VIRTUE

In the day I bend to my work. Sometimes raking the fallen leaves that scatter across the gold-green meadows that border the forest. Sometimes painting the white washed, wooden fences of the great estate. There are many chores to do in such a fine place as this. I work and watch every day as the maidens come forth, in their exquisite gowns with their tiaras of platinum and gold sitting atop their carefully coiffured tresses, to play with the Unicorns.

The great, rainbow-colored beasts kneel and touch their chalk-white horns to the green grass in tribute to the roses of virtue and virginity that are the maidens. The maids shyly, slyly, glance at each other from beneath lowered lashes and pet the shining horns knowing that only the purest of the pure may touch a Unicorn’s horn. Then, in the long, late afternoon shadows, they troop back into the castle.

They never look at me, of course. I am merely the hired girl of the estate. Plain and possessed of only the simplest garments of homespun wool and cheapest cotton. With rough hands and smelling of sweat, I am less than nothing in their eyes.

But, when the dark comes and the moon rises to sail the depths of the sky, the forests rustle softly and the great beasts come to me. Their quiet nickering and the scent of their lust surrounds me as I lie down and open to them and am transported to the place where only they can take me.

Sometimes, not often, I look at the sleeping castle, think of the maids within and laugh.

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