aurora | 1952

22

November 25th, 1954

Light hits my eyelids as soon as the sun is strong enough to peek through my curtains. Groaning quietly, I lift myself up and scoot off of my mattress. I run my eyes and look at the list I scribbled last night, and for a second I let all the crap about the dance, and the list, and the overall... circumstances invade my brain. The next second I clumsily waltz across my room, letting myself grin at how crazy this entire situation is. My feet kick each other, my hips move out of coordination compared to my shoulders, and I hope to god Florence somehow loses vision by tomorrow night's dance.

I jump back and smooth my dress as Maggie walks into the room, less than a second after knocking.

"You're up bright and early! What're you up to?" She asks, setting my breakfast on my desk as I shake my head and catch my breath.

"Oh, just fantasizing what'll happen tomorrow." I tell her while sitting back on my bed. She nods my way, her expectedly dreamy grin taking place on her lips.

"Best of luck to you, y'know, with choosing between these guys. They all seem pretty charming from what I've seen." She folds her hands on her lap when she sits down on my desk chair. An eager smile lurks over her expression.

"I've got ideas, to say the least. You're just lucky you don't have to deal with them."

She sighs. "Oh, but I wish I could! Just imagine a line of people wanting to spend the rest of their lives with you.." Mumbling off, she fidgets with her dress. I smile at her and leave her to her own fantasy as I draw the gown that she showed me from my closet. I hold it with two hands, and Maggie gets up from the chair, a hand on her cheek.

"Oh wow.. It's even prettier than when I saw it last!" She eagerly prances to my side to look at the dress, and as she's talking, my ears ring loud enough to block her out. I look the dress up and down repeatedly and wonder:

Where is Princess Aurora?

꧁꧂

The ballroom is decorated more extraordinary than anything I've seen in this place yet. Red and orange frilled ribbons feather the ceilings, and only a few tables sit in front of blank tiles. Tiles that I will do my waltz on in just over an hour.

I close the door, and bring myself back from peeking. While thinking about the suitors in their rooms getting ready for me, my mind goes self-centered, forgetting that I'm the farthest thing from a princess. I walk to the ladies room, and the few women that are in there drop their things and curtsy, despite the fact that they didn't last time. Even the one who was smacking her gum gets to her feet.

Florence's voice comes from my left, and she almost walks into me before I take a step away. She's looking the other direction, talking to someone with a raspy voice who I can't see. Florence rushes a quick hello to me before telling her assistant to go away. Florence turns to me after doing a double take. "Oh, Aurora..."

For a second I think she's going to call me beautiful or something, the way she reaches for my hand and all, but she just tugs it a little and drags me to a mirror, sitting me down. Before I can say a word, she's pressing makeup brushes to my face and sputtering words my way. When she's done with one side, she steps away from me so I can face my reflection. I look at one side, then the other, then the first again, and see all the differences. Once again before I can speak, Florence is back in my face, and I distinctly hear her give me tips on how to cover up my eyebags.

~

I get my dress from Maggie and change in one of the women's rooms, not my own. I catch myself fidgeting with the sleeves and the bottom hem. I turn to the mirror, adjusting everything. It's a purple gown that fades into darker purple throughout, and the off-shoulder sleeves fall just to my upper arms. By Florence, my hair was given great big curls, big enough to shorten my hair by at least an inch. I run my fingers through the curls, watching as they bounce back up. I slide on mauve-colored heels that look too high to dance in, and step into the bustle of the ladies room with 20 minutes to spare. I sit in one of the chairs and chat with Maggie, before Florence finds me and hands me a box that matches my dress. I unravel the ribbon around it, and open it, lifting the contents from inside. I hear the entire room give quiet gasps, and I figure it only makes sense that they'd be watching. Florence looks at me with what I'd like to think is a proud smile.

"That's for tonight." She says, and I put the tiara on my head. Stopping myself from frowning with guilt, I look behind me to face her as she smiles her model-worthy smile in the mirror at me.

"Thank you, it's beautiful." I almost whisper, and she wraps an arm around me, rubbing my right shoulder for a second before springing back up.

"So, the list!" She says, gesturing with her hands. For a second, I'm confused, but I reach forward for the piece of paper in front of me, handing it to Florence as we make our way to a sofa the same color as my heels. She hums and nods with a few names, but when she gets to Robert's name, she runs a long, maroon nail across the line it's written on.

"Now, I'm surprised with this one." She says, and I turn to face her with a grin, but her expression is flat and serious.

"Really darling, tell me, what's the trouble with him? He was such a gentleman from when I met him. Is this an accident?" She persists so with these questions, and I wonder if she actually wants them to be answered, or if I should sit and let her make her list.

She calls for a maid to bring her a pen, and as guessed, I suppose the second choice was right. She draws a clean line through Robert's name, and writes 'Albert' in the space next to it.

"I didn't like the way he looked at me, that's all." She says, giving the list back to me. Almost arguing, I take it with one hand and nod slowly. Maybe her type is assholes, I tell myself. Maybe, even if she birthed a completely capable and kind son, she's never been introduced to a proper gentleman before. The list could go on, but before I can humor myself further, the Queen tells me to memorize the list, and hurries me to a back exit of the palace, where an elegant black car waits for us. Florence encourages me to step up first, and while cautiously taking an assistants hand for help, my heart pumps adrenaline through my blood. I question if he can feel the pulse of my veins, even through both of our gloves.

This could be the day somebody points it out. The day that someone in the crowd, not far from us waves and says "Who is she? That's not our princess!" But before letting these thoughts cloud my mind, the engine of the car sputters, and we're faced with hoards of people and cameras blinking their lights.