Writing Pilates

Miss Borka stared at the surrounding monks, eyes flitting from one to the next. Bosomella slowed her flight and let herself drift slowly down toward her mistress…her queen. Would the lady pledge her firstborn and take her place upon the throne? Or face the wrath of the floating monks and their mythical horrors. She had looked over their wall in defiance of their law, her life lay firmly in their hands whether she made the vow or no.

As the two minutes ticked past, miss Borka shut her eyes and leaned against the cart. Her brow was crumpled up in concentration and Bosomella could see her eyes moving back and forth beneath their lids. Bosomella lit softly on her shoulder and the lady’s eyes flew open. She held out her hand and Bosomella walked down her arm and sat in her palm, arms snugged up around her knees staring up into the face of her mistress.

Miss Borka raised her voice to address the monks, but her eyes never left the small fairy in her hand.

“No one likes to be caged. Moreover besides the refusal of your queenly offer I hereby pronounce my hold upon this fairy moot. For she has completed her task and honored me with her toil and heart these many long months. I will not die with her bound to another.”

“And so it has come.” The big monk rose to his full height, drew a crooked blade from his waist band and stood over Miss Borka meeting eyes with the crowd. “Your prince has refused his place, your queen has begged an execution, and no one has stood to take the weight of your crown. We shall rule you as it please us, only one thing remains. Then the monk shut his eyes and the whole of the valley was silent.

By breath and blood and blackened stone

Is there a breast where truth has grown

A beating heart where self has flown

A soul to come, it’s life disown

The monk laughed into the silence and knelt before Miss Borka. And since there is no one to redeem you…” He raised the blade and shrugged, as though some embarrassing social fopah had occurred and he were attempting to ease over the awkwardness with some inane jest. It was then that Bosomella zipped in front of his face and fluttered there in a tiny seething mass of fury that made even that great and terrible monk scoot backward to escape.

“I redeem her. My life I pledge to the floating monks. And therefore I and I alone take up the power to declare our queen free to live and reign and step away from the web you have set for her and all who would follow in her line.”

The monk snatched her up into his hand, staring and silent. He started to say something, but simply shook his head and flung the small fairy to the ground.

The other monks followed his lead, packing up their battering ram and loading swords into the cart along side it. Finally as the silent procession creaked past the puddle where Bosomella sat in stunned silence, their leader grumbled something audible.

“One cannot use a soul such as this. Twill not be molded and moved for fright or gain. You have saved her little fairy, for I daren’t touch you. You have saved them all.”

He yanked on the lead of the cart horse and slowly slowly the floating monks quit the castle and then the town, all the way back to the stone walls from whence they came.

And it was that very day that prince Andrej proposed and the wedding was held that night after ten maids whirled about tirelessly to beautify Miss Borka to perfection. Bosomella’s false limbs were retrieved from the palace dog and her mistress did indeed dance at her wedding, but everyone agreed that the prince would not have cared either way. He was thoroughly smitten for the interest that he had initially shown the lady had solidified into something of permanence as they had faced the terrible monks together.

And although she was free to fly when and where she chose, Bosomella stayed with the royal couple. For a good undergarment fairy is hard to find and a queen is always in need of a brazier to die for.

The End