And this is me? I, Leonie Smith, a staunch opponent of monarchy down to the very tips of my hair, suddenly find myself in royal chambers, surrounded on all sides by titled subjects dressed every which way. I look at myself in the mirror – I don’t seem all that different from the crowd: I’m wearing a lavish gown, my hair is piled high and looks like a wig, and a string of precious jewels is pressing down on my neck. What am I doing here?
The crowd parts – I see a young man. I’m seeing him for the first time in my life, yet I instantly understand: he’s the king. Everything suddenly makes sense. This is a dream. A nightmare. There’s only one reason I could be here. I frantically search for the pocket where there should be a sharpened blade or a loaded pistol hidden. Maybe it’s tucked in a stocking? While I’m discreetly trying to peek under the voluminous skirt, some lady stretches out her shriveled hand to me, trembling from the weight of rings and bracelets.
I lift my gaze and realize: I’m the center of attention. Have I been exposed?! No. The gawkers are smiling sweetly, lips pursed. There’s nothing to be done – secrecy above all. I take the old woman’s hand. I’m being led toward the crowned guy. Even better – I’ll seize the moment, and whatever happens, happens!
The bony hand places mine into the firm hand of the young king. I look into the eyes of my future victim… Oh no. Mistake. Now my hand might tremble. He’s smiling, his eyes are radiant, and he looks… harmless. Why do you have to be like this? ! I’m the one who’s supposed to be feared – not the other way around.
“My queen!” says the man beneath the crown, and the word echoes through the hall: queen! Queen! Queen!
And just a little disappointed that I’ll never rule a nation under the gentle gaze of radiant eyes. That’s when I wake up. I’m relieved I’m not in a palace, that I don’t have to kill anyone, that it’s my day off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the nineteenth century!”
A group of tourists trails behind the guide. They're hanging on his every word – it’s the very beginning of the tour, and later they’ll all scatter, some even getting lost in the castle. Though it's tucked away from civilization (thirty kilometers to the nearest shop), it remains a popular attraction. Over the years, all kinds of characters have been woven into its history – even ghosts and vampires haven’t been spared. But far more captivating, even after the hundredth retelling, is the story of the baron who lived here fifty years ago. His life bore little resemblance to a classic legend, which probably explains why, thanks to the efforts of enterprising guides, the story has only grown more mysterious with each new version.
Until now, I, Leonie Smith, had kept stopping – now in front of a painting, now a statue – without much desire to keep moving. I felt gloomy and sad. Sad for those who can’t even afford a ticket to visit this castle-turned-museum.
“Follow me!” our guide announced, waving his hand like a French revolutionary.
I liked that. I rushed after him without a care for how ridiculous I might look – after all, we were surrounded by antique furniture, not barricades.
“This room is probably standing empty, and yet twenty homeless people could fit in here,” I said to my mother, who was accompanying me on the tour. “If you took those tapestries off the walls and laid them on the floor, they’d make a better bed than bare earth.”
If anyone had asked those who knew her: What kind of person is my mother? – most would’ve answered without hesitation: a positive person. And it’s true – a smile always seemed to play on Olivia Smith’s face. Even when it wasn’t there, people could easily imagine it. Probably because of the charming dimples in her cheeks and the golden curls on her head.
