the chains are broken,
but are you truly free?

he sun hung low in the lavender sky, round and full like an orange on a limber branch. Golden dots swam across Messa’s vision as she stared as long as she could at that sun, until at last she heaved a breath and closed her aching cerulean eyes. 

And fell backwards against a carpet of plush, green grass. Ivory curls fanned around her like a halo, and white lashes fluttered as she took in the sights and smells from a wholly new perspective. How surprisingly pleasant it was. A bumblebee hummed from flower to fragrant flower, and she watched as pollen fell in golden clumps from its fur. 

The sparrow-boned dancer was a nymph of flowers and curls, her braids awry and flowers askew. The change was so drastic, she hardly recognized herself. She wouldn’t be surprised if no one recognized her as she was, as unkept as the children who scampered like deer through the legs of the crowd.

“What am I doing?” she sighed, flipping onto her stomach to prop her chin upon her limbs. The sun was setting on the second day of the festival. The eve of the second day, and Messalina had yet to indulge in any of the festivities put on; yet to meet anyone she knew well enough to greet; yet to even speak to the flower-wreathed Regent, before he’d been claimed by one festival goer after the other. Instead, she’d wandered the venue like a wraith, floating from one booth to the next as she’d examined their wares with a polite smile, considered their offers with a graceful curtsy. 

It was exactly how she’d acted at Mother’s side, and she despised herself for it. Come fall, it will be a year since my departure. How has time flowed so fast? The blood-red rose, stark amongst the carnations, glowed like a ruby behind her ear. 

Where is Eros, I wonder? A dandelion twirled in the air as blue eyes scanned the distant crowd for a flash of ivory and gold. She had seen him for only a moment the day before, a hurried hello all she could spare before she’d dashed off to her performance. Had he seen it? Idly, she remembered the flowers he’d braided into his tail the first time they’d met — more than ever, she wished he were besides her so she could ask him to do the same to hers. 

Ivory and gold. Ivory and — gold. Eros! In an instant, Messa was up on her hooves in a swirl of leaves and petals, barely pausing to brush the grass from her mane before rushing from her tree towards his silken tail. A glass of sparkling drink trailed after him as he made his way delicately across the glade. 

Weaving through limbs like vines, she emerged breathless on the other side. “There you are, Eros.”