The Enchantress
The Enchantress
She moved like poetry, as every stance landed where it should be. Like a madman’s insanity, I fell in love and it became my virtue.
Look in the mirror, that holds her beauty soft, graceful… an ethereal presence.
“My god has reincarnated as her” her hands slowly ran through my hair, mapping every inch of my face.
“She’s divine, ” Syria sighed.
She’s all I want to be.
“Syria take your position. We are about to start the practice session”
Syria opened her eyes.
“Can I make her look? Can I really shine?” she asked to herself.
Can I really be the one who made her hold her breath?
The music started playing, as each bit of the tune started lingering on her skin, her hands started moving, swaying with the rhythm.
Do I look like her?
Sometimes the mirror answered yes.
She danced and danced. The music had stopped but it never did for her. She let her legs sway with the melody. All she could think of was that serenity.
The way she sings, the way she dances, the ways she talks.
Soon, even my gestures became like hers.
The echoes grew louder. Claps and champagne scattered across the floor. As she opened her eyes, she looked at the audience.
Everyone was in awe, but it still wasn’t enough. When the curtains covered the lights, she ran as fast as she could.
Desperately, hopelessly clinging to that sound. That melody of her voice is the only thing Syria desired. As she reached for the door she gripped the knob tight.
“What if she doesn’t like it? What if I made her despise me?” she whispered.
What if I’m not enough?
She took a step back.
The clouds covered the hues of summer. It was darker. The voices were louder than the rain thumping on the glass. The banging on the walls echoed in her mind, and finally she stepped forward.
She looked up, the one standing there was her devotion, her soul has rested at the feet of this enchantress.
The world is an abyss without her light…an empty void she fills with her smile.
Scattered in crimson, stained in blood, yet her eyes still carried enough hope to pull her from the chaos.The moment she enters her world, the noises faded into stardust.
She left the room. The door kept swinging. The wind roared as a whisper slowly escaped the storm,
“I will help you escape this world… I will embrace you with all the love I’ve got. The world is cruel. It pushes you far away from the shore. But I can save you.”
Syria’s eyes widened. She could feel the sweat sliding down her hands.
“Just let me in, Syria”
Syria steps backward, her heartbeat rushing as if this is something that would drive her to the very end.
“No one can see you the way I do…”
But… the thrill, the melody adamant to follow this uncertainty.
“She’s my dream. She shines like the diamonds, her hair falls perfectly as she sways with the wind. Rain slid from her lashes while she stood beneath the thunder.” Syria exclaimed. Drowning in the desire to become like her. A reflection she pursues, an end to this everlasting cold.
“Syria your play is about to begin ” the instructor called for her. She snapped out of her daze. Her legs followed the voice but her mind, was left where she met the celestial gaze.
She looked at the crowd, champagne in hands, covered in suits and coats, the gentlemen seated at the front talking about the world. The ladies laughing as the crowd erupts.
It doesn’t intrigue her. The shining glory, behind the doors are the blood tainted shackles, hiding their intent under the sinister smiles. It disgusted her.
As she was about to enter the hall, a voice filled the room. Shattering of glasses as the pieces shined under the lights. Each broken part reflected the beauty of the one she admires. For a moment, she wanted to press the broken glass into her skin, to let the divinity bleed into her essence. Someone shouted,
“What kind of service is this? They don’t even know ho- ” he caught Syria's glimpse. As his stare lingered for a little too long than it should. A sharp pain in her chest that quietly broke. Her legs trembled but she sternly held her composure.
He brushed his sleeves and started walking towards her.
“May I have the honour to know this beauty? ” he asked. He tried, as gentle as he could but, all Syria could feel was the lingering lust he brought with him.
Even his shadow reeked of greed.
She was about to open her mouth but her instructor interrupted.
“She is our lead performer” she exclaimed. The guy slowly nodded. He asked for her hand but Syria never wanted to hold anything that doesn’t belong to the only girl she desires.
“We have to go Sir, her performance is about to begin” the instructor took her at the backstage, to her room.
As the makeup artist started she thought to herself.
Will this be enough?
The tiny bristles of the brush tickled her skin, her lashes rising and falling like the waves.
She slowly opened her eyes and froze. “A silent beauty, hair like willow, decorated by crystal diamonds, the redness rested upon my cheeks, like the blood diffusing in the frozen lands.” she stared in the mirror for hours. “At last, I wore her like a second skin.”
I no longer knew whether I wanted her… or wanted to become her completely.
She couldn’t divert her eyes. How could she? The one sitting in front of her was the reflection that she had chased after for so long. A perfect illusion, to quench her thirst. To embody something that she devoted herself to.
“The next performer Syria…”
The curtains moved. She slowly opened her eyes, the crowd gasped in awe, cheers echoed through the hollow walls. The music started, a rhythm unknown. Her legs moved before she could think. The melody swayed her, drifting between the worlds, one after another, the shades of dark and light.
Then suddenly she felt a hand sliding on her skin, the reflection. The music grew louder. The enchantress has finally come, Syria couldn’t contain her delight. As the reflection slowly whispered in her ears,
“Shall we drown in this melancholy together?”
They danced and danced. The music kept swaying them around, as they held hands. One foot after another, then one step forward. She lost herself in this divine serenity.
The echoes of the claps grew louder. But the noises had long faded for Syria. She danced to her content.
“The shattered mirror…” she danced. “ the crooked smile…” she danced. “The wild gazes…” she danced. “the muffled cries…” she danced. “the silent screams…” she danced.
Dozens of hands started pulling her down, but the enchantress kept on swaying her around. As the rhythm allured them in the depths of Syria’s fears. The world drenched with all the lost hues.
Slowly the voices started getting louder. “Bear with it Syria. Bear with it…”
The broken glass. The shattered mirror. The huge mark. The silenced muffles.
“Syria… ” among the chaos, the enchanting voice was all she could hear
“Let me in…”
As she slowly engulfed Syria into her reality. The world of her dreams, she entered into her realm. As the boundaries bled away, she no longer felt the echoes, the shackles, the pain of those cut off feathers.
She could finally fly.
She hesitated for a moment. “What if it’s not what I want?” she thought. But the peace this reflection brought.
“Syria… never let her get you” her mother’s voice echoed. As she danced, all eyes were on her. Ethereal, is not enough to define that moment. The attention didn’t suffice to admire her presence.
She was riding the twists and turns of the rhythm as she embraced the enchantress. The room filled with applause.
“An insatiable hunger burned within the eyes of my admirers, to clutch me, to cage me in their asylum.” She took a deep breath as each light bestowed grace upon her. It clawed its way through the darkness, and in the end
She let herself be devoured by this reflection, aware of all the costs.
-Archita
