1.

a pleasure pavilion

I approached the strange tent with all the foreboding of a man going to his death. There was the sweet scent of cloves on the wind, shadows of beautiful people playing on the painted silk.

I was plain of face and thick of girth, unsure why I was invited to this party, this pretty fort filled with pretty things. I imagined that my reputation for molding beautiful flowers out of the finest glass secured me an invitation, but I had no gifts to offer on my person. Hyacinths, crocus, daffodils, I could make any flower as hearty or delicate as I chose. I could not, however, make anything as lovely as the creatures within that tent.

Pulling back the layers of chiffon and satin, I pushed through to the pleasure pavilion.

Young, elegant people bejeweled with crystal and diamond, clad only just in the sheerest of fabrics. Gossamer and moonlight. Many were indulging in mind-altering substances, reclining on large embroidered cushions and blowing peacock plumes of smoke up and beyond. Several were indulging in each other, twined together on large round beds with ornate golden frames.

I wandered through this place, this wasteland filled with smooth surfaces and shiny eyes, pink cheeks and taunt stomachs.

Pained by the hollowness of it all, I closed my eyes and thought of my glass flowers. Somehow, they were more real to me than any of these young, stupid things.