotte. You are a marvel, as always.