For The Wench
Previous - this entry written on September 29, 2001 at 2:17 am - Next


*her voice echoed off the tiles, seeming to take on the warmth of the amber and spring-green slabs of marble, the sweet, pure white, even the few delicate chips of onyx scattered through the mix that covered the bathroom walls... it was soothing, that voice, mixed with the scent of lilac and lavender, rich honey-colored liquids poured carefully from unlabeled vials, soaps and oils and lotions galore, enough to stock a perfumery for a month and all of it scattered carelessly about, her quick hands sorting through the bottles as she spoke*

They say... oh, gods, no, I've no idea who they are, only that it's always they... they say that each person's life is a skein of wool, some of them spun coarsely, some spun fine. That the lengths are joined into a beautiful tapestry, parts of it stitched and restitched, other parts falling effortlessly into place, threads crossing, knotting, weaving together into a seamless whole. I don't know if I believe that idea, but it's a pretty image... and it seems to me that perhaps some threads would be stronger than others, would stand out. That some threads would become more than just a gaudy decoration.

*she lifts a small etched-glass urn, its contents a translucent blue, some satin liquid with rose petals and bits of bee wing suspended in it*

If that's true, if there are some threads that form more than just a flash of color here and there, I think those threads would not be... not glittery, exactly. Not the brilliant accent of a drop of blood here, a blue eye there... but the steady, solid underlying fabric that the pattern is formed around, the rich blue of the sky, the soft green of distant hills, the delicate flesh tones of skin and fresh-picked peaches.

*the bottle is handed to the girl who sits on the edge of the huge sunken tub, opened, its contents releasing the scent of summer mornings and lazy dew-drenched breakfasts eaten out-of-doors*

That's why the name suits you, you know. Not because it's gaudy or glitzy... not because YOU are gaudy and glitzy, although goddess knows you're enough of a distraction at times that you might as well be, pet. No, it suits you because under all the sparkles and whirlings that life sees fit to drown you in, you've got a solid core... something beautiful, something REAL. Something that matters.

*she chuckles, swirling her fingers through the liquid in the urn, catching up one tiny bee wing on the tip of her pinky and pressing it to the nose of the girl she addresses, leaving it there like a speck of glitter*

You can decorate and disguise quality all you like... but it lends its nature to everything it touches, bettering the world for its existance. Just as those threads that form the strongest part of the fabric, the most essential, are of necessity the best quality, so too are you woven of the finest things: honor, loyalty, love, affection, truth, trust, faithfulness, care, and friendship. You're quality work, girl... the Weaver did His job well when He created you.

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