The story of one chant
We had been marching through woods covered in black snow for a while. We had been attacked by large birds with glass wings; we had trudged through a glacial downpour, and one of our Kings was dead.
We were an army of ghostly women in those silver woods, as we recalled the ones we had lost in the battle and the dreary dark soldiers who had killed our Imagination. We all feared that we had turned as weary as those we had fought against, but as our pointy shaped shoes touched on the ground of our kingdom, we found ourselves mumbling the one chant that would renew us.
I had been marching along with the rest of the knights for some time, because, you know, who wouldn’t want to wear those metallic ensembles? We all had our hair pulled back in messy chignons and we were armed with this one chant, marching in a rhythmical manner, while our metallic dresses shimmered with the light of the moon.
The villagers stepped out of their cabins as we passed through the street; half asleep and in awe, they walked behind us, the women in their silk nightgowns and slippers, following us to the castle. We all mumbled our one chant, even the villagers, quietly, wearily at first, but as we entered the castle and as the crowd grew larger, our march thundered on the marble grounds and our mumble became one strong affirmation.
We had lost the King of Imagination in the battle but by the time we neared our other three Kings, our chant was so strong, we knew the fourth would come back to us — “Long live the Kings! Long live the Kings!”
Story credits: Dolce & Gabbana for the images.