My dreams were one part dead sleep, one part someone painting my face, one part Mother issues, and many parts indulgent and unrepentant snoring.
No intrigue. No chess. No explorations. Just me lying at rest, while [redacted] hummed happily to himself drawing on my skin. “You are still not of my number. You never will be, of course. But since you’re headed in that direction, I see no harm in a little… flair.” He finished my face and began work on my hands. “This changes nothing, you know. You are still bound to the same as before. Your path is not altered. This is only a change in appearance.”
“Bullshit,” I muttered. He chuckled.
“Do you say I am telling untruths?” I heard the warning behind the mirth.
“I say you are not telling the entirety of the truth. There’s a difference.” My voice shared his mirth, but with a hint of respect.
“What am I not saying, then?” He finished one hand and began work on the other.
“My path is still the same. My work (whatever that is) is still the same. But I will be among a different group, a different culture. And the differences there are just as important as the similarities. This isn’t just “flair”, this is my pass to walk freely through the open streets. When in Rome… and shit.”
He laughs and pulls me to my feet. He removes the cloak from me, but I am not concerned. With a snap of cloth, he wraps it around me again where it changes appearance.
I continue speculating out loud. “It’s not just what I do that’s important, it’s how I do it. It’s how I interact with others. I know just enough to know Thing One and Thing Two are the same. But for the person that doesn’t, the difference could condemn them. Inside, I’m still the same. You’ve changed nothing.”
He steps back to admire his handiwork. “You should stop hiding your body. You are lovely.”
I take the fan that suddenly appeared in my hand and playfully swipe at him with it. “You want me in dresses? Put them in my hand, and I’ll wear them. Until then, I’ll refrain from my condemnation of my culture’s views on women and clothing.”
It is quite a fanciful dress. I think I would make a fine villainess. But it feels visually off balanced. My short afro does not do it justice. “Don’t I need a headdress or something? To balance out the look?”
He chuckles and bows deeply. Saying nothing, he raises a lit cigar to his smirking lips. He blows a great cloud of rich peppery smoke over me, sending me into the depths of dreaming.