It was one of those nights: nights when you maybe fall asleep and maybe not, and when you wake up, you are not entirely sure whether you\u2019ve slept or not really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She woke up when someone switched on the lights in her cell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe are coming in,\u201d a male voice said. \u201cYou better face the wall opposite the door. Now.\u201d His voice sounded strict and impersonal, but he didn\u2019t really have to bother. She\u2019d spent so much time in their hands that she knew the drill. She crawled from under her blanket, got up and stood as ordered, facing the wall. She placed her hands on the wall, lightly touching the concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The door opened, and, based on the sound of their steps, she counted: one, two, three, four. And yes, the fifth one waited just outside of the door, nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How interesting,<\/em> she thought, and she refrained from forming a hypothesis. Whatever was happening, she was likely to find out pretty soon. No need to anticipate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She kept her eyes on the bare concrete, watching and admiring the grey surface (tiny stones, tiny hollows and tiny cracks) while she was being handcuffed behind her back and then hooded. The black hood blocked all the light, put a stop to visual information, and muffled the sounds around her: inconvenient, but certainly not fatal. She let the men take her arms and manhandle her out of the cell, submitting to them rather than fighting or trying to regain any sort of control. Of course she didn\u2019t like this, not knowing where she was headed and what she was stepping into, but, well, trying to reverse the situation or mitigate was bound to fail anyway, so why bother. Besides, it was really their problem to make sure she didn\u2019t get hurt. They normally didn\u2019t really care about the other conditions of her captivity, but this one, they followed to the letter, always making sure she didn\u2019t suffer any physical harm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sounds around her, and the floor underneath her bare feet, told her whole stories about her immediate surroundings. First, a long corridor. Then, twists and turns and a short stairway; two flights. After that, a lift \u2013 not an ordinary lift but a service one, with dusty floor and anti-scratch walls, and finally the admin wing of the prison.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe I will be moving again,<\/em> she allowed herself to guess. Being moved so soon after arriving would be uncommon, but not unheard of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Except that no, because instead of a car or a prison bus or anything like that, they ended up in a room \u2013 a small and nearly bare room if she could guess based on the sound reflections.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once inside, she was pushed onto a chair, someone removed her handcuffs and her hood, and then the men left her. Just like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked around: in the room, there was a table and a single chair, the one she was sitting on. The light was provided by a single bare lightbulb, hanging from the ceiling on its wire. There were no windows, no security cameras, no false mirrors, and no other furnishings. Nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just as she was getting quite worried, a single man entered the room. He was clean shaven and wearing a formal suit, but the thing that captured her attention were the Ziplock bags in his hands. Together, the bags were the right size and number, and her anxiety was suddenly through the roof.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh no.<\/em> The man in the suit opened all the bags, one by one, and he unpacked all the parts of her formal ceremonial dress. All of them: the dress, the boots, the ribbons, the sword. Everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So, this is it. This is the end.<\/em> In her mind, the last word was rich in unpleasant meanings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGet dressed, princess,\u201d the suited man said, rather pointlessly: she was now absolutely clear on what she was required to do. Thinking about it now, she realized that in the treaty, there was nothing about how they were going to do it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She only had one question. \u201cHow much time do I have?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEnough,\u201d the man said and left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The colours of her ceremonial dress were stunning, vivid and beautiful: it was a stark contrast to the greyness of the last three years of her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She had a choice now: she could spend some time wondering, considering whether she would still be able to carry the attire with the necessary dignity after spending three years in various prison uniforms, but she decided against. No point in such thinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Instead, she removed the uniform of this particular prison and she proceeded to get dressed in the splendid colours and exquisite details of the dress. Back home, in her mother\u2019s castle, she used to have a number of maids at hand, helping her with perfecting everything<\/em>, all the details, all the buttons, laces and ribbons, but of course she could do it on her own. She was, after all, her mother\u2019s heir apparent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n About ten minutes in, the same man, without knocking, opened the door again. He quickly checked her progress, he put a comb and a hand-held mirror on the table, and, without a comment or even a visible movement in his face, he left again. He didn\u2019t lock the door behind himself, but of course she was indifferent to that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next person to come in was a woman in her fifties. She wore a prison officer uniform and had no weapons, not even a baton or a taser.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you need any help?\u201d the woman asked. The indifference in her voice was striking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, please,\u201d she said simply, and she showed the woman how to put the ribbons into her hair. She knew she could do it herself, but it would not be perfect<\/em>, because of course nobody can see the back of one\u2019s own head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Twenty minutes later, she laced her boots and stood in the room in her nation\u2019s formal royal dress. The dress and all accessories were heavy in symbolism, to someone who could read it, the message was loud and clear, and she had to stop herself from comparing the beauty with the dullness of the last three years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She bought her nation three years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d the officer said, and yes, there were emotions in her voice. Mild, maybe, hidden, maybe, but they were there, and she couldn\u2019t help but think about what was it that made the prison officer feel, well, anything at all. The woman was maybe twice her age and it was quite possible she\u2019d lost at least one son in the war, and any<\/em> hint of compassion was remarkable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She put last finishing touches on her dress, she tidied and organized all the laces and ribbons exactly as they should be, and she followed the officer out of the room. She chose the slow and dignified pace that she\u2019d once trained again and again until nearly fainting, and she walked through a long, deserted corridor into a spacious office of the prison governor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Windows, and behind these windows, the first signs of sunrise<\/em>. Unless her counting of days was mistaken, this meant that it was around 4 am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The prime minister was in the room, waiting for her. \u201cYou Majesty,\u201d he said to acknowledge her presence \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n Shit<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2013 in the room, and he performed something that looked like a sophisticated parody of the formal greeting normally used in her mother\u2019s court.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her response to his efforts was, of course, both diplomatic and flawless, and because of what she was wearing, it was undoubtedly also very impressive. Well, of course, it was all designed to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She added a greeting and two polite phrases in the prime minister\u2019s language, and, despite its obvious meaning, she did not try to interpret the face he made.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease, take a seat, Your Majesty,\u201d the prime minister said, offering her a chair which, luckily, was big enough to accommodate her dress. He assumed a seat next to her (but far enough to be out of her reach), and they waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nobody spoke; nobody gave her any explanation. Nobody told her anything, despite the obvious fact that outside, behind those windows and more importantly up there in the mountainous home of her nation, the history was unfolding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She waited, patiently, showing no restlessness and no distress. Her life and her future could be cut short any second now, but that was not what was on her mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It took about a million hours, but finally the prime minister got up and invited her to follow. He was courteous, treating her like a true gentleman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She followed him outside, on the prison yard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Firing squad maybe?<\/em> she thought, and at that moment, it happened, and it was exactly as she hoped: suddenly the wind started to blow, it was just a light breeze rather than a proper strong wind of her home but it was enough, and all the ribbons and laces suddenly rose to the air, creating a whirlwind of colours around her. It surely was impressive, impressive and breath-taking, despite the fact that apart from her, there was nobody who could read and understand all the hidden hints, cues and secret messages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHurry up, Your Majesty,\u201d the prime minister said, gesturing at her to proceed quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d she said simply. There was a certain dignity associated with her position.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She noticed all the people gathered around: the photographers, the cameramen, the guys with microphones, a few well-dressed journalists \u2013 and, of course, eight or so soldiers in full-dress uniform and with very old-fashioned-looking rifles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A punishment, or a sought-after treat,<\/em> she thought towards the soldiers before deciding that she really didn\u2019t want to think about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no request, no order, no direction and no instruction, not from anyone, so she just stayed steady where they all stopped and enjoyed the fresh air. She turned her face towards the sun and thought of mountains, of winds and storms and the impossible dark-blue sky. It\u2019s been three years since she last felt the sun or the wind on her face: they never let her out, not even when they decided to transfer her to a different prison, and she needed to enjoy the moment while it lasted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey say that the mountain people only truly enjoy sun once in their lifetime,\u201d someone behind her whispered. She did not turn around, but she smiled. A lot was said about her nation, legends and gossip ranging from admiring to condescending \u2013 but this, this was not totally untrue. In the mountains, the sun could be powerful, it could really hurt people in a time much shorter than here in the lowlands, and nobody from her nation liked to be at the sun\u2019s mercy without a reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSilence,\u201d the prime minister barked. It was apparent that he didn\u2019t care about the sun and death in the mountains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She wanted to know where to stand and what to do to offer the best possible view to the cameras. She wanted to know if they would insist on blindfolding her. She wanted to know if they would require her to kneel \u2013 that, she was going to refuse of course \u2013 or if they would try to put her in handcuffs. Based on the nervous air around everyone involved, it was now matter of minutes at best, there were details she had no idea about, and she considered it highly inconvenient that nobody bothered to inform her\u2026 Despite the fact that she was the sovereign of a whole nation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But of course: being polite or helpful was not the enemy way. Their habits, like their language, were rough, offensive. It was no wonder that despite her captivity and her presence here<\/em>, the rebellion was going ahead. She knew her people; despite spending three years in isolation, without contacts and without access to news of any kind, she could guess what was going on up there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTell me, Your Excellency,\u201d she addressed the prime minister. \u201cHave you followed the custom? Does one of them have a blank cartridge?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, of course,\u201d the prime minister replied with a smile. That smile<\/em>. It was the same smile as three years ago, when she arrived in the country, in the same dress as she was wearing today, confident that they would follow the conditions of her captivity and that she would be granted at least the basic dignity during her stay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not even an hour later, the situation changed again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe have to go,\u201d the prime minister said. He seemed to be exceptionally well informed about the latest developments. She followed him back inside the building, never saying a single word, never asking a single question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She also did not look back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once inside, they all went back to the governor\u2019s office. The prime minister offered her a seat, and, once she took it, he told her that from now on, she was, technically, free.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe nuked them,\u201d the prime minister said simply. He did not bother to explain all the meanings of his message: that the rebellion was suppressed; that there would be no further struggle against the wild fighters from the mountains ever again; that from now on, the whole country would live in eternal, perpetual peace; that the colours and the wind were gone forever and they would never come back; that loss can have many different faces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI see,\u201d she said calmly. Her heart had died three years ago, when she left her mother\u2019s castle to become a hostage of a foreign, enemy country, knowing that she would never come back because she would die in captivity. Her heart had died three years ago, and yet, at that very moment, the same heart was wild with joy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sweetest of triumphs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It was one of those nights: nights when you maybe fall asleep and maybe not, and when you wake up, you are not entirely sure whether you\u2019ve slept or not really. She woke up when someone switched on the lights in her cell. \u201cWe are coming in,\u201d a male voice said. \u201cYou better face the … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-82","page","type-page","status-publish"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/82","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=82"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/82\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":83,"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/82\/revisions\/83"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/petrapecharova.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=82"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}