Masquerading in a Fool's Paradise

My beauty is like no other.

Skin crafted from the finest silk one has ever seen, with irises crafted of blue topaz, brimming with lust and fortune. Expensive jewels and pure gold embellishments complement my lavish flair; the exorbitant gems and burnished beads I am adorned with cause dull eyes to swell with crushing resentment. These long, dark tresses leave men at my feet, desperate to drag their fingers over a mere strand. To lay soft kisses on my exquisitely sharp jaw, overtop the smooth rose-colored flush. Many flock to the entrance, waiting impatiently to be let in to get a look at my graceful body alongside its feverish features. Countless statuesque bachelors invade my domain, plenty of homely wenches in tow, with their pocket-sized, foul-smelling spawns. Men crowd me, feasting with only eyes, incapable of looking down at their sleek screens. Instead, they stand there dazed by the pure sex appeal seeping out of me.

During this time, the hussies admire from a distance. I find it hysterical how their trollops stand back, overwhelmed by profound feelings of inferiority. Studying my perfect curves and dotting eyes with razor-sharp glares of unadulterated green. Every piece of arm candy submits, allowing themselves to be led around, secured to unseen leashes like the typical bitches they are. Youthful personalities are towed around without choice, smiling when they gaze up at me with those enormous eyes and drool-filled faces.

"Look at the pretty lady, mommy!" the young lad exclaims, his doe eyes gazing up, meeting my own, and turns to his distasteful female procreator. The small child compares my sublime looks to his favored fairytale princess.

Tell me something I do not know, brat.

During my snicker shared with my inner self, I whisked puffs of air onto my glowing skin, purposing my fan: a superb work-of-art, fashioned with intricate embroidered floral motifs, of rich reds and blues. The filth accompanying each one of my worshippers is enough to choke on. Each particle mercilessly smothers my pores; and I simply cannot afford to sustain a blemish! After hesitantly agreeing with the hellion, the floozy glances up at me and offers me a dull smile. The ache to have your husband eye you, as he does me, is written all over that mess you call a face.

The constant shutters from cameras ring out.

Bonjour, beau! Photograph me to your heart's desire, flaunt them to your confidants; there is enough of little ol' me to go around!

Witnessing my beauty is synonymic to being in the sight of our Lord and Savior himself. Besides, I have seen every single one of my chamberlains today, in their identical fashionable attire, educating illiterate simpletons that are still unaware of why I am so highly revered and was gifted this room, built with only the most divine materials, devoted to my ravishing self.

***

Time seems to elapse rapidly in this line of work; the flow of persons exiting my territory registers; feelings of desolation pour harshly down my back with the might of a frigid storm. The smile I don for all my patrons cracks in a gruesome display; pieces of my mask crumble and shatter, lying exploited on the ground. Purged of all remnants of luster, the space reanimates itself, and the terrifying shadows emerge, running rampant. My body viciously shivers as each chill carves into my spine with a serrated blade. What I have identified as paradise is ambushed by opponents who inhabit the underworld. The once bright and incredibly warm room is now an empty void where only the silhouettes of monsters and hellish beasts frolic manically.

My cage constructed of gold is not highly priced gold, I believe it to be worthless gold. The shackles that bind me to this isolated prison, where the sound of my labored breath produces earsplitting echoes, I beg, no plead for mercy. Shapes dance around me like I am nothing but a revolting circus act that they can cackle cruelly at. Then, devour my beauty and leave me naked, exposed to the bitter cold that claws at my entire body, tearing into my flesh relentlessly. Shadows continue to sway and whirl sinisterly around me; without warning, a hand plunged into the sea of darkness; my shackled flesh liberated from rusted fangs; a hypnotic veil of relief is cast over my presence.

***

Constant vibrations travel through my body at high speeds from all directions. Scratchy material covers my face, severing any connection with the light.

“I’m fifteen minutes out; he better be as reliable as you preach Griff. I risked my ass big time on this one, and I am not going back to prison for some greedy prick.” A booming male voice scolded whoever he was conversing with.

“There was a shit ton of crap I had to dodge for this job; security was so damn tight a damn dust bunny wasn’t bypassing it. Must be a very special lady if this joker was willing to compensate us so well.” Grating laughter erupts; I tremble as each wave of hysterics leaves me panic-stricken. His arbitrary behavior suggests this imbecile is cut from the same cloth as that smug fool, humbled by the cold so ineptly. Despite the frightening comparison, is this foul-mouthed lout conversing with himself?

***

I do not know how much time had elapsed before I realized the vibrations had come to a halt, shortly followed by a loud ruckus. Chilly air invaded the space, goosebumps spreading like a virus, coating my fair skin.

“Check her out, sir. Not a hair has been harmed on her pretty little head.” The same angry male voice grew closer.

My horror-stricken gaze lay bare to the natural light; after the piercing sensation of exposure ceased, a breath of chilled air immersed me in the present, enveloped under what I can only compare to a calm sea. The view was breathtaking despite being maliciously cut short by the two men, eyeing me up and down as if I were a slab of meat, a detestable pair.

“Such a fine specimen, I knew I needed her for myself from the first time I beheld this gem.” The older of the two men, with a questionable voice, replied.

“If you don’t mind me asking sir, why this one? I’ve been doing this for a long time and have never seen one with so much surveillance.” The foul-mouthed man asked while he ran a hand through his unsavory grease-slicked hair. “I am glad you asked my boy! She hails from mid-19th century France. There was once a time when European painters were heavily influenced by Japanese culture, ushering in an unparalleled art movement. The Alianora3 was a reflection of the time, devised by an unknown artist. Though history aside, the painting is sure to make my wife happy; she does love beautiful things, and the colors of her robes will stand out brilliantly above the mantle in the West Wing foyer in my mansion. Fellow investors of my business are sure to writhe in jealousy,” he explained, laughing obnoxiously with his self-serving forthcoming.

***

Infidelity, deception, mistreatment, concealment of hazardous emotions, swallowed tears, and counterfeit smiles are what I view every day. Up here on the wall, confined to my gold framed prison. No longer do men, women, and children come to visit me where I was previously perched; my only visitor is the solitude that will lie beside me forever. Now and again, I will find myself reminiscing about the children who compared me to a fairytale princess and the mothers who granted me a smile. At that very moment, I saw it as a mockery or a jest; now, I can only feel inferior and envious. As I lay in this bed, nestled up to my sins, they will experience the crisp air caressing their skin, receive light kisses from the sun, and watch their children grow into exceptionally handsome young men and strong ladies; goddesses, these mothers are.

Alianora, that is my given name. I am Alianora, the Forsaken Maiden of Vanity, painted in 1853 by an unknown French artist; nothing more than a depiction of the concept of beauty. 3Name of French Origin Meaning “Pity”.