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On the whole she would speak in riddles whether posing a question or in idle conversation. Her preference to give noxious gifts in abundance, a thing of pure joy to the outed masochists, unwelcome to all others. Not that those ‘others’ dare say a word aside from making the polite noises expected of them and putting on a show of drowning in truthless gratitude. Such are the ways of invincible tyrants whose doctrine is not accountable to down trodden natives. The divine are known to favour the iron fist, although in her case the trepidation she could invoke with just a knowing smile meant she rarely felt compelled to throw that first symbolic punch. A propensity to savour complete and total power for her warped amusement was sufficient to serve her purpose of being. God help those who defied her wishes or she grew sick and tired of, for they would bear witness to her macabre excesses. In short, she was a creature of unspoken, unscrupulous legend.
Her name? Ebonee, ‘Ebonee the First & Last’, professed Empress of all that she surveyed. Those elders from the hoi polloi caste who had retained the faculty of reason could, if they ever dared to, or were in drink, spin yarns from days of yore when she went by the tag Sheba, before that Makeda, before that I knew her as Lilith. Whatever, Ebonee had never aged a day since she had blossomed. A tantalising black, as jet black as any living soul had ever been, of slight yet oh so flawless invention, temptingly, by way of nature’s own individualistic design, entirely hairless from tip of scalp to all other locations due south. Her crowning glory? Her very presence, be it on the battlefield or in her bedroom exuded legitimate dominance; demanded due deference. Untouchable unless invited to be touched, Ebonee was always, and remains to this day, a matchless sexual predator and proud of it. Not unlike the black widow spider, most of the lovers or handpicked slaves she’s ever singled out live in dread of copulation’s dark conclusion. Is she evil at heart? Of course she is.
A minimalist à la mode dresser certainly, invariably donned in finest dark, most times pitch-black, soft silk, hanging loose sleeveless dresses matching her dark hue and darker demeanour. She never once wore shoes, undergarments or hats, though she has a penchant for silver rings upon all fingers and a wealth of Pandora bead bracelets, also of silver, on both wrists. To the uninitiated, Ebonee’s stylish simplicity displays a certain undeniable élan. Draped thus affords her a touch of authentic mystique. Always of an imposing disposition despite her lack of stature, beaming, she can light up a night sky, similarly bring forth storms clouds, thunderbolts and lightning with just the hint of a frown. Her crowning glory is perhaps her face. Her exquisite bone structure, high cheekbones, plus purest white crystal eyes, is for any fair maiden to envy; to die for. A galaxy of faults could never tarnish her beauty, not even an unremitting appetite for animalistic sex with either gender or her lust for unassailable power. Her desires rule her and by default define the manor within which she rules.
The grandest edifice, perhaps in all of time, in which she resides and from which she also rules, is made entirely of polished marble that flashes, sparkles and gleams. Ceilings that reach for the sky, Romanesque columns, Grecian styled statues, a myriad of mysterious steps to wherever, porticoes, domes, arches, baths for far more than just the one habitué and communal bathhouses that even the Ottoman’s would surely covet. A vast chateau gracing a cliff top overlooking an ocean that could never keep its secrets, after all the deep below is in love with waves above and all that is between.
Ebonee has never taken to the concept of marriage. The equality of a union twixt lovers a notion too far. For the main part, when not playing the winning hand in the game of political affairs she is essentially an ever eager recluse. She sees herself, correctly in many ways, as the centre of her own macrocosm, her undeniable supremacy gives forth to a world view that all others are merely her trinkets to do with as she so wishes.
Pampered and tended to by any number of subdued vassals, she barely lifts a finger when it comes to the mundane ways of habitual organisation. Washing, dressing, feeding, whatsoever, all alien things, for she lives the life others can only share in sweet musings or night terrors.
Personally, I still have a soft spot for Ebonee. I just wonder whether she remembers me; remembers the planting of the orchards. Fruit trees I recall. Apple and fig for the main part. It was a long time ago we shared love in Paradise.