The Princess of The Sunset Bay

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The Princess of the Sunset Bay

Last night, I had a dream. In it, I seemed to be a stationary camera, panning through an ambient scene rolling before my lens in slow motion. Its theme was the warm orange of a sunset, like the calm sadness of an ending day, the quiet resolution of a dying star. The scene was of a scanty room that spanned the ground floor of a building I deduced to be several stories high. Why they used the ground floor, I do not know. Perhaps it was to capture the theme of downcast downgrading, of a crown falling to the ashes. An invisible wind swept gently through the spacious room, carrying with it torn newspapers and dead leaves. The whitewashed walls were almost completely covered with posters and newspaper cut-outs, most of them peeling out and dancing in the silent wind. A single concrete pillar supported the decking and everything above it. Beyond the pillar sat the focus of my dream; a figure that made the sullen, yet ambient background blur away…

She was shrouded by her maids, fussing over her, keeping the flying paper away from her face, brushing her beautiful dark hair, from the tiara on her head to the floor below her naked feet. Through the bustle moving around her in slow motion, she sat slouched over a classic ivory chair, her chin resting on its back, encircled by her porcelain arms. A pale blue night gown masked her slender trunk, terminating where two beautiful legs began. All through the dream, she seemed lost in her thoughts. Behind long lashes resting low, her eyes seemed targeted towards the sunset behind the bustling urban mass of havoc beyond the glass wall. But her unsettling eyes seemed not to see its rays. She only sat there, the tea table behind her untouched as she stared deeply into nothing…

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