Moonwater Perfume/Written after Six Bells

The meeting with Her Ladyship was quite pleasant, and a great relief and surprise. Now I can see where he gets his joy of life from...she has such a calm aura about her. My audience with her lasted for two hours, far longer than I had anticipated. The Prestatia was candid about the aspirations she holds for her eldest child. Her hopes for his future are rather different from those held by her husband, or so it would seem. She wants her son to take on further education, and see the galaxy, but not in The Grand Tour tradition. Doing that would entail booking a penthouse suite on the most fashionable star liner, then doing a flying rotation through the Core Worlds. His mother wants him to touch the soil of multiple worlds, and interact with the diverse populations of the galaxy.

For a moment just then, the air in the sitting room felt strange. I am not a Force sensitive, but I remembered that his maternal line, the House Huranz of Novordoras, contributed many children to the Jedi Order. It gave those younglings a chance to leave this forsaken world, and lead lives of purpose. Perhaps he, like many of his ancestors, holds this power.

Not that it could help him now. The Jedi are gone forever. So there’s no escape for him.

Again, though, I must turn my mind away from such thoughts...I must finish recording the rest of what took place this morning at our auspicious brunch meeting.

After we had settled in with slices of fresh baked aleori and our first cups of kahve, he started the conversation straight away by asking, “How old are you?”

I had to pause mid-bite at that point. Was he going to reject me because I am older? It isn’t unheard of in this society. Several heirs have turned away the courtesans picked for them because they weren’t in the first gleaming. As if they have any right to expect that every single one of us are pubescent virgins. How ridiculous.

Surely this couldn’t be his intention.

Perhaps he was reading my mind, or else my distress showed on my face, because he said, “I’m sorry. That isn’t appropriate. Mother always taught me to watch my tongue. Obviously, those lessons never took to my brain.”

Then he reached across the table and touched my hand. (He has lovely fingers. Artistic looking, like they were sculpted). “Again, I’m sorry. I just have a curiosity about people. I like to know about them.”

I felt comfortable enough to answer his question. “If you must know, I am twenty-five. Such a crone by our standards.” There was still a queasy feeling in my stomach. Having to admit how many years I’ve existed in the universe is a very uncomfortable matter.

He laughed! “Twenty-five is not old! Unless you’re joking, because that is a funny statement.”

“Of course I’m serious. Do you know anything about the culture we’re surrounded by?” I realized just how much the isolation of being educated solely by tutors in schoolrooms had affected his awareness of worldly matters.

He stopped smiling. “It’s that bad...truly that awful?” The poor boy was genuinely shocked.“Yes, it is. By twenty, the women in your class have to be married, and must have at least one child by my age. To be considered a wife and mother in our society means old age. For one like myself, the end of youth comes the moment when our first benefactor pierces us.”

That stopped our conversation for some time. We were able to get some more pastry and kahve into our bellies before he spoke again.

“Do you like poetry?”

Now this was a pleasant topic, and very close to my heart.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I adore it. The best art form ever created by any intelligent species.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I’ll have to disagree with you. Drama is a pure use of words, and more active.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Which makes poetry passive in your opinion. Why is that?” The written word in verse form has always been the highest artistic expression to me. Even when it is spoken during festival time under the moonlight, the words of old never fail to resonate. Poetry is the ultimate manifestation of the soul and its aspirations, the first form of communication humans and other species used to record their origins. Drama certainly has a place in the universe, but it can never surpass poetry.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you planning to teach me that I’m wrong?”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I shall make it a personal mission to further your education in more ways than you can anticipate.”

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Blue eyes look fascinating when they are animated by a wicked gleam. “Are you making a promise?” He is clearly going to enjoy our time together.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes indeed.” I’m going to enjoy this too.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">Part V