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She's her father's daughter.
But before all else, she's her own.
He wields magic, so does she, but they're not the same. Rothbart takes the shape of an owl, while she doesn't limit herself so needlessly, owls, tits, meadowlarks and geese, she can transform into a bit of everything. With his help, she can transform into her.
The Swan Queen.
The idea is his, of course. Hers are more erratic, she's a joker if anything. The power shall be mine, he tells her one day before nightfall, this man who already advises courts, and he makes her turn in a circle in front of him. By the end of it, her features that were already similar are now the same. Her neck is long and elegant and frail, her eyes hold lake water that isn't brackish. My black swan, he says.
She laughs. Before all else, she's her own.
He leads her to the ball and he advises her every step, but she takes them by her own accord. She dances with the prince, she turns his head and she catches his eyes, so he forgets to look anywhere else. She is a swan, although it is the one bird she never transforms into otherwise, and she is Odette but not. The prince doesn't see through the smoke and the mirrors. Her father doesn't let up before it's too late.
Promises broken are what Odile eats for breakfast. This one, too, she swallows down and it nourishes her.
Her father and her, they leave together. What they leave behind is turmoil and tragedy.
The stuff they eat for lunch and dinner.
But before all else, she's her own.
He wields magic, so does she, but they're not the same. Rothbart takes the shape of an owl, while she doesn't limit herself so needlessly, owls, tits, meadowlarks and geese, she can transform into a bit of everything. With his help, she can transform into her.
The Swan Queen.
The idea is his, of course. Hers are more erratic, she's a joker if anything. The power shall be mine, he tells her one day before nightfall, this man who already advises courts, and he makes her turn in a circle in front of him. By the end of it, her features that were already similar are now the same. Her neck is long and elegant and frail, her eyes hold lake water that isn't brackish. My black swan, he says.
She laughs. Before all else, she's her own.
He leads her to the ball and he advises her every step, but she takes them by her own accord. She dances with the prince, she turns his head and she catches his eyes, so he forgets to look anywhere else. She is a swan, although it is the one bird she never transforms into otherwise, and she is Odette but not. The prince doesn't see through the smoke and the mirrors. Her father doesn't let up before it's too late.
Promises broken are what Odile eats for breakfast. This one, too, she swallows down and it nourishes her.
Her father and her, they leave together. What they leave behind is turmoil and tragedy.
The stuff they eat for lunch and dinner.
