Story:My Blue Prince (abridged)

By Amore Nascosto

It was morning when she woke up. She felt terrible.

I feel terrible, she thought. She had such a stabbing headache that she could not remember her own name. The golden rays of the morning sun stabbed her eyes like knives. Her stomach hurt like it had been punctured with some sort of sharp implement. She slowly rose from her bed and put on her bright blue robe. Her robe was a piercing blue, which is the same color as the sky, which was empty of clouds. The Calming was seventy years ago, but she could not remember it because she had not yet been born when it happened. I am twenty-two years old, she thought to herself.

The as-of-yet unnamed woman glided down the rigid angles of her cramped apartment's dusty staircase. Her luminous dark hair flowed luxuriously behind her pale gleaming face. Her soft silken quiet steps echoed whisperingly throughout the tall boxy rectangular hallway, which was eerily hauntingly empty and devoid of people. Havata, she thought, I appear so graceful yet I feel so terrible.

Wait, she thought, I can almost remember my name. I feel like I just said it. Havata... Havata... she desperately tried to recall her own name, which felt so close but so not close at the same time. My name is just out of reach, she knew. To find it, she knew would need a reminder. But she could scarcely predict how it was going to happen. For now, all she needed to do was go to work, even though going to work felt like stabbing her inner child.

✱✱✱

Even five days after her loss of her name, she had still not been reminded of it. She trudged through day after day of long days at the passport center from day to night all day, never managing to find her missing moniker. At this moment, however, she would get one step closer.

He looked like an ordinary man. That is, until you really looked at him. His skin was not within the usual ashen range of complexions, and his hair was full-bodied and the deep color of tree bark. His swarthy appearance accentuated his strongly toned muscles, yet his formal attire and air of calm lent him a calm and formal presence. This "He" had a name, and it was Dux. Dux Giueseppe Carbone, Dux of La Rossa. He waited patiently in the passport line like a gentleman would, ignoring the glances of passerby at a clearly foreign man. When he stepped into her booth, she was left speechless.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what to say."

"That's okay," he replied gruffly. "You don't have to say anything."

They locked eyes for a brief moment. She felt her heart flutter and jump and leap out of her ribcage at the sight of his sensory organs, which were like small glossy pommelas. His forehead glistened with the full pride of his Repubblica, which was the first island to ever make contact with others.

"My name is Giueseppe Carbone, but you can call me Dux. I represent the proud La Rossa della Repubblica. I come here on official business as an ambassador to the T'vaqi," he vocalized sternly. She felt that she could sense a trace of longing in his voice.

"Okay," she uttered. "You can come through."

"Thank you," he ejaculated. "You do good work here. I look forward to furthering our relations."

Her heart leapt back into her ribcage and then out of it again as he exited the booth. Had he meant their relations? She felt closer than ever to finding out her name, but she knew it would take more. Now she felt a trace of longing as she longingly watched his figure depart from the passport office.

✱✱✱

The television flickered semi-haphazardly, but Giueseppe's luscious frame still seemed to project itself outside of the screen. She was half-sure that the speech he was giving was about her, but she was also half-sure that she was extra-overanalyzing things.

"She is indeed very great," his voice broadcast from the teleradio, "this nation, I mean. The people here are more beautiful than my beautiful hometown of Padolia. I am certain that our arrangement will come to pass. By that I mean the recent trade deal, of course."

They had only met briefly in the passport booth two months ago, and yet she still could not take her mind off of him. Worse still, she could not accept the half-semi-possibility that he had forgotten about her. Also, she still had a headache.

"This will be the greatest trade deal of our new century. Now that La Rossa and T'vaqi are unifying as one massive, throbbing behemoth of industrial might, I must marry an adequate suitor, as is tradition on La Rossa. One beautiful and elegant graceful woman of my choosing will be wed to me by the turn of the next month."

Sky above! she thought, could he mean me? She half-sat, semi-stood as she quasi-contemplated the possibility. No, he couldn't possibly mean me, she thought, and this was a smart thought, because people in T'vaqi are smart; we met only briefly, two months ago, in the passport booth. Yet I still cannot take my mind off of him, and worse still I cannot accept the half-semi-possibility that he has forgotten about me. Goodness me, this headache is awful.

Yet the more she thought about it, the more she desired to become his suitor. He had pierced her heart, and she wanted to stab his in turn. Hesitantly, she began reaching for her radio, turning the knob to the frequency that belonged to the La Rossan Embassy. If this goes wrong, I don't know who to blame, she thought, because I don't know my name.

✱✱✱

He had it narrowed down to three women. Three potential suitors, all of the palest complexion, and who all exuded an aura of grace and an atmosphere of radiance. She was one of them. She couldn't believe it. Me, an unassuming yet beautiful woman whom he met only briefly at the passport office? It seems too romantic to be true. But there was no guarantee that she was to be selected.

"Tell me," said Carbone, biceps flexing muscularly through his suit jacket, "if we were to enjoy a special dinner on our first night together, where would you take me?" His eyebrows raised a notch at the inflection, and his undershirt was thin enough for his rich, tanned skin to burst through.

The first woman replied, "I'd reserve us a fancy yacht, like they have in Akaria. We would be served the finest seafood as we watch the sun set over the crystal blue waters."

"Very well," Carbone responded.

The next woman chimed in, "We would dine just outside the Grand Council Hall, enjoying delicacies from across the archipelago. After we finish our feast, we'll dance passionately under the moonlight."

"Mm-hm, molto bene," Carbone said to the second woman in response to her statement. "And you?" he addressed the woman whom he had briefly met in the passport booth, mustache twitching expectantly.

Havata! What do I say? I'm just an ordinary beautiful woman, living in the heart of Ishiq...

"I suppose we would have dinner at my place. I could fry us some rosi."

Giueseppe Carbone was silent, save for the masculine rustle of his manly clothing as he swayed from side to side in contemplation. I must have ruined it, she thought. Now I'll never know my name.

Carbone then looked at her, a fiery gaze in his pommelas. "I'll take you," he moaned, "we'll get married tonight."

The two other women erupted into a furious anger simultaneously: "Why her?! She offered you none of the spectacle that befits a man like you!"

Carbone simply responded, "And that's exactly why. Come with me, my dear."

She was elated. But now, she had something to ask of him.

"Giueseppe, do you know my name?"

"I always have, Vata."

✱✱✱ FIN. ✱✱✱