———

I am kneeling in front of the Lady. And, for the first time in my life, I am glad that my stomach is empty. Because if it wasn't, I don't know if I could keep myself from throwing up. Though I make sure to not let her know that. I have to act as if I'm honoured. Act as if I'm honoured. Act as if I'm amazingly honoured to be in her magnificent and awe-striking presence. I have to make her believe it. 

And she does believe it. I truly believe that she believes me as she looks down her nose and unfolds her lips out into a haughty, satisfied smile. She looks as carefree and supercilious as she always does. She looks as calm and as serious. There is nothing in her face that warns of disapproval. And I internally sigh with relief, just a tiny bit. It seems that, so far, I am pleasing her. It seems that, so far, I am doing good. Let's just hope I can keep it up. 

She waves her clean, dainty, ivory hand, a motion through the air that is much too smooth to be natural. And the world around me goes white. I cannot see my people out of the corner of my eye anymore. I am cut off, alone. No-one can help me now. The fear in my heart spikes sharp, stabbing through me. But I make sure that I keep kneeling there, I keep kneeling there, through all the terror I keep kneeling there and not showing any signs of my inner longings. But I want my people. I want them to at least be beside me. 

The whiteness all around me glows brighter and brighter, until it is absolutely blinding to look at. I keep my eyes open, though the light is searing my eyes. And I keep my head slightly bowed though my head is throbbing in sharp pain. The light seems to be cutting through my soul, through the very fabric of myself. Yet still, I fight with everything that I have in order to not react. 

Finally, the light dies down, and I find myself in the strangest place I have ever been in.

It's a large room, larger than I knew rooms could ever be, positively palatial. The floors are patterned in many colourful tiles, little flecks of darker colour dispersed through their light hues. The tiles are arranged in intricate patterns. The walls are covered in large paintings and fine tapestries everywhere I turn, except for the windows which are crystal clear and look out into an immaculately blooming garden. There are fine statues of heroic figures and regal animals, positioned stylishly around the room. And all the walls are lined with large tables of dark, rich, intricately-carved wood. There is a silver fountain in the middle of the room and the ceiling is a mirror. Beside the fountain is a small, sleek crystal table with chairs made of blue gems. In the middle is a China tea set. 

I take it all in but I force myself not to react, even to all the strangeness. This room does not do anything to calm my nerves. In fact, it makes me even more anxious that before. Because not only am I alone. Not only am I carrying the burden of my entire town. But also, I am in a place I don't recognize at all, as beautiful as it is. I am in a place that I can tell is not for me. 

"You may rise." The Lady's voice holds no affection within it, but no anger either. Hearing her makes my heart leap to my throat. But I force myself to get up as fluidly and as gracefully as I can. 

"Thank you, my Lady."

"First of all, what is your name, gender, and age?"

"My name is Calen and I am a man. I'm eighteen." I'm really a demiboy but I don't think she'd understand that. I don't want to risk it. Though lying is a risk too. But it's a risk I'll have to take often. 

"Take a seat. Let us drink some tea." She walks to the small table beside the fountain, her red dress swaying slightly as she moves. Everything seems completely unreal to me. Completely unreal and unbearably, unrealistically real both at the same time. I follow her to the table. 

"Thank you, my Lady. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to drink tea with you." I keep my voice even. 

"You may pour the tea now," she replies. 

"Yes, of course, my Lady." The China has patterns of all sorts of birds on it, and is ringed with geometrical patterns. I fill both our glasses with the light brown liquid. 

"And I will take two sugars," she tells me. I scoop her the sugars. I don't take any myself. 

"You may pass the sandwiches now," she commands, and I put one dainty sandwich on each of our plates. 

We eat in silence for a little bit, me keeping my head slightly bowed throughout the whole thing. It's so hard for me to force food down my throat. But I do so anyways. The food is surprisingly delicious, and that makes it easier to eat, at least. I have to be thankful for the little blessings.

"So, are you enjoying the tea?" she asks me in a serene voice. 

"Yes, my lady. It's the most delicious tea I have ever had." This is not a lie. "Thank you so much for your gracious generosity in sharing your meal with me." This part is a lie. 

"And what of the sandwiches? Are you enjoying those?" 

"Yes, my Lady. They are absolutely delicious. Thank you once again for your generosity in sharing them with me." 

"And now, I suppose, we will move onto the questions of more value. How is the town doing?"

"We are doing alright, my Lady," I lie. "Things have been pretty hard due to the harvest last year but we are getting by pretty well. Thank you for asking me of the town, and thank you for your everlasting concern towards us." I'm not telling the truth. Of course I'm not telling the truth. If I told the truth I would doom everyone. But I can only hope that she doesn't see through my lie. I can only hope that she doesn't have information to the contrary. 

"And the townspeople, what do they think of me?"

"They think very highly of you, my Lady. You are, after all, the one who blesses us with so many blessings. You are the one who gives to us all that we have and all that we need to live. You have blessed us with so many good harvests and bounty flows from within your hands. And for that we are grateful, deeply grateful. And we are humbled. Deeply humbled."

"And do they not believe that I am to blame for the years when the harvest is cursed?" There is a bit of an accusing edge to her voice. It makes my world go still for a moment. This is not good. This is really, really not good. But I hope I can save it.

"Not at all," I answer swiftly. "We do not blame you for a cursed harvest. For we know it is your choice. It is your choice whether to curse the harvest or whether to bless it. And it is your decision to make, not ours. You have a right and an entitlement to make the decision that you choose to make, and we are in understanding of that." I think up the answer to the question as lightning-fast as I can, and I hope that it's coherent. 

"And what of the children? What do they think of me?" 

"They are awestruck by your power and by your amazing abilities. They are grateful for your blessings. We are teaching them to be grateful for your blessings." The children in actuality do not like her at all, they're dead afraid. We try to stop them from expressing it, but we can't stop them every time. My mouth feels a little numb as I tell her the lie. I am dead afraid of being found out. But I do what I have to do and say what I have to say to keep my people safe. 

"And how about you?" she asks, a touch of concern in her voice. 

"What about me, my Lady?" 

"Are you happy, in the moment?"

"Of course I am, my Lady." I force the words out of my dry, grating throat as calmly as I can. "It's beyond an honour to be in your presence and to be able to dine with you. It's beyond an honour and I am beyond thrilled." I feel like my lung is full of rocks. Like I'm forcing the air through their hard, rough edges. "Are you happy?"

"I am always happy," she replies smoothly. Unsettlingly smoothly. "And the town, is the town happy?"

"Yes, we are. We count our blessings and are blessed by all that you give us." 

"What of the years when the harvest is cursed? Is the town still happy?"

"Why of course we are happy. Even if food is scarce, we have blessings. And we are used to years with meagre harvests. We have grown able to handle them. We know how to deal with years with limited food and how to still be happy despite it all."

"What of the people who die?"

"The deaths, too, we have grown used to. We have learned how to work through our emotions and how to rationalize death so that we do not feel grief at losing someone. We must be grateful no matter what fate gives us." Talking about the dead people is even, somehow, much harder than talking about everything else. The grief pangs in my heart and I have nowhere to put it. I have to struggle and fight with strength I never knew I possessed in order to keep emotion out of my voice. But I manage to get through it. Somehow, miraculously, I manage to get through it. Maybe because I have to. I absolutely have to. 

"And the children," the Lady continues on, "are they happy?"

"Why of course they are," I answer as convincingly as I can, "you have blessed them with so much out of the kindness of your heart."

"The kindness of my heart, you say."

"Of course, my Lady. Your heart is so kind. You provide us with everything we have." I do not tell her that she does not give us the one thing that really matters, which is each other. 

The Lady smiles slightly. My heart stills, holds its breath. Is this a good sign? Am I pleasing her? I hope so. I allow myself to release a breath that I didn't know I was holding. 

"And what of my birthday?" Her voice is an overly-saccharine trill. "Do you celebrate my birthday?"

"Oh we do, my Lady. Of course we do. With much merriment and celebration, and with a big feast, just as we should. It is, after all, a deeply auspicious day."

"A feast? How do you pull off a feast on a year when the harvest has been cursed?" Her question sounds genuine, but still, I'm in treacherous waters. Still, I anticipated this. I practiced for this. I have an answer. 

"We fastidiously save every morsel of food that we have for the feast, of course. Because it's such a joyous day. Of course we have to celebrate it in a joyous way." 

"And what of the boy I had in here with me last year? How is he doing?" Darjo. She's talking about Darjo. Oh no. 

"He died, I'm afraid." I fight to keep the grief out of my voice, out of my expression. I fight to keep my voice even, keep my breathing even.

"Oh, how did he die?" Her words are cool and mildly curious. Not at all the words of someone who just heard about a tragedy. Not at all the words of someone who just heard about a death. 

"Well, you see, he died in an accident. He was scaling a tall tree with a knife and he got distracted." Got distracted. Sure, he got distracted. I won't say anything about how he willingly jumped off. 

"And was he loyal, this Darjo?" Loyal? She chooses to ask if he's loyal? She speaks no words on the tragedy of his death? I hide my exasperation.

"Yes, my Lady. He was loyal to you until his last breath." Hopefully this is the answer she is looking for. It's a false answer but hopefully it's the answer she's been looking for. 

"And how do you know that he was loyal till the end?" 

I think of an answer lightning fast and I tell her what she wants to hear. 

"Because, my Lady, he always talked about how glorious it was and what an honour it was to commune with you, my Lady."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he did. He was deeply grateful to the opportunity you gifted him with. But do not worry, he did not say anything that would give any details away about his interactions with you."

"I'm happy he didn't give any details away." There is something smirking hidden behind her voice. My whole body goes cold with dread. 

"He would never, my Lady."

"Oh, I know he would never." There is something sly and secretive to the way she says that. I am keenly aware of all the danger all around me. 

"So anyways," the Lady continues, "are your people learning the wisdom that I am imparting to you?"

"We are trying, my Lady. We are definitely trying very hard. It is difficult, though. All your lessons and all your wisdom are so high and refined and intricate and complicated. They are hard for us simple-minded, uneducated people to understand."

"That is to be expected, of course."

"But know, my Lady, that we are doing what we can to the best of our abilities."

"You must keep trying. The wisdom of my glorious race can help you build better lives and families."

"But of course, my Lady. Of course it can." 

"Speaking of families, are you properly worshipful of my family?" 

"But of course, my Lady." This isn't a total lie. We are worshipful of her family. But we are only worshipful because we have to be. Not for any other reason. "We may not know your family," I continue, "but we are of course worshipful to them. Anyone who is related to your grace and your glory must be equally graceful and glorious. Any background that you came from must be an amazing background. Your race has so much power and awesomeness. We would be remiss to not worship them."

"My family is quite marvellous," she agrees. 

"But of course they are. Anyone related to you must be marvellous." This interrogation seems to be going well. But I need to stay alert. I need to stay alert. And I need to do everything exactly right. I need to do everything exactly right until I am allowed to go home again.

"And do you all work hard in order to please me?" I know what this question is about. It's about the vestments. Every Wednesday there are bags full of the most fine and rich clothes that magically appear on our streets. They are the garments of the Lady herself. We fastidiously wash them in an elaborate ritual that takes days, and return them to the Lady through the special gift fire at the church. 

"Yes, of course, my Lady. We meticulously purify all your vestments according to the proper rituals. It is a very high honour for us." I tell the truth. I have to tell the truth. But of course I don't tell her about how difficult and worrying and frustrating the whole process is. 

"And are you all grateful for the opportunity to work and please me with your work?"

"We are very thankful. We are always thankful. The opportunity to work for you and your greatness and your glory, to be of service to you and to show our gratitude, to do anything at all for you, it is the best opportunity of all. We are very grateful to be able to be of service to you. We truly love being able to be of service to you. We are grateful to be able to earn even a fraction of the many gifts that you give us."

I think I am navigating these swirling, rocky waters alright. I think I am doing well. This does not, of course, take away more than the barest edge of the all-consuming terror that I feel. Terror that makes it hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to exist. I've been feeling this terror since the moment she first called my name and I am still feeling it now. I hope I'm doing well. I hope I'm pleasing her. I have to do well. I have to please her. 

[scene continued in next part]